I am currently living my life in the subdued yet warm tones of the season. Of course, the inverse nature of Australia's seasons mean that rather than running in parallel with the subtle opulence of the current fashion mood in the Northern Hemisphere, our main shopping haunts are awash with the fine cottons and saturated colour of an impending warm season.
I am a traditionalist at heart. For me, the tail-end of any year should be awash with bright-white winter skies, a biting chill upon exiting the house in the morning, and every outfit anchored with a thick, insulating pair of woolen tights. Instead, the closing months of any year in this Southern land are all about golden-tanned legs stretching from below a tiny skirt, make-up melting off in the eleven AM sunshine and finding the perfect navy-blue maillot for long sticky days at the beach.
But I am a master of seasonal denial, and plan to pretend the degrees are dropping for as long as I can in richly fragranced perfumes, fine-gauge knits in Winter's key caramel tones and legs as pale as snow.
