by 
In early January I found myself in seemingly endless layers of wool and a light crust of mud. I wasn’t so much surprised as to shrug off the cold days and the long, dark nights with several jumpers, an array of oversized scarves, and my daughter’s Ugg boots.
Dressing had become a purely practical matter, brushing my hair a vague possibility and doing something that can only be achieved on the most special of occasions. As a fashion writer, I view what you wear as a form of self-expression, but I projected an unmistakable air of lumber-friendly hermit. Not surprisingly, I felt a long way from being my best self. It was time to do something about it.
In 2023, after two decades (me) and a lifetime (my boyfriend, our daughter and our lurcher) in London, we upped sticks and moved to the edge of a tiny village in rural Northamptonshire. At first I felt like I had never been happier, but that first winter was a shock to the system. January and February are of course particularly difficult for everyone, a long hard slog after the excitement of Christmas and around 376 days each.
However, in the depths of the countryside the nights seemed to start much earlier and somehow much darker than in the city, our archaic heating system (don’t even ask) was quite an adjustment and my morning dog walks included conditions that included conditions that included conditions that Conditions included were either sub-zero or muddy enough underfoot to rival a particularly damp Glastonbury. My glutes had never been in better shape, but the rest of me…not so much.
I leaned into this new reality by essentially hibernating. My alarm would go off every morning at 6:30 a.m. (still dark) and I would get dressed in my dog-walking gear: an old, already muddy pair of jeans, a fake and slightly shrunken sweater that once covered my brother, thick socks with faded hens , stable Golies and my trusty Barbour.
This is deeply unsexy, yes, but actually a perfectly reasonable climb for someone who can brave the elements and probably won’t bump into anyone. The problem is that most of the time when I got home I would sit down to check my email and the outfit would stay put until I changed my pajamas into my pajamas at the earliest opportunity. Luckily, working from home as a freelancer means no one but the dog to judge me for my decisions.
Frankly, it’s not surprising how easy it was for me to slip way past comfort into such a state of inertia in Sartorial. Aside from a few questionable experiments in my twenties, my wardrobe has remained pretty consistent over the years: understated, simple, and androgyny with lots of denim, t-shirts, and relaxed tailoring.
I’ve always felt more comfortable than dressed up, and it turns out there aren’t that many steps between understated-chic vintage Levi’s, a navy cashmere crewneck, and layers of chunky gold jewelry—and unkempt shabbiness. But as spring rolled around, I felt lower and lower and lethargic. I’m sure the dreary weather and lack of vitamin D played their part, but the truth is that I can go by day after day without thinking about my appearance. I’ve completely lost sight of who I really was . So that’s what I did.
Step 1… the audit
First, I began a much overdue wardrobe audit. Thanks to two decades as a fashion journalist, me have Lots of great dresses, it’s just that I’m saving them now for the days when I go to meetings in London. I’ve tried everything I own, filtered out anything I no longer loved, and rediscovered old friends, and spent some time finding ways to fit them into my daily life-the factor outfit changes in those precious hours between school runs feels like a pain and I want to make it as easy as possible. It freezes so there is always a lot of artful layering involved.
I came to the conclusion that some things would remain “just ‘London’ pieces” for now. A few incredible trouser suits, for example, that make me look taller as soon as I put them on, but that feel like overkill when I put them on sitting at my kitchen table or emptying the dishwasher. I’m not aiming for high-octane glamor here – I’m still relying heavily on multiple, well-acquired variations of a jeans-and-jumper combination to elevate my look and raise the bar (not hard).
Inject little joy
Next, I dredged up every pearl of wisdom related to dopamine dressing that I’ve written and written throughout my career. I got a cheerful red mani-pedi and took the time to put on jewelry every day so that even when I was a little unkempt, I felt more put together. Bright colors and bold prints aren’t really in my comfort zone, but I pulled a red patent pair of ankle boots and some silver Ganni cowboy boots from the back of my closet and put them in regular rotation with Jazz things.
In fact, it just turned out that my shoes made a huge difference in how I felt. As I headed out to run errands, I put on a pair of Soeur leather boots in place of my tired-looking trainers. They’re flat and comfortable enough for speed, but the polished vibe they brought put a spring in my step. I started applying perfume and mascara liberally. I even brushed my hair occasionally.
And the result…
You won’t be shocked to learn that the effect was pretty instant. I felt more efficient, creative and energetic and (bonus) stopped withdrawing when I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror or shop window. One day I decided my outfit was wasted on the dog and I took my laptop to lunch, remembering as I did that I’m often far more productive when I’m out of my house and away from the distractions of the laundry pile I’m gone /stiffer/refrigerator. It’s not just that I wear snazzier clothes.
Something about intentionally choosing what to wear each morning with care and a little effort made me feel reconnected to the things that really make me tick. While I like to think that my fairly robust self-esteem doesn’t rely on external validation, I received compliments that gave me a much-needed boost, even from my daughter, who was astoundingly critical of my appearance. However, I won’t stop wearing these Ugg boots at my desk until it’s at least 10 degrees warmer.
