Confessions Of A Summer Phobic Dresser

Hat awkwardness, 'picnic thigh' and the myriad perils of fake tan

Eylul-Aslan

by Dolly Alderton |
Published on

OK, I’m going to level with you. I wish it was October. Oh, how I long for October, with its bearded boys in flannel shirts and its good telly and its buttery jacket potatoes. As I sit here, in mid-July, sweltering in my misjudged jeans (it was cold this morning! I swear! And now it’s hot! It always suddenly gets hot!) and my toothpaste-stained band T-shirt, I don’t feel myself at all. I want me in October, in a wool miniskirt and black tights and thigh-high suede boots and a chic pair of mittens.

When it comes to fashion, I suppose I am what you would call 'summer phobic'. I believe people look sexy in two get-ups: either entirely naked or in thick knitwear, jeans and scarves. But that grey area, that bit in between – when you're half wearing clothes, half not – 'summerwear' as people would like to call it – well, it gives me the willies. Not only is it unflattering; it’s stressful.

Don't believe me? Oh come on. Some stressy things about summer include…

Sweaty trainer liners

Tis the season of flimsy footwear; ballet pumps, plimsoles and mules, oh my. Unless you are the proud owner of a blister-proof, sweat-free foot (use of the fashion singular amusing if not appropriate here) a lot of these styles will require a trainer liner.

Personally, I buy mine in bulk from the Camden branch of Sports Direct and can easily get through a pair, if not two pairs a day, creating a high yield of laundry. This is what makes the trainer liner not only the biggest nuisance of the summer wardrobe, but also the bleakest in aesthetic terms. Every summer my house is redecorated with these greying rags cluttering up the place, hanging limply off drying racks and radiators like skinned mice.

Picnic thigh, AKA lidless pots of warm humous gathering around reluctant swathes of bare flesh

Because the 20-something imperative is to appear like you're having inordinate amounts of fun at all times, summer weekends are scheduled with back-to-back activities to rival a corporate team-building away-day. A picnic is the prevailing time-filler of choice and requires a particular dress code. If you wear jeans you will be too hot and if you wear tights you will look too hot and everyone will shout 'Why are you wearing tights! RELAX, kick back, take a load off, Annie!' in that annoying way that makes you seem uptight and frigid.

The only option you have is to go bare thighed. This means sitting with your legs positioned in an awkward way while spending the afternoon self-consciously tugging down your skirt, or arranging handbags around your person to cover any accidental peepshow of arse or minge. Not at all joyless. Not at all.

Whether to take a jacket

What is your go-to summer anthem? Is it the care-free beats of Avicii or the timeless harmonies of The Beach Boys? In my house, it’s the bellowing ballad: Will I Need A Jacket? that I find most reminiscent of the season.

Every year between the months of May and September, a rendition of Will I Need A Jacket? is sung every night before venturing out of the house. The answer is of course: it depends how drunk you plan to get. If you’re not drinking and staying out when it gets dark then, yes, you’ll need a jacket. If you’re having more than four drinks then, no, you will not need a jacket. Because you’ll be flapping around bellowing about how hot it is ('I MEAN IT FEELS LIKE THE SOUTH OF FRANCE AND IT’S ONLY BLOODY JUNE!!') and you’ll put it down and forget to take it home with you.

What to actually do with a hat

You leaving the house: 'Does this outfit need anything else? Ooh, I tell you what might look nice. That lovely straw trilby I bought in the Heathrow terminal a couple of years ago. That will really complete the look.'

You arriving at the office: 'Everyone is looking at me like I have a pair of pants on my head. What do I do? When do I remove it? Do I REFERENCE the fact that I am wearing a hat? Where do I even put it. This was a terrible idea' and then you run to the loos and cry fitful hot tears of embarrassment.

The cycle of tan

Unfortunately, unless you’re one of those chic, fashion-forward girls with very progressive ideas on things, it’s commonly acknowledged that everyone looks a bit better with a tan. Even more unfortunately, without a holiday or a sunbed, the process of attaining said tan is a bothersome one. It goes a bit like this

Day 1: Apply tan in the evening, sleep on a biscuity smelling 'tan towel' to protect sheets.

Day 2: Enjoy tan

Day 3: All plans must be cancelled as tan begins to flake off but the canvas is not yet bare enough to begin layering again.

Day 4: Remove last traces of tan with an exfoliator. Sleep on it.

Day 5: Repeat.

This is a process I like to call The Cycle of Tan and have been known to sing it to the tune of The Circle of Life, whilst jubilantly holding up a new can of L’Oréal Sublime Bronze with the same sense of ceremony as Rafiki presenting Simba to the skies.

Pants

You can't really wear them with any summer garb without showing VPL. And that's fine until you feel comfortable enough to tell people you're not wearing pants and they shout: "YOU'RE NOT WEARING PANTS??!!" like that, as if you're hiding some filthy secret under your skirt for your own personal pleasure; as if you've admitted you've got a few anal beads in place for a laugh.

Looking like you're a contestant in a baby pageant

Rompers, pastels, florals, floaty cotton dresses and the like. Summer is the time when girlishness can easily get lost in translation and you end up looking like an overgrown five-year-old at a tea party. Cutesy is hard for any grown woman to do, especially if your face is in any way sullen when in repose (you'll look like a Rottweiler that has been forced into a tutu). But if you're a sort of shiny-haired, squeaky-voiced woman of apple pie wholesomeness, you'll probably be fine.

For those who look better in clean lines, sharp tailoring and androgynous silhouettes – well. I got nothing for you. Sorry, love. Stick on a cotton babygro, pretend you like Pimm's and join in the party. October is only three months away.

Follow Dolly on Twitter @dollyalderton

Picture: Eylul Aslan

This article originally appeared on The Debrief.

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