SUMMER'S WHERE YOU FIND IT
Why we're embracing the little moments
Words
HYNAM KENDALL
Photography
BEC PARSONS
There’s no official start date – not really. No dramatic trumpet of sun. No fanfare. It just sort of… slips in. One morning, you split open the curtains and – feel, more than see – the season has changed. There has been a shift. Small, perhaps, but life has that way of making even the most minor change feel monumental.
You make your coffee barefoot without bearing the brunt of a cold floor. You don’t put the heating on, despite feeling at odds with not doing so. You throw on a light linen shirt. You leave the house without a coat. Breeze catches the back of your neck... and you like it.
Summer doesn’t start with the solstice. It starts with this.
8:07am – You slide on your brown wool overcoat. Button it. Three buttons. Then just one – the top one. You shrug it off. Refresh the weather app again. And then… you leave. No coat. As simple as that sounds: it’s summer.
11:16am – Someone orders their matcha iced at lunch. Iced. You double take, then wish you’d done the same.
3:02pm – A wet pool of sun appears in your periphery. Briefly. You slide your sunglasses down to see it better. Someone nearby says, “If this was Ibiza, we’d be swimming.” You’re not in Ibiza. You’re in Clapham. And you know that tomorrow a scatter of bodies – remembering this half-hour of heat – will litter the edges of this same park, tops off, bare legs, laying votive in salutation to the sun.
5:40pm – You skip the bus. You walk. Slowly. Measured. Almost enjoying the route. You notice your own shadow. It’s been a while.
7:18pm – Someone texts “drinks outside.” You’re still in workwear. You go anyway.
9:04pm – No plan, no pressure. It’s not even warm. But you stay out. Wrapping your friend’s emergency sweater over your arms, you laugh, swill the Aperol remnants around in your well-thumbed glass and toast – loftily – “To summer!”
We’re wired to believe that summer should look a certain way. A flight to the Algarve. Bronzed skin. A rustic villa with grounds tended to by beautiful locals with whom you might just fall in love. But the truth is simpler. The reality is this. Summer is a season you carve out for yourself – in moments. Not milestones. It’s not a performance. It’s a feeling. A fleeting one. But if you’re paying attention, it shows up everywhere.
A spritz on a Tuesday. Goosebumps on bare legs on a Wednesday. A cheeky Sunday train to Brighton that leaves sand in your tote for the next three months.
It's in your calendar, where an empty entry suddenly reads: “Heath walk.”
It’s in your fridge, where the wine’s now rosé by default.
It’s in your wardrobe, where linen suddenly wins over denim.
Summer is where you find it. And most days, it’s closer than you think.
Summer is...
Here’s how summer shows up for some of our team.
“I spend all winter talking about sitting in a pub garden – like it’s a sport. And when that first after-work draught cider actually happens – outside, light jacket over my shoulders, sun barely hanging on – I’m not exaggerating when I say I lose my mind. Summer is pub gardens and light jackets. That’s the combo. That’s the feeling." – Olivia, Senior Editor
"Summer, to me, is the art of doing nothing – on purpose. It brings out the Italian in all of us: the dolce far niente. A sweet idleness. Slow afternoons, an ice cream in hand, nowhere to be. There’s something about standing in the sun – your favourite shorts, gelato, no plan – that just is summer. Not rushed. Not productive. Just joy, for the sake of it." – Neomi, Paid Social Executive
"I’ll never stop loving the first BBQ of the summer. The food prep, the last-minute patio jet-wash, the playlist-making – I relish all of it. There’s something about gathering in the garden with family and friends, even when the drizzle joins uninvited. Beer and rosé on the terrace, kids running wild in and out of the house, lunch stretching into dinner, belly laughs echoing through it all. That’s when I know summer’s really here." – Melissa, Chief Creative Officer