Dressing like a man makes me feel MORE like a woman

Square shoulders and precise cuts speak of sexual confidence

Angelina Jolie and Cara Delevingne favour androgynous looks

Sales of trouser suits have recently soared 157 per cent

Jackets and trousers are a woman's passport to power

Running my eyes over the rail of dark designer trouser suits and crisp shirts, I feel a frisson of pleasure. Their square shoulders and precise cuts speak of power, poise and sexual confidence.



But this isn’t my partner’s wardrobe I’m rifling through — it’s mine.



Dressing like a man has long been my style secret. Ninety per cent of the time I’m the one wearing the trousers — teamed with a shirt, a blazer and loafers or brogues.



Dressing like a man: Linda Kelsey is in style heaven wearing designer trousers and crisp shirts

Though it might sound strange to some, dressing like a man has always made me feel like more of a woman. In the workplace, it imbues you with instant authority. Outside, it has a coquettish charm many men are unable to resist.



And after a decade in the fashion doldrums, I’m back in style heaven.

According to Debenhams, sales of trouser suits have soared 157 per cent in recent months, fuelled by designers such as Stella McCartney, whose recent collection was filled with slouchy, silky trouser suits in cream and navy.



Angelina Jolie’s tuxedo-suited turn at the Baftas and model-of-the-moment Cara Delevingne’s prediliction for androgynous dressing have also sparked the comeback. Last month saw the launch of 56-year-old model Ines de la Fressange’s collaboration with Uniqlo, championing low-key, boyish style.

Cara Delevingne rocks a suit at the Mulberry dinner to celebrate the launch of the Cara Delevingne Collection

I’m not trying to make a feminist statement by the way I dress. It’s simply that to feel my most feminine, I need to feel comfortable.



Trussed up in a constricting bodycon dress, I feel victim instead of master of my clothes. Men’s clothing, with its clever tailoring tricks, is far more flattering.



My love affair with dressing more like a boy than a girl began in the Seventies, when androgyny was first in vogue. I’d been a conservative dresser in my late teens and early 20s — all cashmere sweaters and printed scarves. By the time my first marriage came to an end when I was 25, I was ready to establish a style of my own.



Working at Cosmopolitan magazine, I began to spend time with artists and designers. I had my hair cropped, swapped London’s trendy King’s Road boutiques for school outfitters where I could buy striped blazers, and ditched the women’s department for the men’s to stock up on spotty bow ties.

A style of her own: Working at Cosmopolitan magazine, Linda cropped her hair and ditched the women's department for the men's

Soon, I was modelling myself on Annie Hall, Diane Keaton’s character in the Woody Allen film of the same name. Annie was feisty, funny and feminine — despite dressing like she’d stolen her clothes from her brother’s wardrobe.



When the designer Margaret Howell opened a Mayfair shop selling corduroy trousers, knitted waistcoats and striped shirts for women, her expensive emporium became my spiritual home. I was prepared to spend a week’s pay on a shirt. No man in whom I invested an iota of interest ever attempted to remodel me as a girly-girl.



But if the Seventies were all about androgyny, in the Eighties a different trend took hold. Power dressing had less to do with sexual ambiguity than asserting authority — and equality — in the workplace.



On becoming editor of Cosmopolitan in 1985, at 32, I realised that baggy cords and waistcoats weren’t going to cut it.



I took to tailored trouser suits and knife-sharp shoulder pads. I had a designer trouser suit for every day of the week: Giorgio Armani, Yves Saint Laurent, Calvin Klein, Donna Karan and Joseph were my favourites.

Nigella's signature style is dresses that cling to her curves

In my high-end tailoring, I could knock against the glass ceiling. I could stride into a meeting and didn’t have to check on my cleavage when I raised my hand, or sneak a peak under the table to see if my skirt was creeping up. Jackets and trousers were my passport to power — and I’ve clung to them ever since.



And then, about ten years ago, a troubling thing happened. Girls started dressing for work like they were going out clubbing. They were turning up in skyscraper heels, flashes of cleavage, short, tight skirts with splits, and transparent blouses.



So hurrah, then, for this androgynous revival, which again feels fresh and new. On young girls it looks gamine and cute; on older women it looks polished and smart.



The High Street is awash with masculine style. Men’s shirts are back, but in soft fabrics and are less likely to gape across the chest.



There are great, slim-fitting, on-trend suits at Ted Baker and more conservatively cut ones at Hobbs. If you crave colour, Zara’s well-priced jackets come in sunny yellow, hot pink and sky blue.

