At many points in my life, I’ve felt disconcerted by the multitude of possible paths ahead, and the pressure (or necessity) of choosing just one. In another life I’m a marine biologist, a chef, a painter, a champion swimmer, a puppeteer (that dream isn’t dead just yet), and in each of them I’m probably dreaming of this life now. It’s oddly reassuring, then, to step into someone else’s skin, let the camera take me to places I’ve never been, and feel things I’ve never felt, or have felt too acutely.

Cinema has a wonderful ability to erode the boundaries between this life and that, between ‘you’ and ‘them’ until you don’t just understand, you feel. It’s a kind of compassion that lingers after the credits roll, reminding us that we are all looking for the same things.

Sometimes it’s the image as much as the story that does the lingering: the traffic light casts green and red light across Angela’s face in The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, her passenger struck by her resemblance to his lost love; Luke staring out across the boundless desert of Tatooine, as twin suns set and Williams’ score swells; Singin’ in the Rain setting the gold standard for dream sequences, as Don spins effortlessly across a cascade of lilac stairs.

In fact, some of the films that mean the most to me are the imperfect ones with just a few remarkable moments – Bill Murray in The Life Aquatic, staring out of a submarine window and quietly muttering “I wonder if it remembers me”, brings me to tears every single time.

Over the years, without really realising, I’ve used those moments to make sense of the things I didn’t have words for. I’ve found magic in the mundane and learned to feel everything a little more deeply. Whatever I’m feeling – someone, somewhere felt it too. And they made a film about it. I think of Trois Couleurs: Rouge, a film about chance and friendship, so comforting in the face of uncertainty that it makes my heart feel like it might burst at the seams. I think of Amelie, how it makes me feel brave, and utterly in love with the world and all its tiny moments. I think of Kermit in The Muppet Movie, not in his swamp but in the desert, talking with his conscience about promises, dreams and believing. “Well then... I guess I was wrong when I said I never promised anyone. I promised me.”

Get to the point, Fran. What do you want me to wear?

Colour! The outfit that makes you feel like Dorothy stepping out of sepia and into Technicolor.

If we’re being more specific –  colours the way they appear on film, saturated and vibrant, Jacques Demy and Wes Anderson’s bright pastels, Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s deep red and emerald green. Satin, velvet, corduroy, chiffon; fabrics that catch and reflect the light, or absorb and intensify it. Clothes that make you feel swellegant, elegant, marvellous.

I still don’t get it.

Here, have a mood board.