I don’t know about you, but for me the joys of spring are always infused with mild panic. Birds are singing, lambs are gambolling, the mornings are getting lighter – and I’m spending them standing in my pants, whirling clothes around the room like a form of sartorial semaphore.
Yes, with the promise of blossom and alfresco brunches comes the expectation of a wardrobe overhaul. We’re supposed to crawl out of hibernation, peel off our polo necks and emerge: a vibrant, new-season version of ourselves. “Must-have” microtrends begin to rear their heads like cheery daffodils, magazines decry everything you bought last year as old hat (RIP slogan cap) and after a long winter it can feel bewildering, trying to remember how to put together an outfit that isn’t 90% wool.
