the case for lace; Forget dainty gloves and boxy purses.

Byline: Rita Konig

After spending many years as an interior designer, I have developed an obsession with table and bed linen; the more cutwork, drawn threads, padded satin stitches, and heavy embroidery the better. When lace is sparklingly white and beauti ful I will pay just about any price-and I've done so well beyond my means. But as clothes? While my inner Julie Andrews has got me up hills when I thought I could go no farther, she has never enticed me to whip a tablecloth into a sundress, a la Von Trapps. However, since spring's catwalks have been flowing with clothes apparently made from tablecloths, blankets, and antimacassars, I have been forced to reconsider.

Lace is wonderfully, uncompromisingly feminine, but it can be nerve-racking to wear-there is often the fear that something lacy or frilly will add extra inches where they can't be afforded. With this in mind, the sharp cuts and slim silhouettes at Marc Jacobs come as a great relief. He's using pristine eyelet lace (or broderie anglaise, as it's also called) to make blouses, skirts, and coats that are smart and pretty, with an Audrey Hepburn quality to them. The eyelet itself is enchanting; it has a combination of delicacy and naivete, as well as a sexiness that comes from the way it draws the eye through to naked skin. This theme has been taken further at Dolce & Gabbana, whose spring collection is a broderie anglaise carnival, taking equal inspiration from Strawberry Shortcake and the underwear one might see in an Old West bordello.

Eyelet is normally reserved for trims, so it's a surprise to see it being used to make whole skirts and dresses. Still more shocking is the sight of doilies on the runway: Tao Kurihara's show featured trench coats whose skirts were made from those staples of Granny's living room, dyed black to give them a rebellious, punk feel. Interior fabrics are also in use at Prada, who have a sundress that looks like it was made from a blue-and-white appliqued Pratesi top sheet, creating an extremely neat, thirties Italian-maid look. These collections created from the linen cupboard can be peculiarly nationalistic; Jean Paul Gaultier's lace-and-fine-cotton peasant top looks like it was made for a Hungarian national doll, while Alice Temperley's version of the same thing manages to be as English as scrumpy jack cider and country fetes.

At Chloe, all the different uses of lace come ...