Letter From The Editor #9

Things have changed around here. As of this week, there will be much more structure to our posts. I’ve always likened this website to a kind of open notebook, but even open notebooks need a spine — so from now on, each day will have its own focus, giving you something to look forward to and me something to sink my teeth into:

• Monday — Music
• Tuesday — Design
• Wednesday — Writers
• Thursday — Film
• Friday — Travel
• Saturday — Art
• Sunday — Philosophy

We’ve prepared articles through the end of the year, with the occasional extra thrown in for good measure.

My summer of 2026 has mainly been spent recuperating from surgery. I had a breast reduction in June, and let me tell you — what an ordeal. I don’t suppose anyone wants to hear about it, so unless I receive a great influx of letters begging me to tell you, I’ll leave it at that. My recommendation, however, is this: if you don’t really need plastic surgery, don’t get it. You can go to the best doctors in the country and still come out looking ‘a bit Picasso’ afterwards. That said, I’m on the other side of it now, healing well, moving more freely by the week, and slowly remembering what it feels like to lift my arms without wincing.

One thing I have enjoyed, after losing weight and my gigantically-cupped bra, is finding all my old clothes in the attic and putting them back to use. I’ve long since decided to mend and keep as much as I can, only buying new things I truly need, and only in good quality. I’ve never been a fast-fashion girl anyway — I’ve been a classics nerd since childhood, which means my clothes from high school and university have all aged well. And since the ’90s are back this year, there’s no stopping me from spending the winter in my old camel Max Mara coat, my Savile Row boyfriend shirts, and all the 501 jeans that have been too small for me for a decade. There’s something almost ceremonial about pulling that coat back on after all these years — the wool a little softer now, the shoulders finally sitting where they should. Hurrah for a fresh start. I might even try to rescue the old pair of Gucci loafers I bought on Sloane Street in 1998, even if they’ve since been through more fields and house parties than I care to remember, the suede scuffed with decades of stories I only half recall.

With all the downtime major surgery (or surgeries) requires, I’ve been getting back into reading — not audiobooks on walks, but physical books. I used to read a book a day, and somehow lost the habit, and ability, somewhere between the first iPhone and the sensory overload of the 21st century. I’d forgotten what it does to slow time down — how a good sentence can make an entire afternoon disappear. I’m glad to say I’m back in the saddle. Right now I’m reading the new Julian Barnes, a writer so gentle and elegant that one falls more deeply in love with his words with every book he publishes. I’ll write a full review once I’ve finished it. Until then, if you haven’t read him yet, my offer of a gateway drug is his wonderful Flaubert’s Parrot.

Please come back each day for a new feature, and don’t forget to visit our Instagram for all things interiors and design. There’s something fitting about all of this landing at once — the new structure, the old clothes, the return to reading — as if the whole summer has been quietly nudging me back toward things worth keeping. I hope you’ve all had a wonderful summer too — swum in clean seas, spent time with the people you love, and not overconsumed or fuelled the fire on this planet.

Love to all of you,

Birgitte