I’ve been a style editor for years. But there’s one trend I shouldn’t have tried in 2022

My first find was a fringed, hooded poncho giving Owen Wilson as Hansel in Zoolander vibes. So hot in 2001 and perfect for an ayahuasca circle but not for lunch at Sean’s Panorama overlooking Sydney’s Bondi Beach.

Then the shirt appeared. OK, I’m evolved enough to call it a blouse. The cotton blouse had contrast piping on the collar that spoke to my love of mariachi bands and a palm-tree pattern on the back that was summery without relying on Zimmermann’s signature florals.

Flashbacks of being somewhere that I didn’t belong occurred the moment I entered the changing area, like being dragged by Mum through Myer’s lingerie floor as a toddler or doing shots at a lesbian bar, many years later. Uncomfortable glances from fellow shoppers were filed away for a future shame spiral.

Surprisingly, the blouse was a perfect fit. Who knew that I was a Zimmermann size three? Now came the real problem. What pants was I going to wear?

On its website, Zimmermann recommends wearing the blouse with a matching, high-waisted short, but they immediately remind me of Nellie Forbush in the musical South Pacific, a role outside my range in too many ways.

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The sales assistant attempted to rescue me with a pair of high-waisted cotton slouch pants with a contrast trim. Sliding into them, the shame spiral returned faster than expected.

While I was happy accepting that the shirt was a blouse, I was physically uncomfortable standing in front of the change room mirror in a pair of slacks.

Two things were immediately apparent. I was not a size three in slacks and not all items of clothing are gender-neutral. Thanks to the snug fit, my genitals were in a sous vide situation, vacuum packed to my leg in a look favoured by Rod Stewart, The Bay City Rollers and the Bee Gees in the Seventies.

With serious adjusting at the waist and the shirt untucked, the staff assured me that I was not breaking health codes, but you could tell by the way I used my walk that my gender neutrality had crossed over to gender offensive territory.

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In shock, I entered a retail coma and left the store with the slacks beautifully wrapped in my first Zimmermann shopping bag.

The delusions stopped when I tried the outfit at home, away from the encouraging staff. The slacks were folded and returned to the store.

At the lunch I wore the Zimmermann blouse with a trusty bone MJ Bale suit and was treated to compliments from Nicky and Simone and support on social media. Across the restaurant there was a man with a whippet waist in the pants I had tried on, looking amazing and modest, but I will wait to try this trend again when they come in a size four.

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