The one piece of advice for Liz Truss – apart from of course, ‘Elizabeth, don’t’ – I would dispense should I be so inclined: invest in a black turtleneck. Our new Prime Minister, currently slogging it out with an actual lettuce for longevity, has something of an image problem. She isn’t the first world leader with a shockingly low EQ, nor is she the first to mistake impetuous decision making for competence, but what has outed her so quickly is an absence of style (in manner as much as in clothes) to hide the lack of substance behind. That she wore the exact same dress as a fascist from a TV show is so ridiculous it reads like a plotline from The Thick Of It.

Truss clearly has a massive public relations problem. Whoever is doing the PR for black turtlenecks, on the other hand, deserves a pay rise. For decades, this apparently unassuming item of clothing has transcended its apparent basic status to be considered something of a power player. This alpha apparel has been a go-to for everyone from Andy Warhol to Audrey Hepburn, Joan Didion to Prince William; they were so much part of Steve Jobs’ aesthetic identity, that tech-grifter Elizabeth Holmes adopted the black turtleneck as her own uniform.

Its beauty is the simplicity, which communicates a bold, self-assured composure. It is a confident, straightforward item of clothing and, incidentally, one of the only things I would say everyone really should have in their wardrobe. It allows the wearer to project either subversion or seriousness, or both.

And yet the black turtleneck can still surprise. Look at Kaia Gerber at the 2nd Annual Academy Museum Gala in slinky Alaïa – unexpectedly, yet nevertheless still very obviously sexy. Alaïa is one of my favourite brands, I wouldn’t ever wish it to pop up at PMQs. That’s not the point. But this look is a reminder that sometimes clothes say a lot by maintaining a dignified silence. The black turtleneck does that by amplifying the wearer’s actual words. It’s a smart choice for anybody.

Laura