I’ve never felt more agedly out of touch than the time I arrived at Primavera festival in Barcelona. I’d worn what I’d thought was a failsafe outfit: a sheer, rhinestone-encrusted top over a skintight cycling one-piece.
The crowd around me, meanwhile, looked decidedly more low-key. In tank tops, khaki shorts, wrap sunglasses, mid-calf boots and lots and lots of black, they looked effortlessly cool, like they had just stepped out of a Charli xcx music video. Somehow, I’d completely missed the memo.
