Oh July, you were a good time. Someone somewhere is rolling over in their grave vomiting at the mere notion that I’ve named an outfit post after a George Orwell essay. Sorry. But this is less about boarding school and adolescent wet pants, more about departed joys like oh, I don’t know, warm weather. I suppose we (George and me, duh) do have nostalgia in common. Ultimately though, I’m down and out. We have weeks and weeks and weeks of frigidness ahead. My toes are cold, layers thick, I can’t even cuff my jeans with full intent. It’s time to skip town. Glad to report a work trip to South Beach is on the horizon. Can you hear me, Miami? Bodycon nothing, potato sack everything. Man Repeller x The Webster, coming to a browser near you. And what with the mutual adoration for flamingos, it’s going to be fly.