Hold your breath for Mayfair's posh frocks

Led by Tete, a group of women of all shapes and sizes stormed the temples of Versace and Dior to question the exclusivity of high-end shops who (whisper it) don't want to sell their clothes to "ordinary" people.

Some volunteers were there to try on dresses they couldn't afford; the rest of us wanted to see if we could get our porky thighs into what they laughably claim are size 14 skirts and trousers.

Cinderella Flash is the antithesis of size zero madness. We could subvert the outfit or just enjoy the experience of wearing a £10,000 dress. All Tete wanted was a photo. No easy feat, in fact. Many changing rooms don't have mirrors — or the assistants keep barging in. Tete's advice was to send them off for a pair of shoes so you'd just have time to take a sneaky picture.

Knowing Dior was out of my league, I headed for the more woman-friendly stores. Of course the clothes didn't fit at Vivienne Westwood (including, hollow irony, the Fulfilment Dress), but the assistant brought me a killer pair of shoes. Issey Miyake was a delight — even when I admitted I couldn't afford the pleated, reversible coat (£1,193). At Alexander McQueen, the size 14 leather jacket wouldn't do up, and the ambience was that of a terrifying nightclub.

Volunteers involved in Cinderella Flash include Susie Orbach (author of Fat is a Feminist Issue), a Tate curator and a large Afro-Caribbean bank manager. Proof that women from so many different walks of life find fashion elitist. An exhibition of the photos opens today at the Jago Gallery, Redchurch Street, E2, then transfers to The Light in east London, to coincide with London Fashion Week. You won't recognise me, thank God, because the flash distorts your face.

I found trying on tiny designer clothes predictably humiliating. Even Prada's lacy cobweb skirts in size 44 wouldn't go over my arse. "And she's supposed to be an Italian Marxist," I cursed.

It makes me sad that so many of us feel inadequate for Bond Street. But I'm hopeful about the next generation. One twentysomething had the time of her life trying on ludicrous frocks. "I don't think we're big," she told me. "The clothes are too small. I'm the size of my mother and she's the same size as my grandmother. I'm normal." Atta girl.