Autumn Feels


Autumn is everything I love in life. It’s romantic in the purest sense, every heap of crunchy leaves inviting you to roll in it and invite a chiselled dog-walker to make out with you. It’s refreshing; the air is clean whether it’s wet or dry, the sweaty, sticky summer is swept away under a carpet of leafy goodness, the sun either warming you in a breeze and injecting life into your cheeks without the threat of melanoma or glowing all night while you carve the shit out of a pumpkin. It’s eventful, because people have stopped fucking off on summer holidays and are actually around to hang out. It’s by far the best season, with all the greatness of Christmas without the threat of January looming, fireworks are thrown in for good measure, and it’s not just dogs looking super cute in their little woolly jackets; this week alone I’ve seen a smoothie, a cactus and a traffic cone in knitwear.

Obviously I’m a realist and not oblivious to the issues Autumn throws up in all its glory but I am nevertheless determined to smash through the season with style. By style, I should clarify, this is no sugar-coated guide to golden eyes and berry lips. I’m talking about how to rock laddered tights when you catch them on a lone cactus that has seemingly penetrated its outer woolly layer, which foods truly necessitate bingeing all season, and, obviously, how to strut while you chafe. So, without further ado…

For me the lead into winter is all about snuggling up with a hot chocolate under a duvet and reading to my heart’s content. It’s also about trying to manage being slightly allergic to knitwear, needing excessive amounts of lip balm and coping with extreme welly envy. But that, if anything, is even more of a reason to cosy up with a good book. I’m crushing on gorgeously witty women non-stop these days; I finished Lena Dunham’s Not That Kind Of Girl on the train this morning and miss it already. She’s a superhero writing for the generation. I may even love her more than Autumn.

Next love; big scarves. I’m talking duvet-size, emergency circus tent numbers. These scarves invite cuddles but also crumbs so take care eating croissants. I like to hide behind my scarf a lot. I don’t really do “fashion”, I’m allergic to knitwear and making decisions, my hair clashes with most colours except the colour of darkness, and my body temperature is incredibly unreliable so I have difficulty dealing with layers. So for anyone else who is fashion shy, living with high-maintenance hair, painting in the holes in your tights with black nail varnish, or has difficulty pulling off anything other than a sheep onesie or a sleeping bag, the giant scarf canopy is for you. If you’re lucky, like me, your super stylish best friend will buy you one that also doubles as a cape so you feel extra invincible in all weathers.

Which leads nicely onto playing outside YAY. I spent Sunday with my favourite adventure team going to Christmas Tree Farm in Kent, falling in love with cows, feeding baby goats, getting muddy. However, this change in weather can result in feeling a bit LIKE DEATH from time to time, Albas Oil is suddenly your scent of choice and your dental hygiene goes down the drain because keeping your mouth open long enough to flush makes you choke and maybe die. So it’s the perfect time to become an expert in the kitchen and dose up on veggies, splurge on all the new hot drinks flavours at the coffee shop, pretend to be interested in candles, snuggle further down into that duvet, and get addicted to a new Netflix series until you adjust to the arctic feels.

I think Autumn means so much to me right now because London life’s been a bit up and down recently. I’ve started a new job and moved house in quick succession, I now live with a BOY, I really need a haircut, I haven’t seen a Mary-Kate and Ashley film since forever, I’m in a complicated relationship with all of my underwear, the list goes on. So in order to stop thinking about micropigs, breast cancer, food, lack of sleep, life decisions and spending too much time trying to find a Buzzfeed quiz that doesn’t tell me I’ve got the personality and life achievements of a warm-hearted 17-year old, I’ve been avidly searching for happy things. Like this cow:


And it’s totally paid off. I’ve fallen in love, despite still hating all my bras and having all the split-ends. So hi Autumn, thanks for having me, you da bomb.



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