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ACC### EPT### ABLE### IN### THE### ‘80SArriving from London into thecrazy pulsing era of Manhattanhigh life of the early 1980s,I took some time to realisethat clothes were the body armour ofsocial combat. London – where I hadspent the last four years as editor-in-chiefof Tatler – was much more low keythan Manhattan. It was the ultimateupper-class put-down to be told, “Gosh,you do look smart.” In New York Ihad to unlearn all that fake diffidence.On my first day of work at Condé Naston Madison Avenue, I immediately feltthe charge of Manhattan professionalism.The grand tsar of Condé Nast Publications,the Russian émigré artist and editorialdirector Alexander Liberman, ordereda photoshoot for my portrait for the press.Detecting that the navy silk Chloé dresswith Peter Pan collar, which I had broughtfrom London, was way too jejune, I racedto Bergdorf Goodman to buy a Ted Lapidusblack tailored suit and Manolo heels.In the office in the 1980s you dressed forsuccess, but at night you dressed to kill. Ata black-tie dinner at the Metropolitan Clubin November 1984 my Vanity Fair Diariesrecord how I felt ambushed by “gleamingswaths of pearls; the peacock-blue taffetawinged shoulders; the frothy stand-upcollars. I found myself nose to nose withBetsy Bloomingdale, flat as an ironing-boardin a scarlet-and-cobalt velvet harlequin >``````Tina Brown fell in lovewith New York lifewhen she becameeditor of Vanity Fairin 1983. But dressingthe part? That wasanother matter. Hereshe recalls for Voguehow, uneasily, she had toreinvent herself in asuccession ofboardroom suitsSIA PRESS/REX/SHUTTERSTOCK and puffballs