Faint Glimmers Remain

In the last few years, most of the world has fallen on tough times, and dressing has teetered towards the funereal—dark colours, simple tailored cuts and a minimum of jewels. I’ve personally experienced a style crisis and stripped my wardrobe of flimsy materials, banishing the romantic forever. This purging extended into a larger creative shuffle: I broke up the family circle of antique chairs surrounding my dining-room table to line them up like soldiers, and didn't bother about the festering damp problem on the wall, choosing instead to see it as part of my exam-incarcerated existence.

In grey moments like those, joie de vivre is a faint glimmer and life is an old brass teapot wanting some elbow-grease. This photograph of me, sitting void of inspiration on the floor, actually reveals quite the opposite. There is a peculiar glamour in lycra running shorts, converse sneakers and a midday black lace mini, paired with an eccentric neckpiece and hair in a messy bun. There is so much glamour in the "I don't care" of this life. The beauty of this is its dull shine: the hint of extravagance as it was, and the teasing residue that lingers.

—Emma