The Glamour We Grow Up With (And Why It Still Lives In Our Wardrobes). Issue #16

If you grew up on Kate Moss slip dresses and Angelina Jolie attitude... this one's for you.

There are things you can forget over time, where you left your keys, that appointment you swear you wrote down, the name of your first crush.
But some memories stick to your skin like perfume you can't scrub off.

I can't really remember when my love for fashion started.
But I do remember this: me, about six years old, parading around town in a purple faux-fur coat like it was a very normal thing to do on a Tuesday afternoon. Every day was a good day to wear that coat. Honestly? Life felt a little bit more magical when I did.
There was also the hat, the wide-brimmed, dramatic one I wore with my First Communion dress. I didn’t pick a simple dress, of course not. It had to be the dress. I knew it from the second I saw it through a dusty shop window, after what felt like a dozen failed attempts at finding “the one.” Dramatic? Maybe. But even back then, I wasn't dressing just to look good, I was dressing to express something.

Elegance, they say, runs in the family. I’m not entirely convinced, but if enough people say it, maybe there’s a little truth there.

Fast forward to my teenage years, where every week revolved around the sacred ritual of buying In Touch magazine.
Angelina Jolie, Kate Moss, Victoria Beckham, Sienna Miller ....
It wasn’t even about what they wore (though let's be honest, Kate Moss in a slip dress could make a potato sack look chic). It was about their energy. Their individuality. That no-fuss, no-fake, all-feeling kind of attitude.
I never wanted to look like anyone else. I wanted to dress like me.
Maybe a little bit moodier one day. A little bit softer the next. But always me.

I remember taping their pictures to my so-dull colourless school notebooks like sacred art. Sienna Miller in low-rise jeans and tousled hair, coffee in one hand, cowboy boots in the other, how could anyone look that “unpolished”? It wasn’t about wealth or perfection; it was about vibe. And Victoria Beckham, with her sleek hair and oversized sunglasses, taught me that a full look, even at the airport, was a statement.

We weren’t just watching them. We were learning how to carry ourselves. How to channel confidence, mystery, edge. Even if it was just walking into school like the hallway was a runway.

Funny enough, my first real splurge, the very first thing I bought with my own hard-earned money, was a pair of Minnetonka ankle boots. 200 euros felt like a fortune at the time. But Kate Moss had worn them and oh, they spoke to me. I wore them so much they basically became a second skin. It wasn’t about copying her; but finding a little piece of that spirit I admired, and making it my own.

Fast forward again (because life really is just a series of fast-forwards), and here I am now, a wardrobe that’s grown up with me.
After a ruthless closet detox this past winter (where even the "maybe I'll wear it someday" pile wasn’t safe), I find myself living a more minimalist life.
Simple outfits. Quiet proportions. Accessories doing most of the talking.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s a little...boring.
But then I catch someone’s glance, that lingering kind of glance, and I remember: when you dress in alignment with who you are, people notice. And more importantly, you notice.
Mornings are easy to dress. Special occasions don’t spark anxiety anymore.
I dress for myself. For the woman I’ve grown into. And somehow, also for the girl who used to circle outfits in magazines with a pink highlighter, that’s how we used to source fashion inspiration back then.

The other day, I stumbled across a ‘90s picture of Angelina Jolie, ultra cool in her minimalism, and it hit me …

I hadn't changed. Not really.
I didn't see her style. I saw mine.
Something about that photo cracked open a memory that had been sleeping quietly inside me, a reminder that I had always known exactly how I wanted to feel in my clothes.
Before trends. Before Instagram. Before algorithms started whispering who we should be.
It wasn’t about chasing something new.
It was about returning, returning to the girl who loved getting dressed not to impress, but to express, tailoring my own outfits, making the most of the few pieces I owned in my wardrobe to make them feel fresh over and over again.
A kind of coming home to myself, through the language of style I had spoken long before life got loud.

Getting dressed isn’t about fitting in for me.
It’s not about being “on trend” or achieving some perfect aesthetic.

I desire to honor all the little pieces of myself, the dramatic ones, the rebellious ones, the dreamy ones, and letting them walk out the door with me as I collect memories on the way.

Isn’t that the real magic of it all?
I never planned for this, never thought knowing how to mix a silk blouse with vintage jeans, or how to make twenty outfits out of the same pair of tailored trousers, could be an actual skill... let alone a job.

Yet here I am, four years into building a career as a Personal Stylist for women in London, and around the world thanks to the digital era.
A career that wasn’t born from chasing trends or trying to “make it” in fashion, but simply from a lifetime of paying attention, to textures, to moods, to the quiet conversation clothes have with the woman wearing them.

Turns out, what felt so natural, this intuitive way of pulling pieces together, of creating looks that tell a story, was a talent after all.
One I never knew I had.
One that today not only supports me but gives other women the gift of feeling seen, empowered, and a little bit more themselves through their wardrobes.

Sometimes I think back to that little girl, highlighter in hand, dreaming through glossy magazine pages.
She didn’t know what it would look like yet.
But somehow, she already knew exactly where she was headed.

So if you're standing in front of your closet feeling uninspired, maybe you don't need a new wardrobe.
Maybe you just need to remember that feeling.
That childlike joy of getting dolled up, not for a date, not for Instagram, not for anyone’s approval, but just for you.

Here’s to the purple coats.
The Minnetonka boots.
The reckless magazine dreams.

And here’s to dressing, always, for the girl who brought you here.
She knew exactly what she was doing.

And maybe... so do we.
Even if some days it feels like we’re just grabbing whatever’s clean off the chair, or wondering if we’re still allowed to call ourselves stylish because we forgot what trends are even trending.
The truth is, the glamour we grew up with, the one that first sparked in purple faux fur and glossy magazines, never really left us.

It simply evolved.
It matured with us, softened in places, sharpened in others.
It’s stitched into the everyday, into the way we toss on a blazer for a Monday meeting, or how a pair of old Minnetonkas can still carry a piece of our bold, messy, dreamy selves.

I realized, staring at that ‘90s photo of Angelina, that glamour isn’t about the big moments we dress up for.
It’s about the feeling we keep alive, quietly, stubbornly, beautifully, through every version of ourselves we’ve ever been.
And isn’t that the real magic of style?
Not to impress, not to perform... but to remember who we are, and who we’re still becoming.

So here’s to the glamour that raised us.
The glamour that still lives in the back of our closets, woven into our choices, waiting for us whenever we need to feel a little more us.

Not perfect. Not polished. But always, effortlessly iconic.

With love and a little purple-fur 90’s drama,
Carolina X

P.S. A little note before I go:
I know it’s been a couple of weeks since I last showed up in your inbox. Life has been a little life-y, and if I’m being honest, I didn’t want to send you something just for the sake of ticking a box.
I always promised myself (and you) that I'd write from a real place, not a fabricated one.

I'm back now, and already working on something special for the next couple of issues:
Wedding season, Ascot inspiration, occasion dressing...
All the joy and polish and beauty you deserve, coming soon.

Thank you for your patience, your kindness, and for letting me pop into your inbox with a little extra sparkle today.

If this letter took you back, even for a moment, to a time of butterfly clips and belly chains, or just reminded you of your power to transform the way you feel through clothes... send it to a friend. Share it like we used to share magazines. Because maybe the grown-up version of getting dressed is helping other women feel seen too.

You know where to find me if your wardrobe ever calls for backup (or just a fresh pair of eyes).