Charm Summer

Love the brat summer vibe; I just don't have it in me to be so Julia

I’m driving along the coastline to Cape Cornwall on the rainiest day of the summer. I’d rather be alone than be a stranger, Claire Cottrill’s voice whispers in my car one minute after the opening licks of Nomad echo in the Laurel Canyon of it all.

Two days ago I was draping my body across warm rocks, the sound of the thrashing swell echoing in my ears, unwrapping a sandwich from its honeyed paper envelope and biting into a ripe nectarine, the juice running like a flash flood and sweetening my skin. There is nothing but romance in the air. I want after glowing, and when I call a car, send me eyes with the knowing that I could pull it off, Clairo croons in Sexy To Someone.

Charm has been soundtracking these moments of movement and stillness for the past few weeks, with its nostalgic 70s palate and soft rock grooves. And whilst everyone else has been declaring themselves ripe for a chaotic, unrelenting, frenetic brat summer, I’m preferring mine to be one full of charm instead.

Of course no shade on the phenomenon of Charli XCX’s brat era. The album is a banger. I listened to 360 on the day it came out driving down the highway from Ojai to LA with my friend Sophia, my favourite writer friend. We blasted it and allowed our bodies to bop haphazardly and unabashedly with the windows down and the wind roaring. I love that the spirit of brat (“pack of cigs, a Bic lighter and a strappy white top with no bra”) is alive and well. But a brat, I am not.

I’ve written about the blessing and curse of being perceived as ‘wholesome’. I’m embracing it. Having moved from the city to the coast for the summer, my return to a more bucolic, immersed-in-nature life has been a stark contrast to summer in the city. Despite becoming dangerously au fait with the pace of London (seeing four people a day, socialising every night, constantly on the go) my natural state is more like moving through molasses. It takes some getting used to, of course. Not seeing friends for two days and having less than four evening plans a week can make a girl feel like a loser. My proclivity for anxiously overthinking and feeling like an outsider has been a challenge to overcome. Yet when those unexpected plans emerge – like a chance encounter with old friends at the car boot sale or a 4pm surf on tiny waves and long boards – they feel all the more special.

A recipe for a charm summer is simple: take things slow, make life romantic. As someone who is in a permanent state of nostalgia, this guiding principle reminds me to stop harking back to the past and appreciate the beauty of what’s going on in front of me. I’m aware that romanticising life can appear delusional at times; for me, it’s a coping mechanism that counters the vortex of spiralling thoughts inside my brain, like crying over boys or wondering why I can’t talk to strangers without bursting into blind panic.

I remember the first time I watched a very specific video from Kinfolk. It was 2014 and one of their dreamy films that captured an ode to summer. I’m sure many would watch it and be embarrassed by the earnestness (or perhaps performed sincerity?) of it all – it is admittedly pretty twee – but I recall feeling, and still do now, like it was something I wanted to have for myself. Solitude, slow reflective mornings, packing a simple lunch, cycling to a nearby waterfall, jumping into a river with friends, letting the sun dry your skin, coming home to stillness. Even as I write this, I know it sounds horrifically idealistic. But still, my wanting of it persists.

I’m dreaming of open spaces and canopied forests and dark wooden surfaces and seeing nothing but this for miles. I’ve always been good on my own, and lately I’ve realised any fear of being alone comes more from fearing how others might perceive my solitude than me not enjoying it. I could cook and read and watch and write and listen alone for days and be happy. It’s that voice in the back of my head that wonders whether I’m doing it out of ease and comfort or because I’m afraid of what new people will bring.

So, what does my charm summer actually look like? Knowing it’s safe to be alone. Driving along the coast. Cooking for myself and sometimes for others. Trying to quiet the chaos. Drinking a little bit less. Playing a little bit more. FaceTiming my goddaughter everyday so I can imagine the world through her eyes. Taking time out from dating. Not living in the past. In fact, not living for anyone else but myself. I guess that’s where brat and charm intersect: being unapologetically yourself, whether it’s in the quiet of the coast or in the chaos of the city. I guess the brats are just doing it in knee high boots and I’m out here unironically googling gardening clogs.