Living in Brighton, I walk past streams of people that I recognise but don’t actually know—the woman who dresses straight out of the fifties, the man with all the piercings, the man/woman who wears full leather cat suits at the height of summer, individual people who all stand out of the crowd. Safe to say, I am not one of those people. Secretly, I have always wanted to be. Not in the leather cat suit kind of way, but I have spent years attempting to adopt a trademark- a quirky hairstyle, a recognisable style, I even experimented with a trademark ‘walk’ which was quickly faded out. No one has ever pointed at something in a shop and said ‘That is SO you!’- I want them to.

I like to think (delusional?) that I’m not a fashion disaster so I think that a large part of the problem is that I am just plain lazy- it is far easier to sling my hair up in to a ponytail or just leave it plain unbrushed than spend hours casually coiffing it. Likewise, with make-up: I have it down to a fine art of mascara and quick crayoning on of eyeliner which, at a push, I can do without a mirror.

Now, it is summer and I have bags of time, I have no excuses. More importantly I have spent forever wanting a ‘look’ without really knowing if I can a) Pull it off or b) Be bothered so it is time to commit, and for a week, I will try out a different look everyday in the hope that I will find something truly unique, and truly ‘me’.

I decided to start with what I think should be an easy introduction: hair. What is the first thing people notice about Amy Winehouse? The Hair. Which, from now on, will be my hair too- at least for a day. It should be easy. It defiantly isn’t. First I have to backcomb my hair to ‘create a bolus of hair that will act as the foundation’ for my hair to be pinned back onto. I begin, but it’s all rather painful, and I’m looking more scarecrow-esque than Amy. When I think I have succeeded I’m instructed to fold sections over it and pin it or spray it into place. I’m meant to do this until I have ‘created a freestanding mound that can maintain its shape.’ It takes a long, long time and when I am finished, not only is it lopsided in a slightly manic ‘Leaning Tower of Pisa’ way, but it is also so full of pins that no one could run their hands lovingly through my hair for fear of serious injury- not that they could anyway as it is a rock hard, hair spray statue. It is not a good look. Next.

I guess I better start somewhere easier. Make up then? Seeing as I do it everyday, albeit very quickly, this will be a piece of cake. Taking my inspiration from Dita Von Teese, I decide to go for the fifties look. Judging from my hair attempts, I am going to need some time, so I get up super early so that I can make it on time to meet some friends at the beach later. I cover my face in foundation and powder, I fully line my eyes, pencil my eyebrows very dark, struggle to apply false eyelashes (they stick to my fingers, my sinks, my nose, and finally my eyelids). Then the red lipstick. Lipstick scares me. It makes me feel about five years old, as though I have been allowed to play with my mother’s make up. I persevere and look like a child let loose on a pot of strawberry jam. I force myself to go out and for a while it is quite fun, like I’m in fancy dress- but soon I start having fun in the sun and forget to ‘maintain’ it. I return home, look in the mirror, and the Joker from Batman is staring back. It may be a look of sorts, but it is certainly not a winning one.

Maybe I should have started with the clothes instead. I look through my wardrobe and realise how eclectic it is- it shouldn’t be hard to pull together some ‘looks’ from this, should it? The next day, drawing my inspiration from Oxford no less, I begin with ‘geek chic’, although I am hoping that I will verge less towards the Ugly Betty end of the scale. Hello to high waist check shorts, tucked in polo shirt, braces, knee length socks and plimsoles. Topped off with some librarian glasses (clear lense) I head out. A hen party thinks I am one of them, and then swiftly realises our school uniforms aren’t quite in the same vein. I head to the library to find some fellows. Everyone is in jeans. I feel slightly alone. I take my glasses off, ping my braces and go back to start again.

I decide to be a little more grown up. The next day I try a pencil skirt, a high neck shirt, black tights, some very, very high shoes and a tonne of necklaces. I totter about for about ten minutes and then I get a heel caught in the pavement. I huff and puff, jank hard, and necklaces a jangling, I am off again. Until it happens again. I’m not very good at this.

I head onto the Internet for some inspiration. INstyle points me towards the bohemian look and I dig out a maxi dress that has not seen the light of day, some sandals, a whole load of bangles and a headband. As a look, I like it. Then I look out the window, and it is a scene reminiscent of Hurricane Hector. Fearing a duffel coat won’t quite complete the look I bravely head out anyway- within minutes my dress has soaked up so much water from the pavement that it looks distinctly tie-dyed and my sandals are causing me to do my best impression of a drunken rollerblader as I slip and slide all over the pavement. People are definitely noticing me- but only because my dress occasionally wraps itself round my ankles and I fall into them.

When I start trying to base a whole look around a hat (Oliver Twist chic?), I decide to stop. The problem is, that forcing yourself into a ‘style’ leaves you wallowing in a perpetual state of fancy dress. Style, I realise, is not about copying- and whilst I might want to stand out, replicating something I’ve seen on someone else just doesn’t work, at best it looks a little try hard and at worst, people will laugh… and point. From now on I will try a little harder, and at least, even though I haven’t found a look that is ‘me’, I know precisely what isn’t.

There is a dark side to British summertime; it is not caused by the gathering rain clouds that threaten to ruin our days out but by the pressure that many of us feel to acquire the perfect tan. At the first sign of sun people up and down the country don their skimpiest outfits and go outside to ‘work’ on their tans. According to the BBC, in 2005 UK citizens spent £40m on tanning, with three million of these people using sun beds. Following in the footsteps of Cheryl Cole and Carly Zucker many now consider it essential to have an all-year-round glow; fake bake and sun beds can be used to maintain a caramel hew so there really is no excuse to look pasty. But why is tanning considered to be so desirable? Arguably a tan covers up all manner of sins, hiding blemishes and any uneven texture, making the skin appear to be healthier. Having a tan is often seen as a status symbol; proof that you have been on an expensive overseas holiday or that you can afford the time to simply lie around in the sun soaking up the rays; bronzed skin is the ultimate summertime accessory. Unfortunately, like almost everything fun, tanning is not very good for your health.

The risks of tanning are well documented: whether sunbathing outside or inside on a sun bed you are exposing your body to UV rays which can damage skin cells and cause skin cancer. Whilst fake tanning won’t kill you it should also come with a warning attached, something along the lines of: ‘Will make you smell like a digestive biscuit and if misused can make you look like an over ripe clementine.’ Most of the general public tend to ignore the physical and social dangers caused by tanning and do it anyway, leaving orange stains on bed sheets across the nation or worse, leaving their skin permanently damaged. Some self confessed ‘tanorexics’ even go so far as to take the interest to obsession and simply cannot function in everyday life without a tan. Sometimes I would like to hark back to a time when it was preferable to be pale, when tanned skin was seen as a sign that one belonged to a labouring class who spent their days in the fields. I would have suited this general fashion for pale skin much better (no toxic lead based powders or bulky parasols for me!) because, you see, try as I might I cannot tan. Several years ago, just before a trip to Spain with a friend, I warned her of my inability to catch the sun’s rays. She smiled and assured me that after the fortnight long holiday I would be guaranteed a healthy glow, just like her own. Fast forward two weeks and there I was back in the airport looking like I’d never left the cloud cover of the UK, no-one could believe that my friend and I had been on holiday to the same place because our skin tones told very different stories! At the time I was fairly disappointed but now I really couldn’t care less…

For those of you lucky enough to have skin that tans easily, embrace it, but for those who don’t, there is nothing wrong with being pale and interesting! Some people look great with a tan whilst others suit a more ethereal complexion; Nicole Kidman, Dita Von Teese and Lily Cole to name but a few. In some cultures it is preferable to be pale, in others it is desirable to be dark; at some points in history pale skin has been admired whereas at others times tanned skin has been more popular. It is all a question of fashion. But whether we are attempting to lighten or darker our skin, appearance should never become a more important factor than health. So over the next few months protect your outer layer and don’t feel pressurised to change what nature gave you. There has never been a better time to love your skin.