In a number of scenes in 2001’s Bridget Jones’s Diary, our heroine – a thirtysomething singleton played by Renée Zellweger – squashes the skin of her lower torso into an array of Lycra shapewear, all in an attempt to make herself appear slimmer. When Hugh Grant’s Daniel Cleaver sets his eyes on her high-wasted, nude-coloured underpants in one memorable scene, Bridget blushes with embarrassment. “Well, hello mummy,” Daniel purrs. At the time of the film’s release, control shapewear – or tummy-tucking underwear designed to smooth its wearer – was marketed predominantly at people like Bridget, someone who was told by society she was “fat” or undesirable unless she had a flat stomach. Today, though, shapewear is branded differently, marketed to young women as a sexy, must-have fashion accessory. Shapewear products are not only promoted as stomach-smoothing fixes, but for anyone who wants a narrow waist or their figure to resemble a contoured, Kardashian-style hourglass. Skims, Kim Kardashian’s self-owned shapewear brand that she founded in 2019, sells viral sculpting bodysuits geared towards achieving this particular body shape. They start at £70. Since the launch of Skims, as with anything that a member of the Kardashian clan wears or makes, fast fashion knock-offs have swelled the market. Online retailer PrettyLittleThing, which has a murky track record of contributing to a harmful cycle of fast fashion, sells duplicates of the Skims viral bodysuit for around £20. They also sell waist trainers – a corset-style casing worn underneath clothes to aggressively teach your waist to be narrow – for just £12. “Doll cinch your waist in an instant with this waist trainer,” the item’s description reads. The product has boning to make it stiff and restrictive. Venture onto TikTok and you’ll find viral dresses with Spanx-style shapewear, designed to minimise the width of a person’s waist and accentuate their bottom, built into the clothing itself. While Skims is not solely responsible for this recent boom in shapewear, it has contributed to transforming how we view it – Bridget’s “granny pants” are now glamorous and aspirational. For the brand’s latest collection, for example, buzzy British singer-songwriters Raye and PinkPantheress were enlisted to promote it, along with viral Bronx rapper Ice Spice. The resulting campaign wouldn’t look out of place in the pages of Vogue. What this marketing tells us is that fashion isn’t just about the garments you wear, but the apparently malleable shape of the body on which they’re worn. Early shapewear emerged in the 16th century, not as a trend or body sculpting device, but for practical support. Karolina Laskowska, a lingerie designer and director of the underwear archive The Underpinnings Museum, tells me that the primary purpose of shapewear back then was to support the body much in the same way that a contemporary bra is made to support the breasts today. “A pair of stays [a corset style bodice] would have offered bust and back support for women who worked,” she explains. “These styles were more functional and supportive, rather than trend-driven.” The beginnings of the shapewear we see today were first seen in the Sixties, when the invention of Lycra, a synthetic-based elastic fibre, allowed for stretchier fabrics. What Laskowska dubs the grandparent of modern shapewear was the “Little X Girdle” by a British brand called Silhouette. “It was a turning point for a shift from traditional structured corsetry into elasticated shapewear,” she says. The item was a seamless, pull-on girdle – an elasticated corset extending from waist to thigh – and was eventually licenced to sell in over 32 countries as turnover increased exponentially. We then saw the evolution of more comfortable, everyday shapewear, like those made by Spanx, an American brand founded in 2000. They’re so uncomfortable, but they’re so afraid of what others will think about them due to their body size Victoria Kleinsman By contrast, modern shapewear is now geared towards sculpting the body to appear differently underneath clothes. And now, fast fashion is getting involved, too. But lingerie designers like Laskowska are increasingly worried about the consumer physically “hurting” themselves with badly made undergarments. “We’ve seen fast fashion adopt corsetry and shapewear trends but it’s not made to fit the human anatomy, since it’s made to be as cheap as possible,” she says. She adds that people could “injure” themselves with elasticated shapewear if they buy a size too small, meaning they could potentially restrict their blood’s circulation. Victoria Kleinsman, a self-esteem expert and body love coach, works with women between the ages of 13 to 60, and says that she’s seen how her younger clientele are feeling the pressure to wear shapewear in order to conform to the cult of thinness. Some clients have bought pantyhose with built-in cushioning to make the bottom look larger and perkier. Others will wear layers of shapewear to sculpt the body, particularly the waist and stomach, to look slimmer or flatter. To Kleinsman, wearing modern shapewear allows people to apply an “IRL [Instagram] filter” to their bodies. She speaks to women each day who are “crying” to her on Zoom calls because they’re worried about what their bodies look like. “It’s to the point when it’s boiling hot weather [but] they’re wearing spandex shapewear and tights, and they’re so uncomfortable, but they’re so afraid of what others will think about them due to their body size.” The expert fell into her line of work after she struggled with an eating disorder – she also wore a waist trainer when she was dealing with her own body image issues. “I would go to the gym wearing it because apparently you ‘sweat more’ and therefore lose ‘water fat’,” she says. “Which is b******! It’s physically painful to your physical body and even more painful to your emotional and mental well-being.” Kleinsman doesn’t think that this type of elasticated shapewear has anything to do with fashion and it should not be marketed as such. “It’s really dangerous,” she tells me. “Shapewear gives you a fake ‘confidence’ but then underneath it all when that comes off, then, who are you?” The popularity of Skims and their various knock-offs doesn’t seem likely to decline any time soon, but Kleinsman is hopeful that more women will soon have epiphanies about the shapewear revival. “Fatphobia and body image trauma is still the norm,” she sighs. “There has never been more [appropriate] a time for us to embrace our natural bodies.” Read More ‘The models are skinnier than ever’: Has London Fashion Week stopped caring about body diversity? 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Ever since our nostalgic high-school go-to Abercrombie & Fitch received a major adult revamp, we’ve been running at full speed whenever there’s a sale. Discounts on chic outerwear, wedding guest dresses, and elevated basics? You name it, and we’re ready with our credit card in hand. Abercrombie & Fitch’s sale section is frequently chock full of the latest styles from tenniscore staples like workout minis and sets to wedding guest dresses and 2023’s trendiest jeans.

Andrew Cowell said the journey was seamless but he might have been a bit ambitious with the distance.

According to our anonymous shopping data, June was all about the three P's: Pride, papas, and price cuts. In honor of the month-long LGBTQIA+ celebration, we wrangled queer-owned brands killing it in their industries — in addition to a handful of products that affirmed R29 editors' queerness. Plus, we scavenged unique presents for our favorite father figures. And, all kinds of exclusive discount codes made their way onto our front page. TLDR: 'Twas a month of bountiful Refinery29-reader shopping carts.

The traumatic past comes charging back in The Marsh King’s Daughter, with Daisy Ridley in

Every so often, when I’m in the grips of extreme procrastination, I scroll back through the old photo albums on my near-dormant Facebook account. Their titles are a mix of forgotten teenage in-jokes and once-beloved song lyrics (no doubt a hangover from the Myspace era, before Zuckerberg). The pictures, captured on the digital camera that accompanied me on every night out, look a little fuzzy now, compared to the ultra-high resolution of an iPhone. But they’re still sharp enough that you can make out all the hallmarks of Noughties fashion in every group shot. There are battered pairs of ballet flats. String upon string of fake pearls. Slouchy off-brand Ugg boots. Hi-shine, high-waisted disco pants, reflecting back the flash of my Canon. More waistbelts than the average episode of Gok’s Fashion Fix. I can practically smell the frazzled scent of burning hair, straightened to a crisp. All very nostalgic, all very cringe, all now thankfully relegated to the big Topshop in the sky. Or so I’d naively thought. Fashion’s relentless trend cycle comes for us all in the end and this year, it seems, the nostalgia pendulum has come to rest somewhere around 2007. Bella Hadid and Emily Ratajkowski have been papped strolling through New York City in beige Uggs. A waistcoat is acceptable – even chic on a night out – no longer the sole sartorial preserve of Steve Arnott from Line of Duty. Its more practical cousin, the gilet, is also back, ready and waiting to keep your torso warm and your arms cold. Kylie Jenner is wearing disco pants, paired with going-out tops of indeterminate length. Most triggering of all? The discovery that beloved Scandi brand Ganni is now selling a high-fashion version of the sole-destroying ballet flats that teenage me wore until they fell apart (typically after about two months of continuous use). It was inevitable that the trends of my adolescence would get re-tooled for a new generation somewhere down the line – that’s just how fashion works. But I certainly wasn’t expecting it to happen quite so quickly, or to induce such a stomach-flipping sense of vertigo. It’s only been exacerbated by a clutch of that era’s cultural figures re-entering the public consciousness. Pete(r) Doherty, once the poet laureate of try-hard indie teens, is cropping up everywhere (“ARE YOU WATCHING PETE AND LOUIS THEROUX????” my lifelong best friend urgently WhatsApped me the other night, reminding me of my teenage Libertines obsession). Waistbelt-wearing, bodycon-loving pop legends Girls Aloud may or may not be reuniting (please make it so!) and, erm, Call-Me-Dave Cameron is making a return to frontline politics. It’s enough to make you feel like a portal to the past has somehow opened up, Doctor Who-style (naturally David Tennant, who played the Doctor in the latter half of the Noughties, is reprising that role later this year). Noughties fashion is having a moment on screen, too. Emerald Fennell’s new film Saltburn stars Barry Keoghan as Oliver, a working-class student at Oxford who is befriended by the aristocratic Felix, played by Jacob Elordi; Felix later invites his new pal to spend the summer at his family pile. It takes place between 2006 and 2007, and these fictional freshers dress in authentic period finery: the three “Js” – Jane Norman, Juicy Couture and Jack Wills – superfluous beaded necklaces and daffodil yellow LiveStrong charity wristbands. The latter, of course, were a rubbery tribute to now-disgraced cyclist Lance Armstrong, which, for some unfathomable reason, became a must-have. When they sold out online, we’d go to bizarre lengths to source one. I distinctly remember sending an envelope covered in first class stamps to a friend of a friend of a friend, then receiving a rubbery bracelet in the post about a month later. I had only a vague idea of exactly who Armstrong was, really, but I liked the pop of colour against my white “Make Poverty History” band. To nail this very specific period look, Saltburn costume designer Sophie Canale made “mood boards mainly of my friends drunk on Facebook as inspiration”, she recently told Women’s Wear Daily. She sounds like a woman after my own heart. And just like my friends and I, Fennell’s characters love a good pair of Uggs – or at least, Ugg-adjacent copycats. So devoted was I to my tan knock-off versions that 16-year-old me carried on wearing them almost immediately after undergoing a knee arthroscopy (fake Uggs and crutches – a real fashion statement). My physiotherapist was horrified – and for good reason. In 2010, the British College of Osteopathic Medicine put out a statement imploring teenage girls like me to ditch their poorly-made imitation boots, warning that the lack of foot support could eventually lead to wear and tear on the ankles, knees and hips. “Just because something becomes a trend or fashionable doesn’t mean it’s good or right,” the organisation’s then-head Dr Ian Drysdale warned. Wise words indeed – but if I’d heard them at the time, I’d probably have rolled my eyes and gone back to trying to find the perfect footless tights to pair with my fleecy shoes. Ballet flats, with their similar absence of support, were pretty terrible for your podiatric health too, but it was a sacrifice we were willing to make in order to look a bit like Kate Moss. Looking good could be painful: after attending one friend’s 16th-birthday meal, I had to go home and lie down in agony thanks to waist belt-induced indigestion. Of course, Mossy, the patron saint of Noughties style, was on Canale’s radar when it came to dressing Saltburn’s students. The costume designer tracked down styles from the model’s first fashion collection for Topshop, which would have been seriously hot property around the period in which the film is set. More than 15 years on, I still have near-perfect recall of almost every piece, because I wanted them so much: the silvery halter-neck gown, the red skinny jeans, the patterned shorts crying out to be layered over a pair of 60 denier opaque tights. I’m pretty sure those designs are probably seared onto my poor, long-suffering mum’s memory, too. Like some sort of mini Miranda Priestly, I sent her trawling round all the Topshops in the Liverpool City Region to try and find the sell-out pansy print tea dress from Kate’s line. Why didn’t I do it myself? Too busy stomping around Snowdonia, attempting to get a bronze Duke of Edinburgh award, having been gaslighted into believing that this would prompt paroxysms of admiration from university admissions staff. She never did find the dress, but I managed to get hold of one years later, when Moss re-released some of her greatest hits to mark her final Topshop collection. It shrunk to unwearable dimensions after a few washes, but I still have it hanging in my wardrobe like a tiny floral trophy. Perhaps one day I’ll sell it on Vinted to a Gen-Zer who can’t remember the Noughties but likes the retro aesthetic (I’d have to label it “worn, with minor fake tan stains”, though). But most likely I’ll keep hold of it. The clothes we wear when we don’t quite know who we are or what we’re doing with our lives are a bit cringe-worthy, yes, but they’re also strangely endearing. Much as the rational part of my brain might be horrified by its baffling silhouettes and bizarre accessories, I’ll always have a soft spot for Noughties fashion – just don’t expect to see me in a waistcoat any time soon. Read More Chris Pine defends his short shorts Balenciaga divides with release of ‘absurd’ $925 bath towel skirt Women’s scarves and crocheted ties - what is Robert Peston wearing now?

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An early sign of dementia in people is poor sleep, which can in turn hasten cognitive decline. The same applies to aging dogs, according to new research. The study is the first to use sleep lab techniques such as an electroencephalogram (EEG) on dogs.