hot hot hot

This heat is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I love it. No need to layer or remember an umbrella. Ice lollies and cold drinks in the park. Lying outside with the sun on your arms and legs.

This year I have come to terms with all the negatives. I'll soldier through the mosquito bites nicely adorning my limbs, even the red swollen infected one which radiates heat, and all the other inconveniences of comfort which summertime brings. Because I do love summer.

Summer doesn't love my style, though. It stinks up my clothes with sweat (so I'm too scared to wear the nice ones), makes denim and black burn on my skin, makes wool and cashmere itchily redundant. In other words, 75% of my wardrobe is useless.

I bought this awesome tee I've wanted since January (aha - winter!) last week in the sale but I still haven't worn it because it's just not summer. That's weird, because it is a t-shirt, but it's also delicate and black and macabre.


In the summer, I'm all prep: white DKNY jeans mini-skirts, short short-shorts, breathable cotton polo-necks in pink, white and blue. I thought that's just what I own which works with the weather, but now I'm wondering if maybe it was a subconscious stylistic choice. After all, theoretically this is a summer t-shirt. But for me, it's just not.