According to Dorothy there is no place like home… But what is a home, for a gypsy like me? Is it the place where I was born? The place where I grew up? Is it where my suitcase is? Or is it simply where the heart is?
After years of travelling I have learned that home is a very relative, malleable concept. Some days I wake up pining after China and the thought of smog filling my lungs with every breath fills me with not only hazardous toxins, but also indescribable joy. Other days I think of my grandparents’ cooking and want nothing more than a plane ticket to Bohemia. But most days, lately anyway, I wake up extremely content. I am back in London, the city of my dreams, and for the first time in many months I feel like I am where I belong.
Nowhere is this more apparent than in my outfit choices. In Russia I hid underneath layers of fur and large shawls. In Morocco I tried my best to blend in with earthy tones and modest necklines. In Beijing… well, fine – in Beijing I dressed like the silly bean I am. But in London I am truly back in my element – this is the one place where nobody judges me for my eccentricity. If home really is where the heart is, I am happy to say that I am finally back home.
“Why, Sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.” -Samuel Johnson
coat: zara; boots: tamaris; bag: bata; sweater: ravi famous; dress: romwe
Do you agree that home is where the heart is? Where do you feel most at home? Is this reflected in the way you dress?