The end of summer and a whopper of a newsletter
I’m back home after three months of nomadic rummaging around Europe, with the last batch of summer looks — in case you’re still planning your holiday — plus an (un)healthy dose of shopping suggestions
Another summer has drawn to a close, and once again I find myself both excited for the year ahead (I live on a fashion calendar, so September feels like January to me) and saddened by another summer’s passing. I regret not doing so many of the things I wanted: not being fully present with my family, instead frantically scrolling, checking emails, or arguing about politics. Not getting up often enough for sunrise swims — a kind unlike any other, so tender and delicate, the water fresher, cleaner, even denser somehow, its pink-glared surface breaking under your strokes as you squint down and around for jellyfish.
I didn’t run enough mornings. I neglected my physiotherapy, so my knees ache again. I didn’t eat enough peaches and didn’t get my hands all sticky. I ignored my sugar levels, giving in to hedonistic choices yet again. I didn’t read enough. I forgot too many things. I didn’t build sandcastles with my children. I skipped Russian homework with them and spoke more English than I should have, out of laziness. I didn’t conquer my fear of diving without pinching my nose, that strange reflex I can’t seem to overcome (though later I managed it, half-heartedly, a couple of times). I didn’t jump on the trapeze again in Hyde Park, though I ran past it countless times thinking, I need to do this — but fear held me back. I didn’t take Italian lessons. I didn’t see enough of my friends. I drank too much, too often. I didn’t start writing that book I keep promising myself I will.
Where I come from, they say summer is a little life. Perhaps it feels truer there, where winter lasts almost seven months and you don’t really live in those months (especially without a car) — you simply wait, enduring the cold and darkness until the warmth returns. I still feel that way, foolishly believing each year that summer will make things better: that days will be longer, moods lighter, life easier. And it is, in a way. But it’s also the same old mess.
I recently read that you get only about 70–80 summers in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. It could be more, of course, but also far fewer. Either way, you should make each one count. I’ve already spent 37 of them (and at least seven I can’t even remember, being too young). Half are likely gone already, if I’m lucky. Will I make the next one count? Or should I try to make each day count? Is that even possible — or just another overachiever, Instagram-induced lie?
As a child, I remember being so bored in summer. Three whole months stretched ahead, and it did feel like a little life, but mostly one of boredom. Little did I know I’d never have the chance to be bored again. How sweet that boredom feels now — that vast expanse of time, which I can hardly sense these days with kids around me and the relentless admin of adult life.
What am I trying to say with all this? Only that I hope you enjoyed your summer, and that we get another go at it next year.
For the past three months, I’ve been more or less living out of a suitcase (okay, actually more like three — oops). The kids get three months off school where we are, and we pack for every season before setting off for the airport literally on the last day of term. Over the summer, I’ve been to Turkey, London, Milan, Paris, the South of France, Northern Ireland, Copenhagen, and Amsterdam (where I had a job, so of course had to bring extra things for that). Sometimes I feel like a travelling circus troupe, with all my luggage stuffed full of clothes for every imaginable weather and event (bar winter in Siberia).
I wish I could be one of those people with a uniform, or someone who can rework 10 pieces into 30 different outfits — but I’m not, and probably never will be. When it comes to clothes (not the actual looks), I’m definitely a more is more type of person. And I’ve made my peace with that (my husband hasn’t, but we’re getting there). Admittedly, by the end of holiday (and 10 days in Italy) I could only fit about half my stuff so excuse all the repetitions hehe.
If your summer doesn’t revolve around school terms, you might still be planning a holiday in September — that balmy month of softer temperatures and quieter resorts. If so, you might find some inspiration here (I’m actually planning another little trip to Greece myself, where it’s still around +30 — eeek).
P.S. After finishing that piece of writing, I managed a few half-decent dives and even built a sandcastle with my kids. I’ve also resumed my Italian lessons on Duolingo. So perhaps it’s true — we can always just go and do the things we once regretted missing out on.
Going to Oasis concert
Attending a conversation with Tove designers
Going to Oasis, again (yes)
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P.S. I’ve been updating my shopping picks over on my ShopMy account, so if you’re on the hunt for something—a dress for an event, a great shirt for the office, or the perfect pair of flats—have a browse.
What I Read
Blue Nights by Joan Didion - It feels a bit strange reading this after Notes to John, where Didion is far more candid about Quintana’s condition, yet Blue Nights still reads beautifully as a self-reflection by one of the greatest female writers — on her failings as a mother to her adopted daughter, who drank herself to death. It never ceases to amaze me how women are so often consumed by guilt over their roles as both mothers and workers in society. A heartbreaking read.
Aftermath: On Marriage and Separation by Rachel Cusk - Another one of my favourite female writers, Cusk is, as ever, brutally honest in dissecting her feelings about the divorce from her husband of ten years and the father of her two daughters. However amicable, divorce is always a messy business, and she really dives deep into the “whose fault was it” dilemma — only to realise it’s never just one person to blame. It isn’t sad, though; rather, it’s meditative.
Writer Conversations by Duncan Wooldridge - A book recommended to me by a friend after I was whining about wanting to write but not being able to. It’s rather niche, as most of the contributors write about images (photographs) for academic publications, but I found it interesting — especially the parts where they discuss how they write and the books that influenced them. I’ve added quite a few of those to my reading list.
Vestoj Issue 10: On Doubt - I love Vestoj for treating fashion as part of culture rather than as a frivolous subject, and I used to buy it for years until it folded in 2023. It combined two of my passions — fashion and academia (I loved academic writing at uni, and Cultural Studies was my favourite subject at LCF). This issue reflects on the theme of doubt — in fashion and more broadly — with brilliant contributors and literary pieces. I savoured every page, to the point where I wanted to email the EIC and ask why she won’t relaunch it…
I Regret Almost Everything by Keith McNally - I bought the book after a raving review on IG from a friend who said her marriage started at Pastis and broke down at Minetta Tavern. I actually didn’t even know who Keith McNally was, and I’ve never been to any of his restaurants — but of course I’d heard of Balthazar and Pastis, thanks to their many mentions in Sex and the City and The Devil Wears Prada. Such is the fame of these long-standing institutions (nearly 40 years, in the case of Balthazar). It’s a fascinating story of a man from a working-class family in East London who went to the US and created an entirely new kind of dining culture that hadn’t existed before.
Scroll on for the 10 good things to shop including my favourite necklace on resale, some bits from the new collections, when COS does Alaia (very well) and Zara does Prada (also well), a super cool belts brand I found and a selection of vintage finds on the 1st Dibs super sale…
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