I didn't have the highest hopes for this book, but it really did help me to define my own personal style. I found, after reading it, that there is one simple rule I need to follow: look at what Nina says, and then do the opposite.
To be fair, if you live in Manhattan, red patent stiletto heels and a camel coloured trench-coat probably look tres chic. But in the east end of London, it will only make you look like a prostitute.
Pretty much everything in this book will make you look like a hooker if you live a less than glam existence. Because style is about context. Seeing a camel trench coat and red patent heels on a rainy london night, on the number 38 bus, with the flickering fluorescent light is going to suck all the class out of your get up. It doesn't help that the get up is about as stale as the smell of fried chicken in the air. Really, if ever there was a book that would teach you to buy clothes that wear you, this is it. For all her harping on about rule breaking and unusual looking women, it's clear than Nina subscribes to one type of style only: rich, thin, new yorker, with shiny shetland pony hair. And frankly, I can't take seriously anyone who exhorts women to own as many pairs of high heels as possible. Heels are not for walking in. They are for being murdered in. I prefer my shoes to AID in my ability to move around, not hinder it.
Ladies! Do not buy this book. Get on to pinterest and make a mood board. Or copy Frida Kahlo. Frida Kahlo doesn't need context: she IS context. And she always wore flats.