Buying patterned dresses is like investing in junk shares or - I hypothesise - marrying Russell Brand or Heathcliff.

You think it's thrilling, but after a day or two you're over it. Then it's on to the next high-risk endeavour, and before you know it you've got a wardrobe full of computer-generated squiggles.

Me? I tend to steer clear of them. Being a practical soul at heart, I try to confine my prints to a scarf or holiday tote bag. Or leopard print, which somehow seems to work almost as a neutral. If I'm feeling daring I'll go for a top or dresses that are so short it would be only seemly to wear them as a top.

I thought this was because I get bored easily, but give me a plain, grey round-neck cashmere jersey and I'll be as happy as Larry, so there's something else going on here.

Prints are a bit full-on. They're not that subtle. That's a good thing if you want to be memorable. It's not so good if you want to sneak into work late without anyone noticing that much. Or if you need to be able to say convincingly to sundry persons: "This old thing? I've had it ages," and not have them come back at you with: "No you haven't. You bought it last Tuesday."

You might think of that as wanting to blur into the background. I prefer to think of it as not wishing to engage in a humiliating battle for attention with a viscose dress.

You also cannot ring the changes with prints. You are not in charge here. The prints call the shots. There is no point deluding yourself with a pile of dress-it-up, dress-it-down accessories. You can shovel on all the clever, witty jewellery you like and no one will notice the difference. All they'll see is the pattern. The prints kill all the competition. That's why I like to limit their rampant egotism by breaking them up with large expanses of black - o r grey.

But the road to temptation is paved with doomed attempts at self-denial. The thing about prints is that, occasionally, one comes along that makes you fall in love. This is one such. And, like all decent Mills & Boon love stories, it began with hatred.

"Now that is minging," were the precise words that one of my colleagues spluttered when I took a particular print from its bag. I wasn't that crazy about it myself, but there's yet another '60s revival heading our way this season, so, dutiful to the end, I climbed into it and . it was like discovering that the geeky guy has an amazing sense of humour - and that a sense of humour is infinitely more important than looking like Brad Pitt.

In short, the dress has personality. It also has the ability, like all patterned things, to divert the eye from troublesome corners of your anatomy and redirect them someplace more congenial.

It's not even a particularly sophisticated use of print; there are some designers who spend days painting their own prints so that they flow with the body's curves, shadowing and accentuating all the right bits.

This is no junk bond. This is amazing. Revelatory. Money in the bank. - © The Times, London