Fashion lessons learned on the island of chic
I CAN’T DO CHIC TRAVEL. Years of globetrotting has taught me many things but tidy hair and stain-free, creaseless clothes are not among them. I can wax lyrical on last-minute packing and swimsuits to suit your shape but I’ll always be the girl on the beach with tangled hair hidden under a hat and a bare, freckled face. Every now and then, I’ll attempt to wear eye-liner and a fancy beach dress that I’ll colour coordinate with accessories but my holiday uniform tends to be a swimsuit, denim shorts and oversized shirts layered with jewellery. But that’s the point of a holiday – to feel unapologetically guilt-free about having greasy, sun-creamed hair or wearing your togs for sunset dinner. I struggle with the idea of having sleek hair – few people can avoid a bit of frizz in humidity – or a pair of heels or a full face of foundation. It feels forced. It feels like effort. It feels like home.
The art of holiday dressing is taking enough to last you the duration of your stay without having to send stuff to the laundry, but not overpacking to the point of excess luggage costs. But as I learned this week, it’s also about adapting your style to suit the climate, the country and the landscape.
Our driver – a chirpy, twinkleeyed Greek – picked us up at Piraeus port on the island of Santorini wearing all white and ushered two sweaty passengers into an airconditioned jeep. I learned a thing or two from Yani over the course of our stay – like where to shop for an ‘island basket’ should I need one for the beach or a milky-coloured kaftan or even some coral blue sandals to match the steps down to the hotel.
The rest of the staff, like Yani, rather impressively matched both the buildings and the backdrop. Georgia, the flame-haired, almond-eyed manager from Athens who spoke English with a London accent, wore a different turquoise blouse every day to match the ocean and white lined trousers that blended perfectly with the white-washed walls of the hotel. The bell-boys sported white tennis T-shirts and cropped white pants, the waitresses white tennis dresses and gleaming white trainers.
Even the other guests seemed to have the dress code down. My love of wearing white shirts – I even steal his – wherever I am in the world got me out of a few sartorial pickles especially during the day, when the iconic white and blue domes look even more magnificent in the sun and any other colour against them looks a bit ridiculous.
Of course, I did raid two boutiques on the island – Sand Lily in Fira and Ammos in Oia – for some over-expensive colour-coded island attire. If you can’t beat them, join them. Sure in Santorini, in all its dreamy, memorable glory, the clobber is worth every impulsive cent spent.
That’s the point of a holiday – to feel unapologetically guilt-free