Dressed up for the evening or keeping it casual, with a favourite pair of shoes to finish the look. Take a browse — you might find inspiration for what I wear next.
The terrace, the last sun of the day, and tiles that hold the heat until evening. A little ivory satin top, a white skirt I only dare wear up here, and black sandals clacking on the stone. The olive tree has two olives, the candle won't light, and the sea stays down below. We never left the terrace.
I'm staying in, with afternoon light filtering through the apartment's white sheers and warming the pale wooden floor. My lace-trimmed heather grey tank and pleated miniskirt put me in a going-out mood. I add a black belt with a gold buckle and my black stiletto sandals. My big afternoon plan, though, is just cake and a catch-up with the girls.
My bedroom on a night with nothing planned. The fairy lights above the bed, the little lamp, and this navy satin slip I save for evenings when I feel pretty for no reason. Satin slides off the duvet every time I move, so I remade the bed three times. Bare feet on the floorboards, a mug of herbal tea going cold on the nightstand.
I'm lingering by a wall that still feels warm from the day, listening to my heels tap along the pavement. This black lace-up dress has me voting for a longer evening; my feet are making a case for home. I keep turning those little clicks into a tune. Honestly, all I really want is an ice cream before heading back.
A little past seven, the duvet still warm and nobody around to tell me to brush my hair. My old black tee, the teddy-bear knickers I fully stand by, and a floor that's a bit cold underfoot. We never left the bedroom — I have never made a bed this slowly. Okay, the coffee helped.
A winter street, cars parked on both sides, and a zebra crossing I must have walked twenty times for the same shot. The houndstooth coat scratches a little at the neck, the red beanie keeps my ears warm, and my bare legs are still not speaking to me. The red platform Mary-Janes clack on the asphalt, and at some point I started doing it on purpose.
I spread my striped towel over the hot sand and decide summer deserves a little extension. My black bikini is salty, my hair is too, and honestly, I love the whole situation. I squeeze in a few stretches facing the sea between swims. Okay, mostly I'm thinking about lemon sorbet and finding a tiny shell to match my nail polish.
I settle onto the restaurant terrace in white satin, taking my dessert plans very seriously. The watermelon is deliciously cold, the fairy lights come on, and I keep every drop away from my draped neckline. Okay, I’m making this sweet little treat last longer than necessary! Pink nails around my skewer, I’m letting summer stay out a little later too.
I turn the studio hallway into my own little runway, letting my 12 cm patent mules click across the cool concrete. I tuck a white ribbed tank into skinny jeans, then add a pearl anklet because I simply can't help myself. I call this keeping things simple while checking my nude polish for the third time. Honestly, the tiny details make me ridiculously happy!
Here in Bali, I leave my phone away from the lounger and measure the evening in swims. The stone still feels warm under my feet, my black bikini never quite dries, and the jungle keeps up its lovely racket. I stay until the lanterns come on, drink in hand, quietly hoping this evening has a few more hours to spare.
I head into the dressing room to pick an outfit, then get sidetracked by the clatter of hangers. The green and beige striped camisole stays on while I reconsider everything else, my flip-flops tapping across the cool tiles. I give myself five minutes to leave in my favourite denim shorts. Somehow, I still believe my own estimate.
I wander down the avenue in a black tee and belted shorts, with my keys jingling inside my tote. The air is getting softer, but the stone still holds the day’s warmth. I stop at a bench, take a detour and find another excuse to linger. At twenty-four, I always have another minute for an evening that starts this well.
I settle into this cream-walled café with an iced matcha and no interest in checking the time. My grey linen trousers are already creased, the wood feels warm beneath my bare feet, and my brown bandeau catches the sun. I stir the ice to make the break last longer. He asks if we should go; I order a biscuit.
I head onto the heath with my chunky beige cardigan over a black bikini, just for a little fresh air. Dry grass tickles my ankles and somehow both sleeves collect tiny twigs. I leave my shoes somewhere and decide that finding them can wait. As the sky takes on its evening warmth, I give myself another five minutes.
I spread my blanket between the hills and feel the sand warming my bare feet. The breeze gets into my linen shirt, while my lace shorts collect a few grains to take home with me. I keep promising to leave before evening, then come up with another perfectly good excuse for five more minutes in the sun.
I settle onto the ottoman in my Paris apartment while the smell of coffee drifts through the room. I keep my jeans, white tee and black sandals on because I love that little click of heels against wood. I let my feet take centre stage, dark red polish catching the light. I feel quite at home taking my time.
I’m lingering in this leafy courtyard, wearing my crinkled white two-piece and carrying a basket that’s far too full. Every little breeze sets the leaves rustling, but even the shaded stone still holds the summer heat. I keep hoping for a breath of air around my halter top and forget to check the time. My lemonade can wait a little longer.
I spend the day going from warm sand to turquoise water, which calls me back every five minutes. My satin cream bikini barely gets a chance to dry before I head in again, bracelets jingling as I go. There is salt on my lips and sand in every corner of my bag. I think the journey home can wait a little longer.
I settle onto the balcony for an aperitif as the city slows down, the tiles still warm beneath my feet. My white crop top and shorts let me enjoy every little breeze. I catch the smell of garlic drifting up from a neighbour’s kitchen. I keep promising myself I’ll make dinner, then finding another excuse to stay out here.
I walk down the wide stone steps with my black tote in hand. A white ribbed crop top, a slit midi skirt that moves with each step, and my black heeled sandals. I put my bag down and sit for a while. The buildings face the staircase, the city carries on around me, and I take my time before heading off again.
The staircase of my building, the one I run down every morning without ever looking at it. An oversized tee, no shoes, and that dark wood that creaks on the third step. We shot the whole series without leaving the stairwell — all I had to do was sit down and let the light do the rest.
It was thirty-six degrees all day and I did nothing but climb out of the water and get back in five minutes later. The pink bikini, the one with the little bows on the hips, never dries completely — and the stone around the pool gets so hot you end up walking on your toes. It's the only place I spend a whole day barefoot without even noticing.
I moved in last week and this room is still completely empty: a white wall, a white painted floor, a frosted glass window, and nothing else. I spent the whole afternoon in there in my crumpled linen suit, the one I never iron because the creases are the whole point. Barefoot on the boards, a worn-in red lip and nothing else. Apparently this is how you take possession of a flat.
I had promised myself I would start again. An empty room, a mat, the light from the window, and nobody around to watch me get it wrong. I dug out my old red gym shorts with the white stripes and went back to the beginning: bound angle, downward dog, child's pose. Barefoot, of course — it is the one discipline that makes me take my shoes off, and maybe that is why I keep coming back to it.
A mid-afternoon coffee outside, the sun high overhead, and nothing to do but answer a message. I had brought out my camel block-heel mules, the ones with the woven strap across the top of the foot — the comfiest pair I own, and the only ones that stay hooked on my toes when I cross my legs without thinking.
My black blazer dress has satin lapels, a tied waist and more than enough presence for a night out. I pair it with pointed black patent pumps on the wooden floor of the Paris apartment. Front, back, then down to the heels: the outfit is ready, now I just need an excuse.
A pink pointelle cardigan, a white top and a white denim mini skirt: my Sunday outfit made a little effort. In my Paris bedroom, the fairy lights are on and the gold ballet flats stay beside the bed. Take a closer look at the outfit; tidying up can wait.
I picked a white satin dress with pink flowers and burgundy strappy heels for this Haussmann-style living room. The tufted sofa, wall mouldings and parquet in the Paris apartment have dressed up too. I bring the heels closer before setting them down: a good outfit still deserves a sofa break.
A red vinyl dress with a latex look, round cutouts and my glossy black pumps: tonight’s colour palette was an easy decision. The pale wall and wooden floor of the Paris apartment let those reflections shine. I turn around for the outfit details, then give the heels a well-earned break.
Today’s OOTD: blue jeans, a cream knit sweater, a patterned scarf and camel ankle boots with a suede finish. Back in my Paris apartment, I put my bag down and return to the hallway mirror. The white sneakers are waiting by the shoe rack; I’m already enjoying the wooden floor barefoot.