Had a meeting in Shoreditch yesterday. Super early o’clock and before signs of life latte.
Cold, coffee-less and for shutterbug-in-the-street Mr. L, practically combat – crazy van drivers down these parts – we kept it together and shot my OOTD to stay warm.
Once I’d pushed this one out on the ‘gram in seek of e-approval, it got me thinking I really do have a uniform.
Constantly evolving. Darwinian even. A finely tuned construct built upon the skin-baring algorithm I’ve been rigorously testing since school. Reader, I give you ‘the sock’ – or as 2015 would have it the sock-boot – an essential piece of kit once mastered, makes any amount of leg-flashing acceptable.
It’s a game changer.
Just that little extra ankle coverage to justify a multitude of limb-fleetingly risqué attire. And for that I’m a self-proclaimed pro.
In this instance, I tasked my devilishly handsome Dear Frances boot, then partnered with a go-to blazer to seal the deal. Any London girl worth her Vogue subscription knows – concealed pockets/pinstripe tailoring – it’s the only trick to have up her sleeve.
Sock-boots, sleeves, shall we just agree these are the rules to live by.
L x
boots | DEAR FRANCES
skirt | MISS SIXTY
sweater | BELLA FREUD
blazer | GESTUZ
bag | FENDI
ph. J. Andrews
All words, styling, silly faces and creative direction my own.