It is a balmy seven degrees Fahrenheit in Nur-Sultan, Kazakhstan today. Winter breaks between March and April around these parts, or so I hear. Cut to me making a paper chain out of construction paper, just to countdown melting snow.
With spring and summer around the corner – tick tock! – I am shopping for resort-ready items. These are my favorite seasons for which to dress. Yes, I understand this is sacrilege as a white woman; aren’t I supposed to be obsessed with autumn and all of the activities and clothing we are to wear during it? In a typical iconoclastic move, rather than layering on the plaids, corduroys, and sweaters, I long to shed the layers.
Perhaps this has to do with my longing to travel somewhere warm, but I want nothing more than to wear resort-associated clothing and drink a frose. Teggy French, Trina Turk, and Emilio Pucci are serving up Capri-ready lewks, ideal for stashing in a suitcase, and jetting off to the Italian isle. Perfect for jumping onto a Vespa and living la dolce vita, don’t you think?
