RECENTLY I changed my hairstyle, no longer do I look like a frizzy version of Bonnie Langford - as shown at the head of this column - but, as a colleague pointed out, I sport a style not dissimilar to that of Friends star (and, more significantly, Brad Pitt's wife) Jennifer Aniston.

"Oh, no," I thought, when he made the comparison, "He must think I've gone into the salon with her photograph and asked to look like her".

Many of us are influenced to some extent by celebrities, by the clothes they wear, the image they create and the products they use.

I remember a few Christmases ago when people cleared supermarket shelves of cranberry sauce after the woman known as "Our Delia" recommended it.

Ms Smith was also responsible for a rush on a type of lemon zester after saying how useful it was. I am proud to state that prior to writing this column I didn't know what it was (it is a kitchen utensil) let alone how marvellous a tool it can be.

I can't recall the last time I consciously bought or did something as a result of a celebrity doing it. Yet many people are so in awe of those in the public eye that they feel compelled to emulate them.

The urge to copy is not confined to youngsters trying to look like TV stars. Since Conservative party chairman Theresa May - hardly a trend-setter - appeared at the Tory party conference in a pair of slinky leopard print shoes, there has been a rush for them, with women across the country besieging the shoemakers.

You would imagine that females of a certain age would be beyond all that, that they would have developed their own tastes. But no. The idea of a flock of Margo Leadbetter types, their Norah Batty-sized ankles squashed into a pair of dainty leopard print shoes, is as amusing as the hundreds of Kevin Keegan clones that populated Britain in the 1970s, their bubble perms looking like something created in a poodle parlour.

By copying their heroes, many believe that they will inherit their skills-- cook like Delia or grow plants like Titchmarsh (his programmes led to a demand for rakes and secateurs).

A man in our street strives to look like David Beckham, down to the broad tie knots (why is it only footballers that still have these?). I don't know whether he plays in the Sunday league, but if so I doubt that he will live up to expectations.

It would be interesting to find out how many kitchen cupboards harbour unopened jars of cranberry sauce beside long-forgotten lemon zesters.

From an early age, my four-year-old wants to look like Barbie, we start to lose our grip on individuality. It's as if anything we decide for ourselves is going to be wrong, or mocked. Would those conservatively-dressed women have dared to step out in leopard print shoes had their mentor not worn them?

People also feel more comfortable knowing their are part of something rather than branching out on their own. Five years on, Jennifer Aniston's hair cut is still one of the most sought-after celebrity looks. I swear I did not have her in mind at all when getting mine done. Although, I must say, I was flattered to be compared with even a small part of her.

My hair has since been washed and I've tried to recreate the new style myself with appalling results. Now its more Noddy Holder and I'm certain that no-one will accuse me of going to the hairdressers with his photograph.