Whilst sitting at university today, pondering weighty matters of the universe and generally achieving nothing, I noticed how reflective I was of my surroudnings. The near-setting sun seemed to leave only blues, greys and purples in the spectrum of light, which tied together my outfit and the flowers in a most delicious way. I seem to have this strange, obsessive facet of my aesthetic that when fulfilled, say, by a coherent palette or harmonious details, delivers a lovely calm and satisfaction.

Perhaps this is why I take such pleasure in constructing my outfits. It's often more satisfying when I dress for night-time escapades, because there's an absence of the rush and artistic constraint than accompanies my morning dressing. And, whilst I despise the sick irony of this, I actually feel more comfortable dressing unconventionally. On high rotation at the moment are silk kimonos and tops from foreign eras. My inhibitions regarding clothing come down to feeling 'fat' (in inverted commas for it's high subjectivity) which is an entirely separate thing to fearing odd looks and assumptions.

I wouldn't describe myself as particularly edgy or cool. Rather, I think I'm attuned to visual fluency, and take genuine pleasure in what is literally just putting on clothes.