For 2 weeks now people have been talking excitedly about Spring being upon us. Classes have ended (and hearts have collectively lightened), punts are being dusted off, and the stores are filling out with spring fashion – lace, palazzo culottes, and flimsy cotton dresses galore. The cafés more accurately reflect the weather – still advertising whisky hot chocolates and teaming crème anglaise with heavy puddings rather than fruit fools (lesson: crème anglaise is transeasonal; broderie anglaise is not).

I do like dressing for winter; swathing myself in dark layers like one of those hidden Victorian mothers dressed as a curtained chair to keep her kid from squirming in a longass photoshoot. Minimal effort, maximum comfort, no shaving or rejuvenating scaly legs required.

But warm weather dressing is infinitely more romantic. Spring means lace and whimsically printed sundresses. For inspiration, look no further than Dolce & Gabbana SS ’11 and ’12 (like a dog with a many seasons old but ethereally beautiful bone, I’m still hankering after these collections…)

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Very Tuscan trousseau or Sophia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette playing haute Bo Peep in the flower fields of Petit Versailles…ie. Perfection.

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This is what I imagine Camilla Belle wears every day. A flirty chilli pepper co-ord set, noodle jewellery, a slick of EVOO in her hair and she’s on her way.

Spring also behoves you to behoof yourself in strappy shoes. This is an issue for me, as my paddle-shaped Hobbit clodhoppers are orthotically unsound. From a season jammed in ski boots, my nails have also taken on an interesting aubergine hue, and a couple are clinging on for dear life. My feet in sandals is like Borat in a mankini – unsightly and in desperate need of more support. But of course if I did wear skimpy spring shoes (and had a few hunners lying around), I’d go these Sophia Websters for sure. Very SATC Sky Dancer.

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