THE TOPSHOP COMEBACK?

When I first landed in London, I was already on my second migration. I’d left Argentina six years earlier for Spain, and then Spain for the UK. So by the time I made it to Oxford Circus, I had Argentina grit, Spain nightlife, and London drizzle all stitched into me.

My first Topshop purchase wasn’t what you might expect — no skinny jeans, no bodycon party frock. It was a thick cotton, A-line blue dress. Practical, a little structured, still playful with endless possibilites for accesorizing. I still have it today, and it still fits — even after pregnancies, weight gains, weight losses, and all the body changes in between. It’s one of those rare high street pieces that survives trends, survives the chaos of your wardrobe, and somehow becomes part of your personal history.

That’s what Topshop was to me as a newcomer: not just fashion, but a shortcut into Britishness. I could walk into a shop, buy something off the rail, and for a moment feel like I belonged to the same world as the girls who grew up here.

So when I heard about Topshop’s big relaunch at Trafalgar Square, catwalk and all, it struck me in two ways. First, as pure theatre — fashion invading one of the UK’s most photographed landmarks. But also as a question: if a single dress can survive all these years with me, can the brand itself survive 2025?

Because the event wasn’t exclusive or behind-velvet-ropes. It was open to the public — anyone wandering through London that Saturday could stop and watch. In a way, that was the most Topshop thing about it. It reminded me that this was never about couture circles or elite invites. Topshop was always the high street giant that felt accessible — you didn’t need a press pass to wear it, and you didn’t need one to watch its comeback show either

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