Irealised it had become a bit tragic when I recently opened a package. Inside the soft bags were two wide silver cuffs. Just like Trinny’s, although hers are from Tiffany; mine are “dupes”. A few months before, I bought a long silver chain made of little squares welded together. It was expensive and beautiful, just like Trinny’s. A wardrobe of Melbourne black (boring, says Trinny) was gradually replaced by navy basics, white rather than cream T-shirts, coloured tops and silver trainers.
Tragic. We all have people who influence us, but we tend to confess to the lofty, those who enhance our consequence. A boss who gifted us a copy of The Elements of Style (nobody famous). A writer who reveals the world to us in fresh ways (Joan Didion). A grandmother who taught us to crochet a blanket (Nana). A figure from history who left his mark on the world (Nelson Mandela).
In late middle age, I have Trinny Woodall. I could feign self-deprecation, but that would be disingenuous. I adore Trinny. Her joy, her energy, her wackiness, the way she jigs around a room throwing on unlikely combinations of clothes to look fabulous, and occasionally ridiculous. Her honesty about ageing – menopause arrived early for her at 45, and it was dreadful – and finding herself single at 61, dating a little, but requiring no man to complete her. “It’s so freeing,” she said in a recent interview. “When friends ask, ‘Have you met someone yet?’ I go, ‘No, and I really don’t care. By the way, how’s your boring husband?’ ” I am Trinny’s age and single, and I will pinch that line.
I first came upon her in the early 2000s on a makeover show she hosted with Susannah Constantine, called What Not To Wear (if you know, you know). A friend or partner of someone would secretly send in a mortifying video of this person walking around looking frumpy and tired of life (this wouldn’t be acceptable now), and Trinny and Susannah would swoop in, grab her boobs and say she needed a proper bra fitting, and encourage her to try clothes she would never have considered and that actually fitted her. Trinny and Susannah had upper-crust Pommy accents but were thoroughly high-lowbrow. At the end of 30 minutes, the woman would feel better about herself, or just more herself. It was fun and moving in a Queer Eye kind of way.
‘It’s so freeing. When friends ask, “Have you met someone yet?” I go, “No, and I really don’t care. By the way, how’s your boring husband?” ’
Trinny Woodall on being single at 61
In 2017, Trinny founded her beauty brand Trinny London. She initially struggled to find investors for it, famously selling her house and much of her designer wardrobe to help fund it. Its little pots of stackable lipstick and blusher combos and beautifully packaged skincare have been a huge success.
Her products are good, although pricey, and I can’t justify more than a couple. But it’s not about the products. Trinny is the face and the brand, with her social media reels of styling advice and dabbing on no-fuss make-up with her fingers. Trinny London is for all women, but it’s noticeably popular with middle-aged ones. Trinny is their cheerleader, their antidote to invisibility. I am fully aware that the industry relies on female insecurity, but we wear clothes every day (make-up is optional) and most of us have no idea what we’re doing.
Trinny has taught me to be more playful, that pink and green together can look fabulous, to forget trends and to figure out what suits me and what to avoid, and to never save “good” clothes for “best”.
I have never had more fun with clothes than I have in the past few years, and for that, I thank Trinny. She makes me laugh. When she was in Australia last year she said that after she travels long distances, she sticks her head in a bucket of ice. “It just brings your face back to life.” She’s unashamedly sexual. In a video for her Naked Ambition serum, she leaps out of bed, a strange man beside her. “Oh my god, I can’t even remember his name,” she says in high-camp tones. But she doesn’t have to worry about looking dreadful in the morning, because she, of course, has Naked Ambition.
There is a community around Trinny, a private Facebook group called Trinny Tribe, with 86,000 members. These are the diehards, women (and a handful of men) from all over the world who have an affection for Trinny. They share their OOTD (outfit of the day), ask the tribe’s advice about which ensemble to wear to the wedding/date night/gala/family barbecue, share the pain of divorce and cancer diagnoses, and cheer each other’s efforts. People like Val, an older woman and cancer survivor who posts “Monday Musings” about her ordinary daily life, lunch with friends, and visits to the dentist. In September last year, another member, Manny Martins-Karman, died “unexpectedly, suddenly and quickly”. Manny was a Canadian graphic designer, a large woman with a huge smile whose motto was “Wear What Makes You Happy”. Few people on Facebook knew Manny personally, but we posted memories of her gusto for life. “Be too much, be extra,” she would say, a radical message for women raised to be people-pleasers.
Trinny is rich and famous. She is not an everyday woman on a budget, has personal trainers to keep her super fit, and doesn’t pretend she looks like she does without botox. But she has lived with passion. In her 20s, she twice underwent rehab for drug addiction. She undertook 16 rounds of IVF before having her daughter Lyla, now 22. Her ex-partner Johnny Elichaoff, the father of Lyla, died by suicide. She’s been broke, miserable, suffered self-doubt and imposter syndrome, and she’s worked hard.
As you mature, you glimpse your heroes’ flaws, or you should. Former US president Thomas Jefferson owned slaves. Joan Didion was a snob. Former prime minister Julia Gillard opposed same-sex marriage for political reasons. Trinny, although she keeps saying she wants to buy less and “shop my wardrobe” [create new outfits from what she already has] is a horrendous over-consumer. One can’t expect minimalism from someone in the fashion and beauty industry, and at least she’s honest (sometimes sheepish) about her hundreds of pairs of shoes, her ludicrous number of coats, her Zara try-ons. I sometimes post politely on Trinny Tribe about how perhaps we shouldn’t buy from Chinese-founded, fast-fashion brand Shein because of the environmental impact of its cheap-as-chips clothes (not that Trinny would be seen dead in Shein). And I have gently suggested that Trinny could tone down the celebration of sequins for all occasions because they are plastic and end up in landfill.
Some Tribers agree; others say to mind my own business. I am far from a paragon of sustainability. Most of us in the West consume too much, throw out too much, and choose not to think about where our cheap T-shirts come from. Research from 2024 found Australians buy an average of 56 new items of clothing a year, more than any other country. Fancy that, a world record.
I can sense Trinny’s growing awareness of this, and she now talks of quality and buying clothes to last. And I cannot disapprove of her for long. She is a flawed life force, but a life force nonetheless in her fluoro yellow suits, her mad scarves, her silver cuffs, her generous spirit. “This is the best decade of my life,” she says. Of course it is.
Get the best of Good Weekend delivered to your inbox every Saturday morning. Sign up for our newsletter.
