Fishwife

Wearing: Gimaguas x Sublime Twist Crop Top (similar) + Stylenanda Wide-Leg Trousers (similar) + Bottega Veneta Baby Sardine Bag + Bottega Veneta Small Drop Earrings (similar)

Playing stay-at-home girlfriend in Florida has its perks—like homemade meals and not a care in the world (save what I might want to eat the next day, and how I can better defend myself from mosquitoes)—but it has made me complacent. Sartorially speaking, that is. It’s a geographical consequence, an affect acquired after three weeks in a small town by the water. Life is slower, and there is justifiable logic behind the ubiquitous uniform of camisoles, moisture-wicking shorts, and flip-flops. Weather is fickle and the humidity unkind: Everything will get soaked at some point in the day, be it from sweat or a surprise storm. It’s a promise, not a threat—a volatility you either come to accept (I have not), or expect (hence, the need for practical garb). Slowly but surely, however, I’m relenting. I’ve given in to flip-flops and only when both weather and venue permit, allow myself a kitten heel to anchor some variation of a tiny tank and jeans. (The Are You Am I Suki and ribbed halters from Zara are my most reliable basics.) With Jéan sets and a casual Christopher Esber dress are as formal as this town gets, and even then, I’m pushing it. There’s almost always a bikini beneath it all anyway.

It’s a Simple Life in every aspect. With wardrobing, the ease is freeing to the point of temptation; I’m battling an urge to purge my closet the moment I return to L.A. But there are also days when I’m frustrated by a lack of freedom and limited play. Climate is as much to blame as is the conservatism rooted in provincialism. Where is the fun? The strange? The sexy?

It’s not that I’m particularly fashionable or a fashion snob. I’m neither of those things—and I say that as someone who adores capital-F Fashion but is too conventional to participate in it. But for drinks in Florida, I’m beholden to jeans or a mini dress, whereas in New York or L.A., I’m perfectly at home in something like the above. It’s only marginally different from the cookie-cutter tiny-top-big-jeans formula, but somehow appears so out of place. One cut, crop, and color off, and suddenly, you’re a spectacle. Red is politically favored, but not stylistically (unless it’s the base of a certain cap). Oversized trousers are foreign on women, though essential regalia for the fleet of Blue Origin, NASA, and SpaceX engineers on call for the next launch. Mutually understood, however, is my Bottega Veneta Sardine bag. People are charmed by the fish-shaped handle. (Space is rivaled only by a local love for boating and fishing.)

The only people less impressed by the bag are TSA agents, coming and going. Word of warning: You will be flagged at security, so keep your Sardine in its own bin for ease.

Loewe Paula’s Ibiza Cosmic Perfume + Bottega Veneta Baby Sardine Bag

Scent of the evening is one of those universally beloved summer perfumes—a round and juicy mango bolstered by woods and softened with coconut cream. Loewe Cosmic is more fruity than lactonic, to be clear; a splash of coconut cream lends a smooth warmth that sits more naturally against skin. Pear is present for both sweet shine and familiarity: It’s a 2000s favorite, and essential in evoking memories of youth and endless summers.

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