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March 20, 2016 | by  | in Stressed, Depressed and Well-Dressed |
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What the fuck is a Wellington summer?

Having spent several of my formative years upon a subtropical tourist mecca, catered to the over-privileged and tasteless (Waiheke Island), I have developed both a disproportionate hatred for sand, sun, and scenic tours, and an alarming enthusiasm for wine tastings.

I forget that it isn’t normal for everyone’s parents to have pools, tennis courts, and private beach access; and that people will think I’m weird for asking if their tap water is drinkable. Alongside these residual social inadequacies, I also developed a tendency toward what is known as the ‘summer fling’. What better way to fritter away one’s idle time than make out with the same guy you’ve made out with the past three Christmas breaks in a row (whom you haven’t spoken to since last summer and won’t speak to until next)?

Living in Wellington, there is very little point cultivating a designated summer wardrobe, due to the fleeting period of sunlight between this winter and the next. However, like a summer fling, it isn’t something generally approached with any sense of permanence.

My summer aesthetic, much like my summer dating situation, was floozy-teenage-trophy-girlfriend. Countless Bloody Mary liquid lunches, sunny afternoons spent sipping sangria on rooftops, antipasto evenings, vegan muesli brunch-sta-grams, floppy hats, culottes, saucer-sized sunglasses, linen skirts, little lacey things, vintage lingerie, kimonos, pastels, florals, platform sandals, and sparkly socks. I began dressing (perhaps even acting*) like your wealthy uncle’s third wife who spends her days tottering about his yacht with a martini in hand, sunbathing, and sleeping with the pool boy.

Brief, hot, and low commitment (how quickly/efficiently can this/he be discarded?) are the key desirable traits. Summer clothes are garments not easily integrated into your everyday attire, the same way your summer hook up simply isn’t going to fit your normative lifestyle; both are able to exist in a blissful vacuum for a very finite period of time.

*Disclaimer:

Due to abandonment of the aforementioned trophy girlfriend-esque lifestyle at the commencement of the university trimester, I have probably saved about $400, lost 2kg, and allowed my liver to regain approximately 15 years of its lifespan.

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