Heatwaves, Summer Escapes & That Unapologetic Holiday State of Mind

July has swept in with all her golden glory—and honestly? I’m in love. The past two weeks have felt like a London daydream written in heatwaves, sun-scorched pavements, and rooftops echoing with clinking glasses and soft laughter. It’s been the kind of stretch where every evening turns into a late-night linger, every park bench becomes a front-row seat to the city’s gentle chaos, and even the pigeons look like they’re on a Mediterranean getaway.

There’s something magical about this mid-summer moment: we’re not racing toward August yet, but we’re deep in the warmth, the rhythm, the pleasure of it all. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve said, “It feels like Italy.” It’s not just the heat—it’s the slowness, the chic chaos, the unapologetic indulgence. The way we’ve all stopped pretending to be sensible. It’s waking up to sun-drenched sheets, taking detours for iced coffee, slipping into sandals you forgot you owned. It’s the joy of doing less, but feeling more. Everything just… glows.

And in the middle of all this London heat, I snuck away for a long weekend in Cornwall—just three days of sun, salt, and sand. It was spontaneous, deliciously unplanned, and exactly what I needed. I read a book on the beach with sand between my toes, ate chips in St Ives, and swam in water that was technically freezing but felt euphoric. I wandered through tiny cliffside paths with wind-tangled hair, got sun-kissed shoulders from simply lying still, and shared a bottle of local white wine on a pebbled terrace that looked out to what felt like the edge of the world. I even squeezed in a coastal hike and returned home with a little sunburn and a lot more perspective. There’s something about the British coastline in summer—it doesn’t try to impress, it just is. Rugged, unpolished, soul-soothing. It reminded me that magic doesn’t always require a passport stamp—sometimes it’s a Cornish crab sandwich and a postcard-worthy view.

It was the kind of weekend where time slows down in the most luxurious way. Mornings start with birdsong and milky tea, and end with sandy feet tucked into oversized jumpers. The sea was brisk, honest, and totally addictive. I think I left part of myself floating out there in the waves. Even now, back in London, I swear I can still smell sea salt in my hair.

Social Life: Golden Hours & Gorgeous Chaos

This fortnight has been a blur of balmy evenings, overstretched dinner reservations, and dancing in linen trousers. London has been on, and I’ve let it sweep me up completely. Time no longer feels linear. A Tuesday can just as easily contain the sparkle of a Saturday.

• Rooftop rosé at Seabird, watching the skyline blur into apricot and silver. The grilled octopus changed lives. A stranger complimented my dress and I decided then and there to believe every nice thing said to me for the rest of the week.

• A friend’s birthday bash in Primrose Hill that started with a picnic and ended with an impromptu karaoke session in someone’s townhouse kitchen. I sang Fleetwood Mac. No regrets. Only slightly too much prosecco.

• A last-minute invite to Soho House White City for poolside spritzes. I didn’t swim. I did pose like I might, and honestly, that’s enough.

• An unusually quiet Sunday lunch at Petersham Nurseries, which felt like the countryside had wandered into Richmond. I wore a gingham dress and actually switched off my phone. Progress.

• A pop-up supper club in someone’s garden in Hackney—long table, fairy lights, and a seasonal menu that felt like it belonged in a Kinfolk spread. I talked to a ceramicist from Lisbon and now I think I need handmade plates.

Also: a very low-stakes flirtation with someone I met at a gallery opening. Nothing came of it, but I did get a compliment on my perfume and left feeling vaguely cinematic. Which, let’s be honest, is better than a bad date.

The Heat: Glorious, Ridiculous, Unforgiving

London doesn’t do heatwaves well, but this one has been oddly divine. Yes, the Central Line has felt post-apocalyptic and my Dyson fan is now family, but there’s been something so freeing about leaning into the heat, surrendering to the slow. Time slows down when everything’s warm. People pause more. Smile more. There’s less urgency. More presence.

On the hottest day, I wore the floatiest dress I own and escaped to Hampstead Ladies’ Pond. Cold, leafy, faintly magical. Swam once, read three pages of a book, and sunbathed like I was being paid to do it. The dragonflies had a whole routine and I was just grateful to be their audience.

Evenings have been all about al fresco everything—cold pasta salads, lime-studded gin cocktails, bare feet on warm tiles. The city has softened. Everyone seems a little rosier, a little kinder, a little less in a rush. The people who usually power-walk now sort of glide.

Style: Peak Effortless

It’s been the month of "how little can I wear while still looking chic?" And I’m proud to say, I’ve nailed it. Dressing right now is a game of balance—cool enough to breathe, polished enough to saunter into anywhere.

• White linen shirts, usually oversized and rolled at the cuffs. Half-buttoned, a little wrinkled, in that effortless way that says “I read Le Monde in cafés.”

• Bias-cut slips that do all the work so I don’t have to. Paired with strappy flats and one bold lip if I’m feeling feisty.

• Ballet flats or slides that survive both the heat and the Tube. The dream is a shoe that looks pretty while allowing you to run for a bus with dignity.

• Hair? Mostly slicked back or up with a claw clip. Parisian minimalism meets practical humidity survival. If you see me with a blow-dry, assume it’s for a wedding.

• Gold jewellery remains the constant—my finishing touch no matter how sweaty the situation. A pair of hoops can carry a whole outfit.

Also: a woven basket bag that has become my emotional support accessory. It’s never the right size for anything, but it looks fabulous perched on café chairs. It holds snacks, receipts, hopes.

Wellness: Softer, Slower, Sunkissed

Wellness lately has looked like permission slips. Permission to skip the gym if a park walk feels better. Permission to eat berries for dinner because it’s too hot to cook. Permission to rest and say yes to that third spritz. Permission to romanticise the mundane.

• Morning journaling with a fan pointed directly at my face. The pages smell faintly of sunscreen.

• Pilates flows that feel more like movement therapy than workouts. Think long stretches, gentle rolls, music that sounds like something you'd hear at a very expensive spa.

• SPF like it’s my job. Reapplied with the intensity of someone protecting a national treasure. My handbag is basically a sunblock museum.

• Skincare that’s gone full Mediterranean—aloe, oils, water mists. I look glossy. I feel grounded. My face smells like a lemon grove.

• Baths are out. Cold rinses are in. I’ve become religious about evening showers and the ritual of oils on slightly damp skin.

Also: I’ve started doing five-minute meditations before bed. Not because I’m zen. Because I need the signal that the day is done. That I can exhale now. That I’ve made it to the end without combusting or over-committing.

Mindset: Living the Soft Life

I’m in my leaning in era. Not to hustle. To moments.

• Saying yes to slow plans with good people. The kind of catch-ups that drift.

• Letting small pleasures stretch—like the morning coffee I drank with both hands, sitting by the window, watching the street wake up.

• Remembering that joy doesn’t have to be planned. Sometimes it just shows up—halfway through a walk, during a favourite song, on a quiet Tube ride.

• Realising that softness isn’t weakness. It’s presence. It’s warmth. It’s the decision to enjoy.

The last two weeks have reminded me to soften. To notice. To let summer hold me without trying to capture it. No more “making the most of it.” Just being in it.

What’s Trending

• Table wine and low-fuss entertaining—think chilled reds and mismatched glassware in the garden. More vibe, less menu planning.

• Espresso tonic—divisive, but I’m a fan. Cold, bitter, slightly ridiculous. Like me in a heatwave.

• Sun-streaked hair—intentional or otherwise. Bonus points if the roots are showing.

• Air-dried everything—from laundry to limbs. Crisp sheets, loose curls, linen everything.

• The “Is she glowing or just sweaty?” aesthetic—we’re embracing both. Dewy skin is winning. Precision is out.

Also trending: silk scarves as halter tops, baguette bags, eating tomatoes like apples, and posting blurry sunset photos with captions like “this.”

The Month Ahead

• More outdoor dinners that turn into candlelit conversations. Bonus points for wine that gets warmer as the night does.

• A little post-Cornwall calm—maybe some city moments with coastal energy. I’m still dreaming of sea breeze and clifftop stillness.

• Fresh notebooks. Fresh ideas. A slightly slower pace. A chapter that doesn’t need to be dramatic to be meaningful.

• More dancing barefoot. More saying no gently. More saying yes wholeheartedly.

July, I love you. Let’s keep it going.

Sophie x