Laura Craik on Jennifer Lawrence's Vogue cover and kaftans

In the pantheon of overpriced holiday fashion tat, if there’s one thing that makes me rage, it’s the cover-up. And whenever these flimsy, gaudy, erroneously see-through garments are labelled ‘kaftan’, you know you’re in for a particularly onerous price hike. Burnt your tits on the beach and need urgently to shield them from the midday sun? That’ll be £650, ta.

The problem is, you can’t really go on holiday without one. Well, you can, but it’ll be stressy. Transferring globs of SPF30 on to your favourite dress is less than ideal, as is the makeshift sarong fashioned out of a beach towel that falls off en route to the ladies. It’s sad, this compunction to shroud your body with a cover-up — especially on holiday, a time when you should be wild and free. Last week, I was in Cascais, shovelling hash browns and bacon on to my plate at the breakfast buffet, when I noticed all eyes were on the pert brown butt of a fellow hotel guest. She was wearing a cover-up, but a short one, her red bikini bottoms (tie-sided, for those who like detail) exposed to the room. ‘Good on you,’ I thought, lost in the rapture of her confidence. And then my youngest child loomed into view, carrying a plate of three Portuguese custard tarts, one muffin, five gherkins and a pile of capers.

Later, by the pool, the cover-ups were out in force, each woman in observance of some clandestine edict that Thou Shalt Not Be Seen Vertical In A Bikini. No toilet trip was too short; no bar visit too inconsequential to preclude the need for something minging and trimmed with pom-poms. Meanwhile, the men strode around, in all their hairy-backed, potbellied glory. And yet for all the bejewelled, fringed and tie-dyed monstrosities that exist for women, no one has yet invented the maftan. I feel this is an oversight.

Running Rage

The video clip of the male jogger who shoved a female pedestrian into the road on Putney Bridge remains as shocking now as when it was first released last week. Had it not been for the quick reflexes of the bus driver, the woman would surely be dead, instead of merely shaken. I don’t know why the incident upset me so much — we’re all guilty of jostling past people on busy pavements — but this happened at 7am when the street was almost empty. Jogging is supposed to help alleviate anger-management issues, not make them worse. These random acts of rage are not what London needs — not now, not ever. These streets are for all of us.

American Beauty

I love John Currin’s rendition of Jennifer Lawrence on the cover of American Vogue’s September issue (left), but not everyone is impressed. ‘There’s something a bit off about her,’ one user wrote on Instagram, while another opined that ‘it spoils her natural beauty’. Without wanting to be lofty, surely that’s the point. Currin makes all of his subjects look like whimsical 19th-century portraits, even his own wife. To see J-Law, one of the most photographed all-American beauties of the age, through this prism feels truly fresh, and you can’t say that about many images these days. Please, can someone launch an app that allows people to transform themselves into Currin portraits? Like a 19th-century version of a Snapchat filter? G’wan.