A winter in the countryside left me feeling dowdy. Here’s how I got my fashion mojo back

At the beginning of January I found myself cocooned in seemingly endless layers of wool and a light crust of mud. I wasn’t so much wintering as sliding into disrepair, fending off the cold days and long, dark nights with multiple jumpers, a series of oversized scarves and my daughter’s UGG boots.

Getting dressed had become a purely practical matter, brushing my hair a vague possibility and make-up something to be reached for only on the most special of occasions. As a fashion writer, I regard what you wear as a form of self-expression, but I was projecting an unmistakable air of wood-dwelling hermit. Unsurprisingly, I felt a long way from my best self. It was time to do something about it.

In 2023, after two decades (me) and a lifetime (my boyfriend, our daughter and our lurcher) in London, we upped sticks and moved to the edge of a tiny village in rural Northamptonshire. At first I felt that I had never been more content, but that first winter was a shock to the system. January and February are, of course, particularly tough for everyone, a long hard slog after the excitement of Christmas and each approximately 376 days long.

In the depths of the countryside, though, the nights seemed to start much earlier and somehow be much darker than in the city, our archaic heating system (don’t even ask) was quite an adjustment, and my morning dog walks involved conditions that were either sub-zero or muddy enough underfoot to rival a particularly soggy Glastonbury. My glutes had never been in better shape but the rest of me…not so much.

I leaned into this new reality by essentially hibernating. My alarm would go off at 6.30am (still dark) each morning and I’d get dressed in my dog walking gear: an old, already muddy pair of jeans, a misshapen and slightly shrunken jumper that was once my brother’s, thick socks covered in faded chickens, sturdy wellies and my trusty Barbour.

This is deeply unsexy, yes, but actually a perfectly reasonable get-up for someone braving the elements and unlikely to bump into anyone. The problem is that more often than not when I got home, I’d sit down to check my emails and the outfit would remain until I changed into my pyjamas at the earliest possible opportunity. Thankfully, working from home as a freelancer means having no-one but the dog to judge me for my choices. 

In all honesty it’s not surprising how easy it was for me to slip far beyond comfort into such a state of sartorial inertia. Aside from some questionable experimentation in my twenties, my wardrobe has remained pretty consistent over the years: understated, easy and androgynous featuring a lot of denim, t-shirts and relaxed tailoring.

I’ve always felt more comfortable dressed down than up, and it turns out that there aren’t that many steps between low-key chic – vintage Levi’s, a navy cashmere crewneck and layers of chunky gold jewellery, say – and unkempt shabbiness. But by the time spring rolled around I felt increasingly low and lethargic. I’m sure the bleak weather and lack of Vitamin D played their part, but the truth is that letting day after day go past without giving any thought to my appearance left me feeling not just dowdy and wizened beyond my 42 years but as though I’d completely lost sight of who I really was. So, this is what I did.

Step 1… the audit

First, I embarked on a much overdue wardrobe audit. Thanks to two decades working as a fashion journalist, I have plenty of great clothes, it’s just that I now save them for the days that I head down to London for meetings. I tried on everything I own, filtering out anything I no longer loved and rediscovering old friends in the process, and spent some time figuring out ways of wearing them that fit into my day-to-day life – factoring outfit changes into the precious hours between school runs feels like a pain and I want to make it as straightforward as possible. It’s freezing so there’s always a lot of artful layering involved.

I came to the conclusion that some things were going to remain ‘London-only’ pieces for now; a couple of incredible trouser suits, for example, that make me stand taller as soon as I put them on but that feel like overkill when I wear them sitting at my kitchen table or emptying the dishwasher. I’m not aiming for high-octane glamour here – I’m still relying heavily on multiple, well-accessorised variations of a jeans-and-jumper combo – just to elevate my look and raise the bar (not hard).

Inject little hits of joy

Next, I dredged up every pearl of wisdom related to dopamine dressing that I’ve gleaned and written throughout my career. I got a cheery red mani-pedi and took the time to put on jewellery every day, so that even when I was a bit scruffy I felt more put together. Bright colours and bold prints aren’t really in my comfort zone but I dragged a red patent pair of ankle boots and some silver Ganni cowboy boots from the back of my closet and got them in regular rotation to jazz things up.

In fact, simply changing my footwear turned out to make a huge difference to how I felt. When I headed out to run errands, I pulled on a pair of Soeur leather boots instead of my tired-looking trainers; they’re flat and comfortable enough for speed but the polished vibe they brought put a spring in my step. I started liberally applying perfume and mascara. I even occasionally brush my hair.

And the result…

You won’t be shocked to learn that the effect was pretty much instantaneous. I felt more efficient, more creative and energised, and (bonus) I stopped recoiling when I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror or shop window. One day I decided that my outfit was wasted on the dog and I took my laptop out for lunch, remembering when I did that I’m often far more productive when I’m out of my house and away from the distractions of the laundry pile/hoovering/fridge. It’s not just that I’m wearing snazzier clothes, either.

Something about intentionally choosing what to wear each morning with care and a little effort made me feel like I’d reconnected with the things that really make me tick. Also, while I like to think that my fairly robust self-esteem doesn’t rely on external validation, I started getting compliments that gave me a much-need boost, even from my daughter who rated my looks with startling pre-teen honesty. I’m not going to stop wearing those UGG boots at my desk, though, until it’s at least 10 degrees warmer.