The clouds are conspiring above us to bring in their favourite houseguest, who always seems to arrive before you are ready: with summer’s lipstick still on your shirt collar, with half a bottle of white still in the fridge, and the picnic blanket still by the door.
Though there is still some summer left to give, in Cumbria the general disposition seems to be a winding down, a bringing in of the season, a final drink at the door before bidding goodbye. Things run here, I sense, to the equinox.
I am, unusually— most unusually if you know me well— rather looking forward to the approach of autumn; perhaps this is due to the fact that our seasons now are so extreme, and yet equally indefinable, that the fantasy of a crisp and clean cut between them is sufficient to bypass my usual disdain for the cold and wet. Or, more than likely, I have finally adapted to this northern climate after a good five years since I left the balm of the south. Who knows, but I might survive the winter with all of my toes this time.
Yet before I can usher in this run on oranges and burgundies and navies, I think it right and proper to send off the summer in dignified fashion, with a summation of how it has passed for me, in the stylistic sense. Now, we all know that style has little to do with fashion, and far more to do with a way of living. It’s more of a mode that I am meaning to map out here, I suppose.
Because I am asked. And for once, I am listening. [Is it just because I am in the midst of research for an essay which is going to be hysterically long and requires hundreds of pages of reading, and I want to pop something light and joyful in first?]
On Fashion — “Who is your girl, and where is she going?”
This summer has seen, I think anyway, a maturation of my style into something slightly more befitting a young lady in her mid-twenties. Not becoming sensible, by any means, but a refinement of palette and presentation, towards making more considered choices.
One great change has been the reintroduction of flats into my native footwear habitat. Flats have been Back In The Big Time for a couple of years amongst a very specific metropolitan class of the chic-oriented, at last chasing out the bulky millennial form of the doc marten. Once a beloved and much-consulted species in my wardrobe, the flat fell largely out of favour as the heeled boot population swelled into domination, but careful conservation efforts have seen a small-scale return into their old home. A pair of navy loafers were the first to arrive and have adapted beautifully to their new home, often to be seen with their companion species, the long blue/white summer dress. Next to come, a breeding pair of off-white ballet flats — unfortunately, these succumbed to a particularly energetic ceilidh and a lawn party, and now resemble more a napkin dropped into a gutter than a pair of shoes. However, their departure was not for nothing; they paved the way for star players, the red Mary Janes (and now they drop in price) who are absolutely flourishing in their new role.
I did cave and buy some Birkenstocks for city walking, but I ended up only using them to shuffle down to the lakeside at Coniston. Too late realised I am not a Dutch tourist. I mean, really. Can only blame it on an unnoticed interaction with black mould spores or similar.
Clothes-wise, this summer’s casualwear has mostly been about the Chic Rebellion for me. A sort of Anglo-Roman conspiracy, with brushes against the Parisian. This is the first year I have really understood what it means to have Really Good Jeans. Last winter I acquired a couple of pairs from a local vintage popup, and they proved an invaluable part of the Chic Rebellion uniform. Dark wash is always the answer. One a pair of Birkin-esque bootcuts, and the other almost verging on flares. The first pair, to me, is redolent of the Anglaise; a waxed Barbour, a good pair of brown leather boots (regret getting rid of the Reginas now but it was necessary to my sense of self), a button down, etc. Prior to the arrival of the Thousand Heatwaves, I most frequently paired these jeans with a Holland & Cooper rollneck, which I am looking forward to bringing back into rotation once autumn comes. The second pair— low-waisted, and impeccably ironed into submission so that they always have fresh creases, even straight out of the washing machine. These can even go over my favourite pair of knee-high black boots, which I was able to keep in use until late May, but I don’t believe in wearing black in summer. Dreadfully unchic, ladies!
My birthday party, in a newly brightened mid-April, demanded some celebratory colours; less for the occasion of my birth than the bringing together, in Kensington, of so many beloved people, which happens rarely now that everybody is spread across the country. Everybody was truly well-dressed, which is often difficult to say for a party, and I was very proud. As for myself, I opted for a slinky muted gold affair buttoned all the way down, extracted (consensually) from the wardrobe of My Older Sister, with the sweet white ballet flats.
For the first (actually second… damn) lawn party of the summer, I wore a blue gingham dress from Stocks (to be found in Henley-on-Thames/Marlow) which I can’t stop thinking about, because it’s my mother’s and I want it so so so bad. Grr. I wore it also for a couple of lunches, and it is just so beautifully versatile. Again with the nostalgic theme of the flats, the gingham was also something often found in my childhood sartorial toybox, although I got away with never attending a school that demanded the wearing of gingham. With this dress was a blue cardigan, which set off my new craze for the cardie. Consequent lawn parties would involve further blue-and-white dresses. For a recent largescale luncheon au bord de la rivière, I made perhaps my best acquisition of the summer; a dreamingly pretty Whistles summer dress caught up in the sales, which seemed to be waiting for me on the rack, my size being the only one left.
The final few weeks of summer have been defined by the shuffling about of three newer additions to the wardrobe — a lightweight red cardigan which has proved itself the sole necessity and greatest weapon of my mid-twenties thus far; the aforementioned red Mary Janes; and a drop-waist white cotton maxiskirt, a popular choice to which I have come quite late. Everybody else has been wearing the long white skirt all summer, and it is something I enjoyed but didn’t quite consider for myself, only the shape of this one really pleased me; almost quite 1920s, in my addled brain. These as a combination had their first exercise together for a weekend in Northumberland.
Finally, I have remembered about socks. Socks!!! What wonderful little creations. They keep my toes on and they bring such Clarice Bean charm to an outfit. I have been sporting some stripy socks recently, which is also easier to do sans bottes. Something about these chalky green socks with my red Mary Janes reminds me of a tomato stalk and it makes me so childishly happy. Clothes should make you giggle sometimes.
Am now approximately the size of a small house, however, after so many delicious meals over many bottles of thick, fruity wine, and so will be grateful to winter layers…
Accessories — “You can never have enough handbags, necklaces, and earrings…”
It was all about the gold accent for me when it came to jewellery. [Why am I saying things like ‘all about’? Am I going too far into the — should somebody — stop me? Is this even a bit anymore?] All trips to the continent, and indeed to any capital, revealed the vogue for simple gold bangles, and I immediately fell to it. Thick gold earrings, too, in that shape I can’t quite describe but which somehow combines the hoop with the teardrop. Bottom heavy.
My nails were painted red every single day, oscillating between a dark wine-red and a brighter tone once I had acquired the necessary tan. When I was at liberty to do so, I wore acrylics; mostly it was polish.
The beginning of August saw the retirement of my old faithful handbag. I transitioned into the life of the handbag hag after a tote-heavy spell in university, and I will never go back. Oh, handbags, how I love you. And how I loved mine, which I had picked up at the earlier mentioned vintage popup for a steal. Unfortunately, having dyed it at the beginning of the year after I spilled cough medicine all over it and stained the leather, this dye eventually began to transfer onto my clothes and caused quite some embarrassment in Hampstead, and almost the ruin of my second-favourite jacket, which being a few decades old, and having a velveteen-like texture, was very difficult to get right again.
However, the little god of shopping smiled my way. I bought my sister a taupe Francis by FB bag she had been wanting for a while, and in fact they gave me an extra for free. Yippee Yahoo does not even begin to cover it. Had been thinking already about the BAB (Big Ass Bag), a trend running wild hot child in the city, and now delighted to be indulging in it myself. Returning to the slight Birkin theme, I have slowly set about decorating said bag, and will be slowly and decisively curating some charms to attach to it. Currently coveting the Sylvanian Fluffy Parka Milk Rabbit keychain because I’m actually five years old. Need to make this baby a reality!!
Not sure how to categorise it, but hair must be discussed. This summer it was the longest it had been in five years at waist-length, though I get a lot of shrinkage even when I wear my hair ‘straight’. Lots of blowout curls, lots of braids, lots of little gold cuffs woven into it. Loved fiddling with it. Hated drying it. Last week, before popping into London, I decided that it had to go; the admin was getting to be too much, and the length was no longer chic to me. I pulled out my mother’s sewing scissors and divested myself of a good 12 inches of hair, so that it now sits rather politely just below my shoulders. I envision now an autumn of flicked-out ends and far more volume at the roots. I was blessed with plenty plenty of hair with a natural curl, but it does therefore have a tendency to get out of its seat every now and then. The trend over winter I think is going to be chocolate brown keratin press silky smooth old money 90s layers (roll your eyes and make a snippy comment about hair trends reflecting the political climate with me here) etc, but that isn’t where my hair will ever take itself, and I refuse to pay for a hairdresser to do anything to my hair. The original John Frieda Frizz Ease Extra Strength Serum — down to my final bottle, agh!!! — is a godsend, though. This length is going to be fabulous with scarves.
Yet my greatest accessory of aaaaall has been my beloved Paper Republic Grand Voyageur, which accompanies me everywhere I go. Compact, convenient, flexible, and most of all CHIC !!!!!, it is like carrying an extra brain. I use it as a commonplace book, storing everything there from essay ideas to book recommendations to recipes to interesting facts to strange things I hear on the Tube to political manifestos. etc etc. I urge everyone to acquire one. The ability to swap out inserts is unrivalled. It has been a year, for me, of recording, of personal historiography. I no longer keep a journal, actually, having written one prolifically for five years or so — I now consider this roster of offhand annotations to be far more indicative of my experiences.
On Scent — My God, you smell devourable.
Summer really began for me in spring, with a trip to Rome for some warm weather, to celebrate my birthday and also, of course, to kiss cheeks with mia cara sposa. Before I left, my mother gave me a bottle of Jo Loves Cobalt Patchouli & Cedar, which perfectly cut through the tourist jams of a Scout’s Jubilee coinciding with— oh yes, the Pope’s funeral. Now whenever I smell it, I see gold jewellery and the Flaminia apartment with its besotted Francophile decor. A scent that demands dinner by the ocean, really, but which works well in a city also; it has the crispness of oiled wood, the neatly folded corners of a white tablecloth at a darkened restaurant, cool-toned rather than the warmth that the website copy seems to suggest. Almost slightly metallic. The new bottle colour describes it better. If strong florals give you a headache, this is the sort of scent to go for. It lives in the upper region of the head rather than diving deep into its musky base. Sexually ambivalent, as so many of my favourites are. An assertive fragrance, you can’t imagine it saying anything less than it thinks, and— you know what, I’m just going to have to write a specific perfume edit because I’m really enjoying this. My burgeoning career as lifestyle writer… It calls to me…
CK One has been an Old Reliable since I was first given a bottle of it back in — honestly, I don’t even know when. Early teens? There is a reason its popularity has lasted through decades; it refuses to become dated. It’s fresh, clean, slightly masculine out of the bottle and then dries down into something at once aftershave and lemonade. Or at least, it does on me. CK One loves me back. I get every compliment going in this scent, and though I don’t wear it too often anymore as I have grown into deeper, more sophisticated perfumes, I always keep a bottle of it to hand.
Spent one holiday absolutely drenched in a combination of Vaseline body lotion (the yellow one?) and Aldi Hotel Collection No. 39 Poppy & Barley, which is certainly far kinder to my bank account than most of the perfumes I like. It gets a bit headachey if you spray too much, but the answer to that is: don’t spray too much. I don’t particularly like it without the creamy, softer base of the lotion beneath it — it gets a bit too sickly in that case, and needs to be brought back down to the skin I think.
As summer has dwindled out, I’ve had a brief dalliance with an old friend (and another more affordable option) in Floral Street’s Wild Vanilla Orchid, which is as gourmand as I like to get in summer. It’s a simple and very straightforward scent, a very literal flower and wood, but sometimes you don’t want complication; sometimes you want a quick spritz of something easy, and you want to smell flat-out good. It tends to get popped into my handbag and dashed on at the pub when I need a daub of freshness in between the beers and fries [did I mention I’ve become Aunt Sponge].
As autumn moves in, I foresee a transition into the bottle of Acqua di Parma Colonia Intensa I have just started in on, which should last me across into spring. I wore the Colonia Pura for most of this spring, and just adored it; and though they are somewhat related, they are not close sisters. The Pura is a bright, revitalising orange, very wet and very forward on its floral notes — a more balanced, less cloying colleague of Molton Brown’s Orange and Bergamot which I (confusingly) took up over the autumn/winter of 2024. The Intensa, on the other hand, has been wrung of all that liquid, and is instead warm leather rubbed close to the skin, wood and spice without the trace coolness of Jo Loves. A good transition, though, as it has so much to say to the Jo Loves of my summer fling.
Media — “Read anything good lately?”
Reading-wise, I will discuss that at a later date as there is more to say, and honestly my reading has far less to do with my style than other media, because I tend to read very widely and beyond myself. It is less oriented about the self, is what I mean, than an attempt to extend that self and stretch it further into new bounds. Yawn, yes. Enjoying my print subscriptions more than ever, though. LRB and Slightly Foxed abound in this household.
As for the screen, I finally finished The Sopranos this summer, and still haven’t been able to kick the habit of my Tony impressions — fortunately they are terrifyingly accurate and always hilarious and eternally charming. Don’t ask my friends, though. They have no idea what they’re talking about. I started watching it last year before a trip to Verona, so it has been a long time coming that I finally got to the end. It definitely affected my approach to hair (ie Root Volume). I watched Gilmore Girls for the first time, and surprised myself by really liking it; that sort of show, she says with her nose six feet in the air, isn’t usually my sort of thing, but I had a good time, and now get the pleasures of rewatching it as the autumn arrives. Perfect timing. Watched Rivals twice through and all Aidan Turner parts several times. A few good films, including Mike Leigh’s excellent Hard Truths. Some older hits — Parker Posey in Party Girl has given me innumerable new affectations. NATASHA!!! And I wouldn’t be able to name all the individual occasions in which I did her little I’m-so-bored-of-you dance. Watched Withnail & I so many times I think there’s a diagnosis ahead of me. But in general, I watch less in summer; save that for the dark, drawn-in evenings of winter.
Listened to a lot of Yé-yé, especially whilst on a little chateau (ish) break with a dear friend and a lot of white wine; especially enjoyed some Jacques Dutronc. My “Song of the Summer,” though, has been ‘Love and Death’ by Ebo Taylor. It will forever be tied to this summer and my endless slogs up and down the M6 chatting to friends and mostly obeying the speed limit.
And that’s all we have time for, folks. Or rather, that’s all I have the energy for. Now, for me, back to the fiction…
cari ! 💌