Music of the Sun

When you have parents who grew up on an island and are a perpetual sun worshipper yourself, it’s almost impossible not to dread the inevitable end of summer to come.

I suppose, then, that Mother Nature was kind to my heart this year: we had all of two real weeks of summer—hot, sunny, sweaty days that begged to be spent in nothing more than a Brazilian bikini—and the rest of “summer” was more like previous Septembers. Just sunny and warm enough for shorts, but required a light leather jacket starting 7 p.m. She—Mother Nature, Universe, whomever/whatever you wish to call her/that/it—et me down easy.

Still. I can’t believe it’s already September.

Eight days in and I’m already reaching habitually for my beloved high-waist jeans. Eight days in and I’ve yet to leave the house without a travel mug of hot tea (I’m on a coffee cleanse) or leather jacket du jour. Eight days in and I’m already autumned-up. Three months of summer vacation and I went to the beach a grand total of two times. I live on the Jersey shore, for goodness’ sake! What excuse to I have? Sure, I have the same (if not more) insecurities as any other girl when it comes to the ever-elusive “beach body,” but truth be told, I’m in complete bliss when I’m soaking up te sun. A drawer full of bikinis would make me infinitely happy. (And I call myself a fashion writer…)

Yet here I am, eight days into September, and fully embracing fall’s arrival. I’m a sun worshipper with a predilection for bikinis—not summer clothes, there’s a difference—so you can only imagine my excitement in finally being able to wear my cropped sweaters and order piping hot drinks without the barista giving me the side-eye. But I can guarantee that in between sips of matcha (and trying not to succumb to the autumn array of pumpkin-something lattes), I’ll be dreaming of summer, and that the photo above of Rihanna will still be my iPhone background. It’s everything, that photo. Hair, body, lace-up one-piece (reminiscent of Veruschka for Yves Saint Laurent in the 70s, no?!), dripping in delicate gold pieces on the beach.

One day, I tell myself. One day.

But until then, I’ll wear all the little leather jackets I want.

.   .   .

xx