Fun facts:

1. It was freezing, and I also changed in and out of the dress in public. You would think a dress like this would be plenty for August; in Estonia, you would be wrong. I’m not sure I would have worn it back in the UK when I received it either: I distinctly recall picking it up from the post office and spending two days at my friend’s house in Taplow doing fuckall while it rained buckets outside. Good times.

2. I put my makeup on AND shaved my legs in the middle of the park.

3. The president of Estonia supposedly lives in this place? The colorful building, I mean. Who knows, really.

4. I’m real cute even when I’m freezing.

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The icicles are each one of my individual limbs. To be clear there.

Since I moved home I’ve gone shopping more often than I used to, mainly because I keep running out of clothes to wear while I wait for them to finish drying, and even if I could afford a dryer I wouldn’t have a place to put it. This was one such time. I always look significantly better put together on laundry day, because when I have things to choose from, I always choose the same stuff. And I like that stuff! So on Saturday, while I was waiting for my jeans to dry, I scavenged around my closet for something to wear under my new shiny green coat — a gift from a friend — and go find myself a new pair of jeans, and shoot an interesting outfit while I was at it, since me wearing interesting outfits is such a rare occurrence.

It was cold and rushed and while I was editing the photos, I kept rumbling, “I can’t believe I wore tights for this.” But that’s week 1 of 52 self-portraits complete! (I haven’t picked the One yet. Possibly the one above?) And the coat is awesome, shopping was quite successful, and my jeans were dry when I came back.

It’s possible, however, that I lost the tights and the hairdo around Zara, and walked around in mismatched socks and bare legs in the middle of winter for about an hour. You guys, tights suck. Why do they have to look good?

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Is this global warming? Is it just weird out there? Some may know, but I am not one of them.

It’s not like it’s summer hot outside, but it’s warm enough to prance around without a coat on at 5 in the afternoon, and that’s a little weird. I remember this time in late December or very early January a couple of years back when I tried to shoot a knit dress under my coat, and not only did the pictures come out blue (I hadn’t learned about white balance at the time) but I pretty much decided then and there that I wasn’t putting on another dress until April at the earliest. I kept that promise.

It was around that time that I accepted I couldn’t stand tights no matter how good they looked, so it wasn’t all that hard.

I’ve become pretty good at shopping for myself — you would think you’re born with that skill, but it took me many years to figure out how I worked, clothes-wise, and these days I get a ton of use out of everything I buy. Half this outfit was bought on Oxford Street back in September — I’m wearing the gorgeous booties I splurged on as well as half my Primark purchases: sweater, and not pictured: long-sleeve tee, bra, two pairs of socks.

The jeans were the only (kinda) flare, (kinda) thick jeans I could find in town, because all anyone ever sells anymore is skinny jeans that are so thin they’re more like leggings and I bloody hate leggings and if I wanted to wear leggings, I would not wear jeans! Why is this a thing? I had a browse online before going to a few stores and ended up buying the exact same jeans I’d found on the Zara website. Even the store itself has changed and is weirdly disappointing now? But at least the jeans are good.

And so: a post featuring an outfit I wear roughly once a week. Comfy stuff.

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Lounging at the mini pool on the roof terrace at the Vincci Bit in Barcelona, or quickly slapping on a pair of heels and sunnies, getting the elevator up, taking the pictures and running so my best friend could catch her bus. Nobody has to know which these are. But these are the latter.

The weather wasn’t even that great to enjoy the roof terrace, which was sad, but if that’s all the pool they had in mind, meh. How about the beach five minutes down the street instead? Mm the beach.

I rarely wear sunglasses, but I’m obsessed with these Twiggy frames from SpecsPost. I think I tried cat’s eye glasses once when I bought my first pair, but the shops in town mostly carried stuff that was way too big on me so I looked terrible. These aren’t petite, but they’re on the smaller size, and when I put them on I felt that feeling I rarely get anymore where something just fucking fits. They didn’t just look right; they looked good and made me look good.

I am a cat’s eye convert. Unfortunately sunglasses aren’t really my thing — I look at these photos and I’m torn between “damn I’m hot” and “damn I look like an asshole who is also hot” — so I’m hoping I can get a pair of these same frames with standard lenses sometime, because I truly love how they look on me.

The shorts are from ASOS and the shirt I bought on a last-minute Sunday run at Maremagnum right there in Barcelona because I packed like shit and had nothing to wear on Monday unless I bought it. Maremagnum is a big mall and the only thing I could find that was open on a Sunday (it is Spain, after all), and it is situated on a pier of sorts, so basically I got to see the port and a whole lot of sea at night, which was impossible to capture well on my camera, but which I enjoyed immensely.

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I like to pretend my outfits are worthy of jazz standard lyrics. Let me have this one.

I also like to think if I saw this post on my feed, I wouldn’t bother to read anything written alongside it and would instead just look at the photos. I’m proud of them; there’s room for improvement, but I had a great deal of fun shooting with my best friend, and I think I look quite lovely considering… various things I shall not draw attention to. This is a cheap dress, and it has pockets (!), and the only makeup I’m wearing is drugstore lipstick. I carried my heels in a bag and they barely show up in any pictures.

In short(er): red is a lovely color, and Barcelona is an interesting place.

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It didn’t rain when I was in London in September until the very last minute — it literally started as Annemari and I waited for the bus to Liverpool Street Station for the train to the airport. Meanwhile, two hours in Barcelona and we got a serious fucking storm falling on us.

Judging by the photos, you wouldn’t be able to tell how much it affected my head — I still got loads of them. The next day was much better for me. This one, however, has the sea going for it.

I didn’t grow up by the sea; I don’t have that kind of connection that so many pretentious assholes people claim to have to the ocean. I’ve never felt I couldn’t live far from the ocean because, hell, I’ve been doing exactly that for twenty-six years. Honestly, it’s just a lot of water, and humidity, and I can’t even swim.

And yet. As Annemari and I walked to the ocean, my mood went from ‘mildly stable’ to ‘giddy like a five-year-old;’ my energy grew and I started smiling and by the time we were overlooking the sea from a little ways away, I was ready to dance.

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