Okay, so last week I’m standing in line at my local coffee shop – you know, the one where a basic latte costs approximately half my hourly wage – when I spot Susanna Reid two people ahead of me. And she’s wearing these incredible grey cashmere joggers that probably cost more than my rent, but somehow make trackwear look like high fashion. I literally audible gasped. The barista definitely thought I was having some kind of breakdown.
This whole obsession with what TV presenters wear when they’re not under studio lights started about three years ago when my friend Jake got a job as a production assistant at one of the morning shows. He kept sending me these behind-the-scenes photos of presenters the second they went to commercial breaks, and honestly? The transformation was wild. People who look perfectly polished on screen suddenly switching into clothes that actual humans wear.
I mean, think about it – we see these people every morning looking impossibly put-together, hair perfect, makeup flawless, wearing clothes that somehow never wrinkle or show coffee stains. Then you bump into them at Waitrose and they’re in ripped jeans and yesterday’s mascara like the rest of us. It’s both shocking and deeply comforting.
My first real glimpse behind the curtain happened when Jake snuck me into the green room during some weather conference thing (apparently meteorologists have conventions, which is both adorable and slightly concerning). Carol Kirkwood walked in wearing what looked like a designer power suit, all structured shoulders and coordinating accessories. Thirty seconds after filming wrapped, she emerged from the bathroom in perfectly broken-in Levi’s and this navy jumper with actual elbow patches. Like, professionally applied elbow patches, not the sad kind I tried to iron onto my old cardigan that ended up looking like I’d been attacked by craft supplies.
“Most of us basically live double lives,” one presenter told me – I can’t say who because she let me try on her Ganni jacket in the bathroom and that level of trust needs protecting. “There’s what works on camera, and then there’s what we actually want to wear.” And honestly, after spending way too much time researching this, I’ve realized their off-camera style is consistently better than their on-screen looks.
Take Emma Willis. On TV she’s all sharp blazers and perfectly coordinated outfits that probably require three stylists and a structural engineer. But I cornered her at some fashion event last year (the wine was terrible but free, so obviously I stayed for hours) and she told me her real uniform is vintage band tees and high-waisted mom jeans. “I’ve got about fifteen identical pairs of black ankle boots in various stages of falling apart,” she said while we both pretended those tiny canapés counted as dinner. “My stylist keeps trying to throw them out.”
Then there’s Claudia Winkleman, who I spotted at my local Waitrose looking like she’d rolled directly out of bed and somehow made it aspirational. Pyjama bottoms – actual silk ones, not my ancient cotton disasters – paired with Birkenstocks and this massive puffer coat that completely swallowed her tiny frame. The signature eyeliner was still perfect though, which honestly raises questions about what products she’s using because mine looks like a crime scene after approximately twenty minutes.
The men might be even more interesting because their on-screen options are so limited. Suit, tie, maybe a sweater if they’re feeling rebellious. But catch them off-duty and it’s a completely different story. I’ve seen Rylan Clark shopping three separate times, and he’s committed to this black-on-black-on-slightly-different-black aesthetic that somehow works perfectly. Always wearing sunglasses indoors, which in anyone else would be obnoxious but on him feels necessary for survival.
“I’m basically the opposite of what people expect,” he told me when I ambushed him at some perfume launch (I promise I’m not as stalkerish as this sounds). “They want glitter and drama, they get funeral director chic.”
Dermot O’Leary is living his best English lit professor fantasy when cameras aren’t rolling. I’ve spotted him twice at the bookshop near my flat wearing the same beat-up Barbour jacket with jeans that have clearly been worn into perfect submission. The kind of sturdy boots that suggest he might need to suddenly herd sheep or fix a stone wall. Very “I summer in the Cotswolds” energy, except it works.
But the real revelation is the news presenters. These people spend their professional lives in such formal clothing that you’d assume they sleep in blazers. Turns out, several of them are basically athleisure enthusiasts. My cousin’s friend works at a gym in South London and swears Huw Edwards shows up three times a week in full performance gear to absolutely destroy the rowing machine. The mental image of that man going from discussing international politics to smashing a 2K row is honestly incredible.
Weather presenters are my favorite study in contrasts though. Lucy Verasamy looks so sleek and professional on screen, all pencil skirts and perfect blowouts. But I literally crashed into her at a flea market in Peckham – we both dropped our finds everywhere – and she was wearing vintage Converse with this amazing 70s prairie dress she’d just scored for thirty quid. We ended up having coffee and she showed me photos of her latest charity shop discoveries. “People expect pencil skirts and court shoes,” she laughed, “but this is actually me.”
My most educational encounter happened last summer on what was supposed to be a three-hour train journey that turned into an epic seven-hour delay saga. I was sharing a table with Naga Munchetty – both of us had books, both of us were clearly prepared for British rail’s finest work. When we got stuck at some random station for literally hours, we ended up talking about everything from terrible airport fashion to the politics of on-camera jewelry.
She was wearing these perfect loose linen trousers in olive green with a white t-shirt that somehow hadn’t turned that weird grey color all my white shirts inevitably become. And the jewelry – minimal gold pieces that managed to look expensive without trying too hard. “On camera everything has to be so neutral and non-distracting,” she explained. “This is where I actually get to have style.” We exchanged Instagram handles for jewelry designers, which felt like a legitimate adult friendship moment.
What really gets me is how much more comfortable they all seem in their real clothes. Alex Jones told me once at some charity thing, “These feel like me,” gesturing to her perfectly slouchy jeans and oversized shirt. “The TV stuff is like a costume. You put it on, play the part, take it off.” Which honestly made me feel better about my own work wardrobe versus what I actually want to wear dilemma.
Louise Minchin spent years waking up the country in jewel-toned dresses that probably required professional steaming, but her off-duty look is full technical athleisure because she’s apparently competing in actual Ironman competitions. Dan Walker has a knitwear collection that would make any grandfather weep with envy. And Davina McCall, when not bouncing around our screens in statement pieces, lives in beautifully cut basics that look effortlessly expensive.
The thing that surprises me most is how normal they all are when they’re not being lit within an inch of their lives. Like, I once accidentally followed Robert Peston around Tesco for twenty minutes because I couldn’t believe it was actually him in a Rolling Stones t-shirt and cargo shorts. Not my finest moment as a functioning adult, but those shorts were genuinely fascinating from a styling perspective.
It’s weirdly comforting to realize that even people whose job is looking perfect on television still have the same clothing identity crisis as the rest of us. They just have better budgets and professional stylists to help with the work side of things. But at the end of the day, they’re also standing in grocery store lines wearing yesterday’s makeup and hoping their casual outfit doesn’t make them look like they’ve completely given up on life.
So next time you’re wandering around on a weekend and spot someone who looks vaguely familiar in a beanie and sneakers, take a closer look. It might be the polished presenter who delivered last night’s news about housing prices, now agonizing over which brand of pasta to buy like any other human trying to adult their way through a Sunday afternoon.
Madison’s a Portland-based designer who treats thrift stores like treasure hunts. She writes about dressing well on a real salary—think smart buys, affordable finds, and brutal honesty about what’s worth it. Stylish, broke, and proud of it.
