Let me paint a picture. It’s 8:02am. The sun is already glaring at me like it’s got a personal vendetta, I’ve stuck to my pillow in my sleep (again), and one of the cats is lying flat on the ensuite tiles like she’s given up on life while the other’s pacing the windowsill like a heat-frazzled prison warden. The forecast says “highs of 31 degrees, feels like 400” and I’m standing in my underwear in front of the fan, considering whether I really need to wear actual clothes today.
And yet. I did. Most days. I still got dressed. I even wore shoes. Proper ones. Sometimes.
July, you unpredictable beast. You show up with all the intensity of a toddler with a tambourine and no sense of boundaries. It’s too hot to cook, too hot to think, too hot to be polite. But apparently, life doesn’t stop just because I’m wilting like an unloved basil plant on the windowsill. There were errands. There were events. There were school runs and supermarket dashes and that one garden BBQ where I nearly fainted trying to wear a denim skirt. (Spoiler: no one needs denim when the air is soup.)
So here it is. The fashion round-up no one asked for, but everyone sweating through their bra will appreciate.
The Uniform: Loose, Limp and Lovingly Wrinkled
I discovered a whole new appreciation for tent dresses. You know the ones. They don’t touch you. They don’t judge you. They waft around you like a supportive aunt at a family wedding saying, “Don’t worry love, just have another sausage roll.”
I had three in rotation. One black (classic), one white with questionable underarm stains (I refuse to apologise), and one in a print I can only describe as ‘drunken tropical wallpaper’. All of them had pockets. All of them were worn with the enthusiasm of someone who no longer cares if people think she’s dressed like a decorative beach umbrella. Comfort over couture. Every. Single. Time.
Trousers? Only if They Apologised First
There were a few brave moments involving linen trousers. Light, breezy, allegedly “elegant” until you’ve been sitting in them for 40 minutes and the creases start forming a kind of topographical map of your backside. I’m convinced mine now shows contour lines and possibly the location of buried treasure.
But they were comfy, and they let my thighs live their best unsuffocated lives, so they stayed. Bonus: could be dressed up if you squinted and added earrings.
The Footwear Situation: Functional With a Side of Ugh
Let’s be honest. July is not the month for stylish footwear unless you enjoy sweaty arches and the sound of your flip-flops slapping against your dignity. I wore sandals. Flat ones. Sensible ones. The kind that say, “She’s given up on heels but not on life.”
Birkenstock knock-offs featured heavily. So did the tan ones I’ve owned for about five years and should have binned last summer, but they’ve moulded to the shape of my feet now and frankly, we’re in a co-dependent relationship.
Hair: Wild, Heavy, and Not Going Anywhere
My hair? Down. Always. Not out of vanity, it’s just far too heavy to tie up unless I fancy a migraine by midday. I have a lot of it. Thick, wild, prone to frizzing up like I’ve been electrocuted or had a spiritual awakening. It did its own thing. Most of July, I looked like a lion who’d lost her pride but kept her volume. I let it. Pick your battles.
Makeup? Ha.
July makeup was minimal. As in, I put SPF on and occasionally remembered to brush my brows so I didn’t look completely unhinged. Mascara? Not unless I fancied looking like a haunted raccoon by lunchtime. Lipstick? Not unless it doubled as a hydration stick. Mostly, I just hoped the glow of mild heat exhaustion would pass as “radiance”.
Honourable Mentions:
- That one pair of massive sunglasses I wore every day like some kind of menopausal incognito celeb
- A kimono I bought thinking I’d be effortlessly boho, but wore once before realising it was basically a heat-retaining dressing gown
- A canvas tote big enough to carry SPF, emergency snacks, receipts I never sort, and two bottles of iced water that always sweat through everything
Final Thoughts:
It wasn’t about looking good. It was about not melting and still feeling vaguely human. I got dressed. I left the house. I sometimes even matched. And if that’s not summer style success, I don’t know what is.
Remember to join me over on Facebook – Mylifeandstyleover40
Take care, Stay safe.
Becks xo
My life and style over 40 