Back to black

Finally, it's summer. When you can leave the house without having to worry about an umbrella, a scarf, gloves, a jacket or cover-up. The tubes are stiflingly hot and hellish (although this morning's was gloriously empty) and frayed tempers are accompanied by flapping fans and stony glares. Outside, men are in shorts and t-shirts, women are in dresses, shorts, maxi skirts, mini skirts, playsuits, jumpsuits, cigarette pants, halter-neck tops, crop tops, bandeaus...and well, everything and nothing. All bare legs and sunkissed skin...and then there's me.

Just like Anna, in this Never Underdressed article, dressing for summer somehow terrifies me. Don't get me wrong, I love the sun and the warmth but what I wear to sunbathe in the garden is not commuter and office-friendly. As it's seven (almost eight) months into the year and this is our first proper bit of sun, I'm still relatively porcelain pale. It's not for want of trying and I have picked up some colour here and there (and as a result, look joyfully healthy) but I have somewhat of a complex about my legs. Oh yes, on holiday and in gardens I'll frolic around regardless but in London, I'm funny about going denier-less.

It's also a bit of a running joke that my wardrobe is practically monochrome; that coral might go on my nails or lips, but you won't find it on my body. I think I was sold into the LBD train of thought that everything just looks better black. And given that there seems to be a very blurry line between what I wear out socially to what I wear to work, I gravitate towards things that'll work whatever situation I'm in (yes, I have worn leather leggings to work).

It's 33 degrees today in London and I've just ordered some riding pants as if I'm gleefully awaiting Autumn (I'm not really). I should be ordering playsuits or jumpsuits - not that the thought hasn't crossed my mind. I already have 6 or so in my wardrobe - although, I've inexplicably grown since buying most of them last year, and there's no way I'm going to turn up to work in the equivalent of booty shorts...sorry Soho. It's times like now that I wish I had Cher's closet from Clueless, or someone (with an unlimited budget) to dress me perfectly for the office, the weather, the Hackney/Soho crossover, the body complexes - all in one outfit. Apply within.