Reykjavik: What I wore

some kind of animal

bobbles and Cola

favourite

rusky

This may look like a 'take one yetti cardi...' piece but I assure you it's not intentional.

I sincerely didn't realise the ramifications of my Icelandic purchase that has been likened to Conan the Barbarian by BOY. Bit harsh.

Reykjavik is kind of like putting on a pair of special glasses that fracture the light as you know it just enough to see style that is, in a way, a little off-centre. Icelanders emphasize sartorial details that we may have overlooked, left unturned. Getting right amongst it, absorbing it and taking it all in can equate to finding new life in styles we may now consider fads or passé because as far as we're concerned we've been there and we've done that. But we haven't. Not really. The full potential of a high-waist just hasn't been discovered; not enough risks have been taken. Not here anyway. Alas, Iceland's game. Then again, maybe London's just become a little stale to me, making Reykjavik a welcomed alternative.

So masses of layering (they don't call it Iceland for nothing) a little fur here, some knitted patterns there and there you have it. Loads of fun. Like Twister. Just with a really unexpected twist that I haven't even fathomed just yet.