Smallscreen

The ongoing success of What Not to Wear, despite Trinny and Susannah's defection from the BBC, proves that viewers prefer good formats to famous faces
February 25, 2007

The BBC's hopes for an above-inflation rise in the price of the licence fee to cover increased costs and the digital television switchover have been dashed, as was widely expected. A regular feature of the case against the BBC getting more money is the large sums that it pays to big-name presenters. As a public body, the BBC is uniquely handicapped in not being able to keep such details confidential, while also being expected to compete with its commercial rivals by delivering the large audiences that these stars help to attract. Yet it may be that not being able to rush for the chequebook acts as a spur to creativity. Take, for example, the case of What Not to Wear.

For those who have missed it, What Not to Wear is a reality television show in which members of the public with terrible dress sense are taken in hand by two presenters and generally emerge not just better clothed, but also with more self-confidence. Until recently, the show was presented by Trinny Woodall and Susannah Constantine—two posh ladettes who used words like bum and boobs a lot and were disarmingly frank to their hapless victims. By the end of each show, the tears of frustration would invariably have been replaced by tears of joy—from the presenters, the punter and the viewing public.

After a cautious start on BBC2 in 2000, the show became a phenomenon. Trinny and Susannah became household names, valuable enough to advertise Nescafé. And then the inevitable happened: they were lured to ITV by large sums of money—reputed to be £1.2m (as a plc, ITV can keep the details confidential). Woodall said that the What Not to Wear format "had become stale." Following a massive advertising campaign, the pair were launched on a new series, Trinny and Susannah Undress, in which they again give advice on what to wear. Then something very interesting happened.

Faced with the disappearance of their stars, the BBC had to decide whether to ditch the series, recruit some high-paid celebs to replace Trinny and Susannah, or take a risk with two relative unknowns. They chose the third option. Singer Mica Paris and former model Lisa Butcher were chosen as the new What Not to Wear presenters. When their series started last October, there was little pre-publicity compared with ITV's campaign. And yet 4.4m people watched the Paris and Butcher series —a 20 per cent share of viewers. Trinny and Susannah, by contrast, got 4.1m viewers (an 18 per cent share) for their first ITV show, and within a few weeks it was down to 3.76m. The format, in other words, was more important than the faces.

Seven years ago, Trinny and Susannah were virtual unknowns working on an obscure cable channel. They were determined to get on national television and were touting around ideas to broadcasters—all of which were terrible. However, Vicki Barrass, an executive producer at the BBC, saw the potential for the pair if only the right show could be found. When—after a long battle inside the BBC—Barrass got the go-ahead for What Not to Wear, she called in Trinny and Susannah. The result has been one of the BBC's great successes: a show that is cheap to make, highly profitable and—most important—whose format the BBC has complete freedom with, since it is home-grown.

What Not to Wear is not unique. Two shows which appear in the top ten factual programmes league table ahead of Trinny and Susannah Undress are the hardy perennials Watchdog and The Antiques Roadshow. Other successful (but very different) formats, like Wife Swap, Who Do You Think You Are? and Time Team, continue to thrive. Such factual programmes generally have the same core ingredients: strong characters and narrative development with jeopardy, epiphany and resolution. In other words, they take the ingredients of good drama and apply them to subjects and ideas which engage us all: family life, the hope of hidden treasure in our attic, the prospect of improving ourselves.

But devising and executing successful formats is not as easy as it looks—it takes time, talent, a willingness to take risks and the capacity to constantly refresh the format. British television seems particularly good at this, as the constant flow of British-made formats across the Atlantic shows. It is hard to avoid the thought that it might be worth British broadcasters making more effort to understand and foster the creative environment that brings this about: they could get more, better programmes at lower cost.

There is an interesting coda to the What Not to Wear story. Trinny and Susannah may have lost the ratings war, but there are now two popular fashion shows on British television. Littlewoods, which sponsored Trinny and Susannah Undress, saw a 30 per cent increase in sales during the series and has just signed a two-year deal with the pair to write fashion advice in the Littlewoods catalogue. For Littlewoods, who have been having a tough time recently, this should prove a useful shot in the arm. It is worth reflecting that these desirable outcomes are the indirect result of creative space that exists because of the way the BBC is funded.