Welcome to My World

One day we’d be in Monaco dancing at Jimmyz nightclub, the next we’d be in a bar in St Tropez watching France and Italy in the World Cup Final.

The whole holiday was fantastic. We’d be in the VIP area of a club, when it wasn’t so long ago that I used to go to nightclubs and think, ‘Oooh, look at them in the VIP area.’ Being with other people made me think about everything all over again and enjoy things through their eyes. All our friends, they would be going, ‘Just think, we’re doing this, and next week we’re back to work.’ It’s great for me and Wayne to have family and friends like that around us because they bring us back down to earth. We try not to take things for granted but sometimes we forget how lucky we are.

It’s lovely to share such experiences with other people, but unfortunately they also get to see the more unpleasant side of being in the spotlight. The speedboats full of paparazzi, constantly circling. Reading stories about us in the newspapers the next day that are just not true. The attention we receive when out for the night, girls coming up to Wayne with no other intention than to make money out of a story.

I’m twenty-one years old now and I’ve grown up inside and out. I’ll always be the girl from Liverpool, but my life has changed in so many ways.

Whenever a girl asks for a photograph, they always say the first shot hasn’t worked out so they can have another. Always. Once we came out of a restaurant in Monaco and two girls came up asking to have their picture taken with Wayne. So Wayne posed while it was taken and then they asked for another one. On the second picture one of the girls started putting her arms all around Wayne, and you know that if that photo was sold to the newspapers they could just make up a story. It’s hard for Wayne because the fans are so supportive and play such an important part in his working life, but some people have different agendas other than simply having their picture taken with him. On that occasion I got hold of this girl’s hand and went, ‘You’re getting your picture but you don’t need to do that!’ She was French and asked if I was his girlfriend. I said it didn’t matter. In St Tropez it was unbelievable. Things like that make you see how sly people can be. Some girls can be really evil. I trust Wayne but I don’t always trust the people he might find himself around. People are so aware of how much money they can make from a small photo these days.

All that happened in just a few weeks, so you can imagine what the last few years have been like. At times it’s been crazy, like a fairytale, an amazing journey. I’m no longer the sixteen-year-old girl who appeared in the newspapers for the very first time after walking to school in that knee-length puffa jacket! I’m twenty-one years old now and I’ve grown up inside and out. I’ll always be the girl from Liverpool, but my life has changed in so many ways. And this is my story so far.

chapter two question: what’s my favourite sport? answer: cricket

From the very first day I appeared in the newspapers, people have been talking about my clothes and my fashion. That picture of me in the lower sixth, walking to St John Bosco High School, is always going to be with me. I look at it now and can’t help but laugh. It’s not something that makes me cringe, or that I’m ashamed about, because that was me back then. A sixteen-year-old, strolling to school with my puffa jacket on.

I’d been going out with Wayne for a good few months by then, and that day he was heading off to play for England. He’d been round to our house in the morning to pick something up, I can’t remember what it was, but the paparazzi must have followed him. Not that I was thinking about newspapers or photographers when I set off for school that morning. It was just a normal day. I’d meet up with my friend Kate and the two of us would take the same route as always, maybe chatting about last night’s telly or something similar. Then, that day, a man jumped out from behind some bushes and started taking photographs of me. Photographers really do hide behind bushes! He was snapping away, and I was shocked, but what do you do in that kind of situation? I sped up and kept walking. It just felt really weird.

Further up the street there was a block of flats with a car park in front. Kate and I passed it every day. You wouldn’t normally look twice at it, except on that day there was a car there with its bonnet open and a man peering inside, fixing his engine or something. That’s the way it seemed, except that the moment we walked past, the same man had a camera in his hand, pointing it at me over the top of the car bonnet, clicking away, taking pictures of me.

‘That’s unbelievable!’ That’s all I could say. That’s all my mates could say when I got to school. There was just this girly panic among my friends, like, what was happening? The buzz and chatter was still going on throughout assembly, so much so that one of the teachers came over to have a word. When she found out what had happened her first thought was to call my mum as soon as possible.

Mum went ballistic, but not quite how I’d imagined. I was on the phone telling her all that had happened that morning and her first worry was whether she would make the front pages the next day! ‘What if they got me?’ she asked me. ‘I’ve just been on the drive with nothing but my nightie on, pushing the wheelie bin out for the bin men!’

I said, ‘Oh, Mum! What do they want a picture of you for? They don’t want a picture of you and the wheelie bin.’

Maybe they did! But it made sense at the time and calmed Mum down a little.

But that was the end of the calm. The following Sunday one of the Sunday newspapers had printed a big picture of me. The telephone didn’t stop ringing, with aunties and my nan, everyone, calling up asking whether we’d seen it. Me in my puffa jacket right down to my knees and my school uniform underneath. Whatever I feel about the press now, there’s no denying that when you see yourself in the newspaper for the first time like that it’s an exciting feeling. You laugh at yourself being in this national newspaper, and it’s strange, and funny, but it’s exciting too. That day, I must have looked at that same picture at least fifty times. At least. But not once did I think what it would mean or what to expect in the years to come.

That was 2003, and although it seems like ages and ages ago it really wasn’t that far back. But things were different. In those days I can’t remember there being the same interest in footballers’ wives and girlfriends. Yeah, there was Victoria and David, and there was Footballers’ Wives on telly, but in real life the newspapers weren’t interested in taking pictures of footballers’ girlfriends for no reason – there had to be a story to go with it. Sure, I was seeing Wayne, and the way things were going with us I expected we’d be pictured together at some stage, but no way did I ever expect the press to be interested in just me.

You laugh at yourself being in this national newspaper, and it’s strange, and funny, but it’s exciting too.

It’s comical to see that picture again, and to think of the stories that followed. Back then, the majority of newspapers wrote negatively about my dress sense, yet today the same people describe me as a style icon, and commentators say that the fashion industry closely watches what I wear.

The Guardian has said I am ‘the leading style icon for British young women today’, while the editor of Vogue, Alexandra Shulman, who I did a shoot for, once wrote in a newspaper that I was ‘a phenomenon of our time’. My word! I’m not sure whether I would go so far as to describe myself as any of those things, but I do love fashion, and always have ever since I can remember.

It’s flattering to know that there are young girls and women out there who look at what I’m wearing and are inspired to go for a similar look.

I can never quite get over it when that happens. In Germany, a few of the girls went out for dinner one night and I was wearing a cream Alice Temperley dress with bell sleeves. I didn’t realize what an impact that dress had made until I returned home and the girls at Cricket, my favourite shop in Liverpool, told me it had been ‘manic’. As soon as the photograph appeared in the newspapers their phone never stopped ringing, with girls wanting the same dress. They could have sold thousands, apparently. In a different situation I’d be one of those girls ringing in. If I see someone else wearing a top or skirt that I really like, I’ll be the first to go out and buy it for myself.

Cricket is this top boutique with great labels. Justine, the owner, who’s become a friend, is great at saying what’s in and helping to put outfits together. She’s played a big part in how my style has developed over the past few years. It’s not surprising that people knew where to call for the Alice Temperley dress because everyone associates me with Cricket now. Sometimes you’ll get girls

Shhhh! Don’t tell everyone…

I don’t believe in slavishly copying anyone’s look from top to toe. The key to creating your own individual style is to borrow from others, add your own ideas into the mix, have confidence in your own fashion sense and, most importantly, have confidence in yourself.

Here are my six golden rules of fashion:

1. Never be afraid to experiment

An item of clothing will never hurt anyone.

2. The more money you spend doesn’t necessarily mean the more style you buy

Team up designer with high street and a touch of vintage.

3. Accessorize! Accessorize! Accessorize!

That doesn’t mean go all bling, but you can change the accent of an outfit just by adding a simple scarf or necklace.

4. Be true to yourself

Don’t be a fashion victim, wear what suits you no matter what the magazines say this season.

5. Less is more

Don’t go trying to over-dress in everyday situations. You can look good without looking like you’ve just stepped out of the pages of a magazine.

6. Have fun

If you look in the mirror and like what you see then that’s the only compliment you need.

from as far away as places like Milton Keynes travelling up to Cricket just to see me shopping and have their picture taken with me. I’m really grateful for the support but I do go shy when things like that happen. I just think, ‘That’s amazing, they’ve come all that way just to see me!’ One time, I was out shopping in Liverpool when a mother and her young teenage daughter ran up asking if they could pose for a photograph with me. They’d been to Cricket and missed me so they thought they’d try one of my other favourite shops. I suppose they had a few to choose from! Things like that make you feel really self-conscious but it’s also lovely to know people think that way about you.

I have my own icons who I admire. Kate Moss is always someone I’ve really loved for her sense of style. With her it just seems so effortless, as though she could wake up in the morning, throw anything on and it would look great. I wish I could do that. Of the other British girls, I’m a big fan of Cat Deeley. I love the way she puts her clothes together. She’s always fashionable but she never looks as though she’s trying too hard, managing to go out all glammed up but pulling it off in a casual way. Sienna Miller used to be a favourite of mine when she first arrived on the scene – she has the figure to carry off a lot of stuff that I could never get away with. At the moment I really like girls like Lindsay Lohan and Mischa Barton – they’ve got a lovely ease about everything they wear and they are always introducing new fashions and labels onto the scene.

I’m always looking at magazines for ideas, whether it’s Vogue, Elle or Marie Claire for high-end fashion, or mags like Closer, who I write my column for, and who are a great source for high-street designs. I really like to mix. If someone asked me to describe my style I really couldn’t pin it down other than to say I’m a real girl’s girl when it comes to fashion. I prefer pretty, girly-girl clothes as opposed to going for the drop-dead-sexy look.

In terms of my style, the one thing I’m certain of is that I always go with my own mind. I might love fashion, but I’m not a follower. I’m totally of the view that the most important rule in fashion is believing in what you like and trusting in your own sense of style. All my family and friends will recognize that stubborn streak in me!

If there’s a dress or a top that I like, then I’ll wear it no matter what other people think. Fashion is all about experimenting, and sometimes you’ll experiment and get it wrong, but that’s part of the fun of dressing.

Finding your own style is all about trying things out to see what suits you and not being a slave to the latest trend.

You’ve got to mix things up a little, combine designer with high-street with vintage. I might buy a pair of designer pants, but if I need a plain top I’ll go to a high-street store. If you find it’s not working when you get home then take it back! As I say, there’s nothing wrong with making mistakes. There have been quite a few times that I’ve looked at myself in a newspaper and thought, ‘Why did I wear that?’ But hopefully I get it right more times than I get it wrong.

My big bugbear is when the newspapers write that I have a stylist, as though I haven’t got a mind of my own and the only reason I’m still not walking around in a five-year-old three-quarter-length puffa jacket from H&M is because someone’s told me it’s no longer in fashion this month! I don’t employ a stylist and it really annoys me when people say otherwise. I remember watching This Morning just after I’d signed my contract to front the George at Asda range. There was a big story about how much I was earning and they had a national gossip writer from the Sun on the show. She was saying that my stylist had done a great job of transforming me, telling everyone that the way I presented myself, walked and everything, was totally different from the first time I’d met her. The problem is people watching that programme will hear something like that about me and think it’s true. A journalist from a national newspaper is on national television telling everyone she knows me, so why would anyone think otherwise? Except it was all made up. I’ve not been through some expensive Eliza Doolittle transformation. I can dress myself, thank you very much.

That’s one of the real downsides of being in the public eye; the way rumour suddenly becomes fact. A newspaper can print a story about you today, then tomorrow the whole wide world believes it’s the gospel truth. I’m not blaming the public, because not so long ago I used to believe near enough everything I read in the newspapers. Like everyone else, I used to think there must be some truth there. I’ll write more about all the rumours and rubbish that’s been said about me later on in this book, but it is really annoying when people believe everything they read, and sometimes I’ve found myself having to put them right. I always remember sitting in a hairdresser’s in Liverpool and I could hear this woman in the back having her hair washed and talking about me. It was around the time when me and Wayne were going through a rough patch and the newspapers were full of me throwing my engagement ring away in the squirrel park near to where we used to live. I was sitting there and the next thing I heard was this woman say, ‘Oh yeah, so-and-so’s taken the kids to the squirrel park, you know, where that soft girl Coleen McLoughlin threw away her engagement ring!’ I’m sure she knew I was listening, which made it all the more annoying. In the mirror, I could see the girl who was washing the woman’s hair and she just looked embarrassed. Eventually the girl told her that I was only a few feet away. For once, I couldn’t stop myself from putting her right.

‘You shouldn’t always believe what you read, you know,’ I told her.

‘Oh, I didn’t know you were there!’ she said. ‘C’mon, then, let’s see it!’

She was talking about the ring. I was fuming, but I also felt really ashamed because I could sense everyone in the hairdresser’s staring at me. I didn’t know what to do, and maybe I should have ignored her, but all I could think of was to prove her wrong. So I showed her my engagement ring, the one I was meant to have chucked away, still on my finger, where it belonged. She just looked and went, ‘Ahh, it’s lovely, isn’t it?’ And I went, ‘Yeah.’ That was it. She never apologized.

I used to gossip about celebrities like everyone else. My mates and I would chat about what so-and-so’s been up to, pore over their lives in newspapers and magazines, but now I’m always telling people not to believe what you read unless you know for sure yourself or it’s an interview with the person themselves.

I’ve had an up-and-down relationship with the newspapers. For the past couple of years, ever since I appeared in Vogue, on the whole I’d say they’ve been writing really positive things about my fashion, but in the beginning there was a lot of criticism about the clothes I wore, saying I looked a show, how I was the Queen of Chavs and all that rubbish. I’ve never really known what a chav is, I don’t think anyone knows. They’d criticize me for my Juicy tracksuits and my moon boots, or because I was wearing loads of Burberry. I don’t wear loads of Burberry. Not that I’ve got anything against them because it’s a great British fashion brand, but I’m not a slave to any designer. I wouldn’t say the criticism upsets me exactly – hey, even I look back on those moon boots and wonder why I ever wore them – though it can get annoying and a bit tiring. Don’t get me wrong. I know the press has a job to do. I also understand that the successful careers Wayne and I are lucky to have depend to an extent on media interest and coverage. But I don’t believe that gives the media the right to take over your whole life and continually invade family privacy.

I’m more into girly-girl fashions than the sex-siren look!

Everyone seems to have their opinion on my sense of style. Even Wayne. He prefers me in my normal casual stuff, like jeans and a T-shirt. Mind, he has also said that my bum looks massive in my Juicy tracksuit, but I don’t take any notice! Wayne just likes me in normal gear. He’s not big on me showing a lot of flesh off. Not that I’m much of a one for split skirts and low-cut tops.

I don’t really wear short skirts unless I’ve got tights on, but now and again I wear a top that’s cut a bit lower than usual. Or I might wear a chiffon dress or something similar.

It’s at those times when Wayne suddenly becomes Mr Fashion Expert! ‘I can see your knickers through that!’ he’ll say to me, or, ‘What are you wearing that for?’ If he thinks I’m not taking any notice, he’ll tell me to go and ask what my dad thinks. That’s his ultimate tactic: ‘Ask your dad!’ The reason is because Wayne knows that if my dad thinks I’m wearing something unsuitable he’ll moan to such a degree that I inevitably cave in and change. Not long ago, I’d been invited to a Childline charity do in Liverpool and I had on a sheer white dress. My dad took one look and said, ‘You’re not going out in that, are you?’ In the end, he made such a big fuss about it that I went upstairs and borrowed one of my mum’s underskirts. Trouble was, my dress was a bit shorter than the underskirt so I had to chop a few inches off the bottom. All night, frayed cotton was dangling down from under my dress, and every five minutes I had to keep getting a lighter out and burning them off! Very ladylike.

The same thing happened the other week. My mates and I were going to the local pub and I was wearing a white chiffon dress. Dad went on and on about being able to see my knickers, so much so that I nipped upstairs and put another one of Mum’s underskirts on. I should keep a few in stock really!

Dad’s one of the few people I will listen to when it comes to fashion. Maybe he’s one of the expensive styling team of mine that some journalist was referring to!

Fashion is the one subject that people are always writing to me about via my column in Closer. I’ve loved clothes ever since I can remember. As a young girl I always loved dressing up. When I was really young, I’d be in the post office asking for Just Seventeen to look at the fashion pages, and my mum would tell me to change it because it was too old for me. During the summer holidays I’d stay at my nan’s house, and every morning we’d go up to the shop for the morning paper and she’d say, ‘Go pick a magazine.’ And I’d always come back with OK! I must have been about eleven years old, but I really enjoyed seeing what all the celebrities were wearing and what their houses looked like. I can still remember seeing photographs of Donatella Versace’s home when I was really young, and thinking how amazing it must be to live somewhere like that.

One of the reasons I was so obsessed with OK! was because it was also my Auntie Tracy’s favourite magazine. Auntie Tracy is my dad’s sister, and when I talk of fashion icons there’s no one who’s had a bigger influence on my style than her. She was always the young auntie – there’s never been that many years between us – and she has always looked stylish. Auntie Tracy used to save me her fancy shopping carrier bags so I could use them for my school gym kit and she was also the person who introduced me to Cricket. I was the typical young niece, in awe of my trendy auntie, eyeing up her handbags and the shoes she wore, wishing they were mine. My nan and granddad own a pub, The King’s Vault in Garston, and I remember a family party there when my Auntie Tracy came along carrying this little black bag, with a clasp and a long strap, by Moschino. Even though I was only small I remember thinking, ‘I can’t wait to grow up so I can have a bag like that.’ I’m worse than she is now! These days, we’ve got the same taste in fashion – we’ve even turned up at matches to watch Wayne wearing the same clothes, a jumper by See by Chloé. Auntie Tracy’s was black and mine was pale pink. If I like something she’s wearing I’ll go out and buy it, and she does the same with me!

My mum would tell you that when I was a kid and it came to clothes I was an absolute nightmare. All I ever asked for on birthdays or for Christmas would be clothes or shoes, and I would cry and cry until she bought me what I wanted. I was never into Barbies like other girls, I just wanted a good wardrobe! One year it was a black velvet jumper-dress with gold sequins. I must have been about seven years old.

My mum said she would never put me in black. She didn’t think a child should wear black. She’ll tell you that I screamed and screamed, wanting this special dress for Christmas, until eventually I got what I wanted.

Afterwards, my mum, who was probably tired of my screaming by then, bought me these tights and little black boots to complete the outfit. Very disco! I think it’d be very in now!

My obsession didn’t even stop at clothes. At seven years old I started wearing glasses, and I loved them. The optometrist came to school one day to check everyone’s eyes, and when I failed my mum thought I’d done so on purpose! ‘Do you want to wear glasses, Coleen?’ she asked me, thinking I’d made it up to be trendy. I hadn’t. I was short-sighted. I might not have wanted glasses to start with, but once I had them there was no stopping me. The first pair I ever bought had multicoloured frames, and from then on I made them my own thing, a way of individualizing my uniform. I always remember a pair of Moschino glasses I owned which had question marks on the arms. They were great but I’ve got to confess, some of the glasses I wore were bad! These days I wear lenses.

In my early teens I went through a stage when all I wanted to wear were tracksuits. My mum was never really happy about that, she always preferred it when I dressed like a girl. But that was the trend around Liverpool for girls my age – Lacoste tracksuits and nice white trainers. My friends and I used to go out and hang around the shops; in its own way it was our fashion statement. That was part of me, going through those stages every young girl does when she’s finding her own style.