You might think that visiting the same country every few years for a summer holiday, a person would definitely get the hang of what kind of clothes work best. Especially considering that said person had in fact visited this same place five times in twelve years, with each visit lasting a minimum of six weeks.
I still don’t understand the impulse which somehow sees me throw things into my suitcase which I almost never ordinarily wear. I also seem to come down with some weird kind of packing-for-a-holiday-induced memory failure that sees me pack my brow shadow and pomade but no brush to apply them with, ALL my sheer caftans but not one nude slip, one particular skirt that can only be paired with one or two tops, neither of which I remember to pack, and that new dress that fit, looked, and felt perfect on but is still hanging in my wardrobe back home.
Then there’s the knit dress I planned to lose five kilos before wearing which I also threw in, the floral dress I was tossing up returning, and the floaty off the shoulder dress which needed hemming before I could wear it.
It never got hemmed.
Basically I’m spending almost every day in the casual stuff I had designated as beach wear, and the stuff I threw in “just in case” that I thought I wouldn’t wear at all.
What I did get right were my new Birkenstocks, minimal hair products, and lots of bright lipsticks. Because really, with a tan, a comfy beach dress, and slicked back beach hair the only other thing you need is a bit of the Nars Audacious bright orange glorious-ness that is Lana.
And with views like these, who really cares anyway?