Last weekend, Soph and I purged my wardrobe of enough clothes to fill an entire new one. It was long overdue — my modest Ikea built-ins heaving with the ephemera of past lives, scrunched up t-shirts clinging to the corners of drawers like fossils. I think Soph was mildly horrified at the cluttered state of my clothes. “You can’t bloody see anything in h…
How should I be dressing at 37?
Too young to feel sure; too old to feel uncertain.
