Love and kisses,

Plum

Dearest Readers,

A lovely reader asked me where I get this wallpaper, and I wanted to make sure the info didn’t get lost in a note or an instagram post. This is my bedroom at home at my farm in the Cotswolds. The wallpaper is from a lovely chap called Nicholas Herbert, who has the MOST divine showroom on Lots Road, which is just by Chelsea Harbour in London, where all the design people are. Unlike a lot of the design people in that area, Nicholas is not outrageously expensive.

I first found the wallpaper when I was decorating a house in London in around 2008. I had a lovely house on Northumberland Place, near Notting Hill, with two tiny box bedrooms on the attic floor, and after many years spent at the Paris ready-to-wear collections staying at The Hotel Costes on the Rue St Honore, whose bedrooms were toiled and cosy beyond belief, all I wanted was a toile bedroom in London to try and recreate that feeling. However when I tried to find good toile de jouy wallpapers, they were far too expensive to contemplate, and often the designs had too many people in them for my liking! I wanted the bows and the flowers, but not the people wandering around digging gardens or millking cows, as I always found that a bit naff to be honest.

I spent many a day traipsing around Chelsea Harbour in a fruitless hunt for something similar, and one day walked past Nicholas’ storefront and couldn’t believe it when I found this paper. I loved it because it had a soft creamy background, and the ‘red’ of the design was faded not bright. The wallpaper would look like it had been there forever from day one, which is kind of my style. Nicholas himself was in the store and a more delightful man I have rarely met - he has the vibe of a jolly English uncle with the most exquisite country house style and taste. His chintzes are, well - to die for.

I used it in the London place and adored it. When I moved to the country in 2013 I only wanted one thing in my bedroom - Nicholas’ scarlet toile. Again, I installed it, this time with faded old silk curtains I’d rescued from a local manor house, and it looked divine. Another thirteen years on, I’m doing up a new flat in London. Most likely, the bedroom will be the same!

I hope you enjoyed this little post today, see you all next Thursday with my report from the chicest flea markets in the Luberon, France.

xxx Plum

Here are all the wallpaper details:

Nicholas Herbert Toile De Albert deets

P.S. I love the blue colourways:

I’m in a mini-row with my old mucker, the writer Jonathan Van Meter, he of the famed 1998 Vogue Oprah cover, for which Oprah lost an indecent amount of weight, he of the iconic ‘We don’t wake up for less than $10,000 a day’ supermodel quote, and he, most recently, of Citizen Kim, his book about the Kardashian sister most likely to run for president. (Let’s face it, one of them has to.)

When I learned in late July that my old American Vogue colleague had written the authorised biography of Kim, although I’d never finished a single episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, I was gagging to read the book. There were two reasons for this: first, I was going on holiday at the end of August and had read the entire Patrick Radden Keefe oeuvre and so was book-less; second, ‘JonVan’ as he was nicknamed at Vogue, is the kind of journalist who has the ability to take a celebrity subject, often someone who is as glamorous as they are deliciously tabloid, and pen an intelligent, fascinating and witty study of them which doubles as a deft analysis of the zeitgeist, of American culture, and of the current state of fame.

To fill you in, I arrived at Vogue early in 1997 when JonVan was penning multiple cover stories each year. I was violently jealous of this charming man every time Anna Wintour awarded him yet another cover with Angelina, Charlize, or Nicole, while I was relegated to writing 600 words in the front of book. Still, we became friends and all I ever wanted was to write a cover story that was maybe a fraction as good as one of JonVan’s.

Fast forward to me finding out last month, via JonVan’s Instagram (Rude! I thought we were friends!) that he’d scored the scoop of the decade, wheedled his way into Kim Kardashian’s affections and brainwashed her into letting him write her biography, with full access to her, her entire family, and an adjacent cast of former nannies, high school besties, riding instructors and beauty therapists. I messaged JonVan and asked for the book. He said he’d send it. That was late July. By mid-August it still hadn’t arrived. I was forced to berate my dear friend via video message on Instagram, then with a torrent of ‘where is it?’ WhatsApps, as well as attempted phone calls, none of which he picked up. Melissa Rivers got her book before me. Kate Young got hers before me. It was humiliating. When the Advance Reader Copy finally arrived in late August, embargoed and forbidding early readers from quoting it without permission from the publisher, despite being somewhat cross with my old friend, I ate up the whole thing in twenty-four hours. I felt obliged to share my thoughts asap, despite the publisher’s warnings.

So, without further ado, (as my dear brother Tom Sykes would say), here are my immediate takeaways from a book that is as moreish as the sprinkle-topped Froyos that Kim makes using the frozen yoghurt machine that is famously hidden behind a secret door in her pantry:

1. The reflexive snobbishness of any Kim-Deniers is addressed at the top of this book. Van Meter writes, in his typically sharp prose, that “people who have viewed Kim as a talentless empty vessel—someone known for sitting around with her sisters scheming over enormous takeout salads,” can’t bear the cultural significance of a single mom who is now worth around $1.9 billion. The author tackles the love-hate relationship the world has with her: she’s beautiful, she’s tacky, she’s corny, she’s plastic, she’s authentic, she’s fake, she’s dumb, she’s passed the bar, she’s obsessed with her butt, she’s a huge business success. It’s hard to conceive of and as Van Meter writes in his introduction, ‘You can learn a lot about a person by telling them you’re writing a book about Kim Kardashian.’ He amusingly recalls that just the concept of a book - literature - about a subject as lightweight as Kim Kardashian prompts looks of ‘cognitive dissonance’ among his friends.

2. Kim Kardashian was always like this. There is nothing as revealing as one’s first forays into fashion and Van Meter writes that as an infant her mother Kris Jenner “dressed Kim in Baby Dior and a pink satin bonnet and marvelled at how beautiful she was — “stunning” to be precise…In 1991 the Kardashians’ nanny wrote in her journal: ‘Kim looks gorgeous. Even as a ten-year-old child, she is stunning.’” The Kardashians, it turns out, were no rags-to-riches tale, (until rather later after Robert and Kris divorced): while Kris was still married to Robert, she and the kids lived in a tony area of Beverly Hills, with people like Jay Leno and Bruce Springsteen as neighbours. This had a direct impact on Kim’s trajectory. As the author puts it, “Life in these kind of enclaves in Beverly Hills afforded random, effortless camaraderie with the most famous people in the world.”

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Obvs. the Meghan move to the UK has had the What’sApps flying between me and over the past 24 hours. Anyway, we got on Tom’s You Tube channel last night and had a good old catch up. (Including an off-topic segue discussing where I get my hair coloured.)

Without further ado, as Tom would say, here’s the button to link to our chat WITHOUT THE ADS:

SYKES SIBS LIVE!

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Enjoy darlings and please let us know what you think! x plum

JOIN DUDES!

X P.S.

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^{Dearest Readers,}

^{When my adorbs intern told me that she had a fashion internship this summer in London with one of the chicest fashion houses in the world, I was thrilled for her. When she told me that she knew of co-interns who dress ‘like it’s their first day on planet earth’ for such roles, and that in order to avoid such a grave error she was creating PowerPoints for her outfits for each day, I said, Sweetie! That’s a story! She wrote it up and it is the perfect guide for anyone about to launch into said sartorial territory. Imogen, thank you for such a brilliant piece. Readers, do please let Imogen know how you like her story, which is below.}

^{XO P.S.}

Dressing for an internship for a fashion house is a uniquely intimidating exercise in pretending you have not thought too hard about getting dressed. The office was in Mayfair, and before I had even started in July, I was consumed with the most important question of the internship: what was I going to wear? I wanted to look sophisticated, but not corporate, interested in fashion, but not as though I were cosplaying as an extra in The Devil Wears Prada. A disproportionate amount of effort went into this, involving countless photos, many conflicting opinions, and more deliberation than was reasonably required for getting dressed for work. My most useful hobby has finally revealed its professional application: I take photos of my own outfits whenever I especially like what I’m wearing, save references from Pinterest and Instagram, and arrange everything into a slideshow—part catalogue, part packing list—with possible outfits assembled slide by slide. I make one for almost any trip or event where I care about what I am going to wear. Is it obsessive and slightly unhinged? Yes. Is it extremely useful for planning five days’ outfits? Also yes.

I have always felt I was meant for office dressing. A ‘professional’ dress code felt less like a restriction than a long-awaited opportunity. At my New York City high school, where plenty of students arrived in pyjama bottoms and sweatshirts, I was often in a blouse and trousers. More than once, a freshman mistook me for a teacher and asked for help with his schedule or the grading policy. I was sixteen.

The real challenge was summer: hot weather is fundamentally at odds with looking chic. Each morning, I left my flat attempting to channel Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy’s particular brand of effortlessness: clean lines and smooth hair. My fear was that by the time I reached Mayfair, I would arrive red-faced, with my hair in a greasy ponytail and bearing a closer resemblance to Erling Haaland.

These are the five outfits that survived the internship, and the London heat. By the end of the week, I had it down. Forthwith: My Five Very Subjective Rules of Fashion-Internship Dressing. (If I wore any of this to a J.P. Morgan internship, I suspect I’d have had one day and one day only before I was out.)

Rule 1: Don’t Dress Like It’s Your First Day on Planet Earth

My main objective was not to look as though I had invented a new personality for the occasion or had mistaken the internship for a costume party with a business-casual theme. The safest option was to wear things I already knew I loved. I chose a black cotton-poplin button-down from Suzie Kondi, white Levi’s Ribcage jeans, and Chanel ballet flats borrowed from my mother—older than I am and still going strong after being resoled.

The shirt was easily one of my best purchases of 2025. I wear it with trousers, throw it over a bikini at the beach, and reach for it almost every week. The clothes I love are practically hermetically sealed to my body, and in less than a year, this shirt has joined their ranks. For the first day, that familiarity was useful: I already knew I liked how it looked and would not spend the morning wondering whether I had made a terrible mistake.

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Dearest Readers,

There are Rich People, and then there are Cool Rich People, and rarely the twain doth meet — especially on vacation, but even more especially during that most sacred of vacation months, August.

Holidaying is complicated for the Cool Rich set because it demands being in places that are not in danger of being polluted by Ordinary Rich People who cause aesthetic alarm by doing things like wearing diamond bracelet stacks while paddling in the ocean, swanning about on mega-yachts that are custom-painted matt black, or arriving in heels for lunch at the beach. The solution is to vacation in impossible-to-get-to spots that are too mountainous to land a jet, too windy to helicopter into and whose coves are so tiny and shallow that they can’t possibly accommodate a tech titan’s ugly boat. Anywhere with tarmac-ed roads, convenient airports, fully-equipped hospitals or deep ports — Sardinia, St. Tropez, Southampton — are not an option, obvs.

You can see where I’m going with this: where is inaccessible enough to be glamorous, but also a place one can casually run into friends? (I mean what’s the point in being in the centre of Cool Rich-Land if no one knows you are there, right?) Enter Antiparos, a very small island in the Cyclades, in the Aegean Sea off mainland Greece. The journey there is suitably arduous: there’s the flight to Mykonos, from there a taxi to the harbour, from the harbour a ferry to the island of Paros, from there a taxi across Paros to the little harbour, from the little harbour a small boat to Antiparos and from the teeny weeny harbour in Antiparos a car or a taxi to your divinely bohemian-chic, gigantic shack up in the hills. On a good day it’ll take a minimum of fourteen hours from London but there are always delays, no one gets in on time, and every trip to Antiparos becomes an ‘adventure’ with which to regale your hosts over dinner upon arrival: even the gossip among the chic-sters on the Sea Jets ferry is so good it makes the hellish journey worthwhile, I kid you not. (But more of the ferry gossip later.)

Now, I was lucky enough to get invited to Antiparos last week by dear friends Tree and Tosh. No, really, I promise you those are their names - they are Brits. (Tree is the girl one and Tosh is the boy one.) Between them they have multiple offspring from various marriages who had multiple friends who were all in the house, so I spent a week in their glorious villa on the bay side of Antiparos, usually being woken up at 4.30am every morning by the sound of several twenty-somethings dive-bombing into the pool after prowling the bar scene all night.

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Once in a lifetime you meet a pair of sunglasses and it’s love at first sight.

I wouldn’t say I’m the sort who is usually inclined to fall hard for an unsuitable block of acetate, but on this occasion I have. This whirlwind affair has been one of those that was a mystery at the beginning, but became clearer each day I spent with the sunglasses. The better I knew them, the more often I peered through their stunningly clear lenses into the honey-hued world they magicked up, the more my friends got to know them and appreciate them, the more I worshipped them.

Only a couple of weeks ago, infidelity stalked my relationships with sunglasses. I would declare undying love to a pair of face-swamping Tom Fords one minute only to callously cast them off for an Audrey Hepburn-esque pair of Kate Spades when Tom bored me. When those failed to amuse, I cheated with a pair of Oliver Goldsmiths or Chanels on the side.

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My sartorial humiliation commenced even before the journey began. Since my trip was only five days long, including two days of travel, I reasoned that I only needed three days’ worth of ‘nice’ clothes. I could take that small amount as carry-on, avoid the check-in queues at Heathrow and zip out of the airport at Marseilles without the bore of waiting at a carousel. It would all be so quick and easy, I thought smugly to myself.

‘I’m just bringing hand luggage,’ I told my host, Ristéard, by telephone the day before I set off. ‘So I can only bring one evening dress - is that enough?’

There was a pause at the other end of the line, and I detected an air of disappointment. Then came the words, ‘Don’t worry. Anh will make up for it. She usually has at least three changes of clothes before lunchtime each day.’

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I write to you in a state of concern regarding the King. The ‘Glossy Posse’ - those considered the very ton of modern Gloucestershire society - gathered this past Friday at Charlie’s country pad, Highgrove, near the market town of Tetbury, for a Chanel purse summit masquerading as a luncheon for HRH’s ‘collab’ with the French couture house. (He’s always been ahead of the curve, though, so I wasn’t at all surprised that he’s got in on the Métiers D’Art thing). Yours Truly found herself on the guest list, and RSVP’d yes within seconds of receiving the gilded, water-coloured stiffie. (The thick card was something of a treat for the mantelpiece in the Green Boudoir - no one sends engraved invitations anymore, alas.)

That morning, I chugged Highgrove-wards from Sykes Towers in mummie’s old 1984 Volvo Estate. Security is so tight chez Charles that guests are given a postcode that is at least five miles North of the main gate to protect his Highnesses' safety. The dropped pin takes one to the T.H. White farm supplier, that famed Cotswolds purveyor of sheep feed and Honda quad bikes, wherein Yours Truly located a plain clothes policeman dressed in blue overalls posing as the store manager. This intelligence agent recognised me immediately of course, as a guest of Le King, and, in a whisper, imparted to me the real directions to the Highgrove estate.

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While I am off on a little jaunt in Provence - which I will share with you all very, very soon - my dear intern Zeynep has stepped in with a delicious essay (this post is free) about her certifiable obsession with scarves. This is a girl who does not show up to a zoom without some sort of silk square immaculately knotted around her neck every single time. When I eventually asked her why this was she said ‘scarves are my emotional support mechanism’. I said, ‘Zeynep get ya pen out, that’s a story.’ Here it is…

***

It would not be an exaggeration to say that I rely on a scarf almost as much as I would any therapist. Tying my scarf is a tiny ritual of self-construction that boosts my confidence the second I do it.

Some people have lucky jewellery, others rely on a particular lipstick before a difficult evening. I too have my own make-up and accessory favourites, but my pièce de résistance happens to be a piece of silk (or cashmere depending on the season) arranged around my neck to pull an outfit - and myself - together.

Over years of rigorous field research, I can conclude that the scarf one chooses can lift the spirits quicker than a glug of Ruinart.

Here, I present my scarves as multiple personality types:

1. The Slightly Neurotic Double Knot

Despite being rather impractical at times, the ‘Slightly Neurotic Double Knot’ remains my favourite.

I worry far too much about the ends being precisely the right length and the print showing exactly the right amount. The knot must, of course, look effortless. Unfortunately, like most things that carry the illusion of nonchalant chic, achieving this can take some effort.

I am increasingly suspicious that true nonchalance has never existed.

There is a very fine line between perfectly asymmetrical and simply wrong, and I seem determined to find it every time. A millimetre can be the difference between chic and starting again. I have never met a scarf end I did not feel compelled to adjust.

Some people practise mindfulness, I prefer tying the same knot around seventeen times.

Though I am usually the sort of person who arrives promptly, if not offensively early, if I am late once in a blue moon, check whether I am wearing a double-knotted scarf. Beauty is pain. Occasionally, it can also cause poor time management.

The final result, however, is completely worth the emotional and nervous damage the process may cause. The double knot is wonderfully secure, durable and actually quite warm around the neck. It is perfect for a day of shopping, running around town or rushing to class, once you have finally managed to leave the house.

I find that the ‘Slightly Neurotic Double Knot’ thrives when the scarf is slightly longer than the classic twilly format, which is why my favourite for this purpose is the Dior Mitzah.

The tricky thing about Dior Mitzah scarves is that so many unique variations appear throughout the year. If you find a print you adore, I suggest buying it without waiting, as it may simply disappear.

Mine in these photos are from the 2025 seasonal collections and the limited-edition ABCDior Initial series, which was only available at a few boutiques. (You may still find some in certain stores if you’re lucky.)

For the ‘Z’ scarf, like any sensible Dior Mitzah enthusiast I travelled from the wilderness of St Andrews to the Bond Street flagship for the sole purpose of buying it. I realise this may sound less like shopping and more like a clinically observable condition.

2. The Good Girl Gone Silk

I like to think of this as the scarf equivalent of following the dress code and then finding a loophole. It almost always manages to bring a smile to one’s face, whether that is method acting or the subconscious signalling a state of content.

My favourite for this look is the classic Hermès twilly. Its length allows it to fall somewhere between a neckerchief and a necktie, creating an almost invisible reference to a preppy school uniform. The uniform reference is there, but so is the plausible deniability. One of my friends once joked about how Hermès is just as bookish as it is horse-y and I couldn’t agree more, I think it thrives when paired with preppy-esque codes.

Naturally, the good girl gone silk is exactly what the name might suggest, it is for those moments when your outfit options are restricted, but you still refuse to wear a bland look.

The rebellious attributes of silk remain up for debate, but it certainly adds a trace of visual interest.

I love wearing a short twilly with knits and shirts, where it somehow manages to look both playful and formal. It is prim and proper, but only technically, and as much as you want it to be. The overall effect suggests impeccable manners with just enough silk-based accessorising.

One might look as though one is about to hand in an assignment early. Whether one has actually done the required reading is, naturally, a separate matter. However, looking the part may be a lifesaver at times. Confidence, much like personal style, can be accessorised.

3. The ‘Add One Thing Before You Leave the House’

With the greatest respect to the minimalist intentions behind Coco Chanel’s famous advice, sometimes subtraction is simply not the answer.

The advice may be to remove one thing before leaving the house, but I have tested the opposite theory extensively, and the success rate with basics is alarmingly high. Too high to ignore.

I have always felt that minimalism is a beautiful concept, particularly on other people. Some outfits may thrive on restraint, others simply need a floral twilly.

This is my favourite approach when I am in a rush and a neutral outfit needs rescuing. A small piece of patterned silk can be the single difference between an intentional look and one that makes you wonder, halfway through the day, why you did not try slightly harder.

Weirdly enough, it also gives the illusion that you have your life together even when your schedule suggests you have not had time to sit down for a coffee. I love wearing colour and print, but there are days when one does not necessarily want to commit to the entire look. This is where the scarf performs its greatest public service.

Paired with some statement earrings, a scarf can manage to make you look as though you have done the required reading, taken an early-morning walk, and are caffeinated just enough to bear academia during a very gloomy day. A neutral outfit is, after all, merely a blank canvas awaiting (sometimes irresponsible) accessorising.

What fascinates me most is that the scarf can be tied in exactly the same way as the ‘Good Girl Gone Silk’ and yet communicate something entirely different. The scarf matters, but the context matters just as much. Change the knit, the trousers, and the shoes, suddenly the same knot belongs to an entirely different character.

The equation is simple: basics plus silk equals evidence of personality. This is one of the only equations I can confidently do.

For this, I love a fun print. One of my favourites is a Dior Mitzah from 2025 called ‘The Lucky Star’ which has the most incredible star pattern with a swirly butterfly motif inside; another is a particularly cheerful Gucci scarf, in the signature floral print.

4. The Fashion Footnote

The miscellaneous category for those — like me — who consider the archive a perfectly reasonable source of outfit inspiration.

As an archival-fashion enthusiast, I find myself returning to this category quite often. I consider it a very chic form of academic referencing: I love slipping tiny fashion references into an outfit whilst fully expecting no one else to notice them. If no one does, the scarf is still pretty. If someone does, however, it makes my day.

The beauty of a niche reference is that no one can accuse you of trying too hard if no one understands it.

I find that when one is stuck between essays, readings, classes, meetings and lingering responsibilities, life can feel, at times, rather boring; therefore, the highlight of one’s day can very much be the outfit (don’t ask how I know). When everything else feels suffocatingly monotonous, getting dressed can be much more entertaining when you occasionally treat it like a private joke with fashion history.

This might mean wearing Prada to watch The Devil Wears Prada, or tying a Dior Mitzah in a way inspired by Jonathan Anderson’s scarf styling on the day of one of his Dior shows. I particularly love the way he styles silk scarves almost like ties, bringing a preppy edge to something traditionally feminine.

I do not expect anyone to notice these details. In fact, that is partly the point. But if someone does, there is the immediate satisfaction of realising that you are both in on the same tiny fashion footnote.

There is also something particularly reassuring about wearing one of these references on an otherwise boring day. When it is pouring with rain, you are walking to a morning class and you would prefer to be almost anywhere else, ideally within walking distance of Place Vendôme, a piece of silk around your neck can become the thread holding your sanity intact.

P.S. If an Emotional Support Scarf occupies your thoughts for more than a week, I generally consider that medical clearance to buy it. Limited editions rarely reward hesitation. This Clover scarf and this Hermès square are currently testing my own self-control.

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Dearest Readers,

Just over ten days ago, mid-French heatwave, I found myself in the divine, poured-concrete surrounds of the store in Cannes, a veritable temple of chic, shopping, and violently effective air conditioning. I was dressed in a rosebud-pink crepe t-shirt of couture-esque proportions, black pants that puddled on the floor and had the Bolero bag squished beneath one arm, all designed by Pierpaolo Piccioli, the former Valentino designer who took over at the house last year.

I was excited and a tad nervous: I was there during the Cannes Lions Festival of Creativity to take part in a panel discussion with the French novelist and the Head of Substack International, Farrah Storr (). The subject - how can brands support artistry, creativity and deep thinking across Substack? – is a broad one, and we were speaking to an impressive crowd who are about as media and tech-savvy as it gets. It’s a fascinating question and I am asked frequently by some of the most powerful people in fashion how their companies can work with publishers (aka writers or creators) on Substack. This is not surprising: the click-through and conversion rates from certain fashion-centric newsletters are eye-wateringly high - take and her newsletter Magasin, for example - because of the intimate relationship the newsletter model creates.

So, for those of you to whom Substack is a foreign language, here’s my attempt to explain how brands can partner effectively with publishers and why publishers see brands as a vehicle for incredible creativity. No need to be scared: it’s not a riddle, its a process.

The questions I am asked most often right now by those at the top of fashion and lifestyle companies are, How can my brand succeed on Substack? How can my product get recommended? Should my brand have a newsletter? I tell everyone the same thing: there’s the simple answer and there are the complicated, nuanced, developed answers; the latter flows from the former.

1. The simple answer: grab your Substack handle, now.

I am not advising this because brands suddenly need to start sending out brilliant newsletters every five minutes, nor does a brand need to ‘pretend’ it’s a writer (or a Substacker). It’s less complicated than that.

It’s easiest to illustrate this with a real-life example. A few weekends ago, Zac Posen, who oversees The Gap, Old Navy and Banana Republic, visited me at my farm in the Cotswolds. We are old friends and were catching up about everything from family to business. We soon got onto the subject of Substack and I asked him whether he, or any of his brands, have Substack handles or newsletters. They did not, and I asked why. There was a sweet, Zac-ish sigh, and a mumbling about time, and not having enough of it to figure out another platform, and a raised eyebrow which telegraphed what’s the point of it all anyway?

Well, I said to Zac, the point is that you need to grab the Zac Posen handle, The Gap handle (which he can’t – I checked, and it has already been taken, but Gap Inc. is available) and the Banana and Old Navy handles. They are present and future IP. I say this to everyone I know whether they are an individual or a business.

I reassured Zac that he wouldn’t necessarily need to do anything with the handle immediately. A Substack handle is a tool that is comparable to an Instagram or Twitter handle – even if you don’t use it, you simply don’t want anyone else to own it. He could just ‘sit’ on it for now or even put out one or two small Posts or Notes but being present is the first step on Substack.

Take the example of : I was interested to see that they started a newsletter last fall, becoming the first couture house in the world to launch on Substack. The newsletter was launched with ‘A Personal Note’ from Pierpaolo Piccioli about his inspirations for the Fall ‘26 collection. The fact that the personal note was wildly abstract, slightly barmy and illustrated with exquisite, edgy imagery made it a real treat and totally authentic. The newsletter is, sensibly, called ‘Balenciaga’. (I don’t really believe brands should call their publication something different to their brand name as this makes the newsletter harder to find.) Balenciaga have only published four or five articles in the past few months but that’s not the most important thing at this stage: the most important thing is that they are here. The newsletter and handle has given them a seat at the table. They are part of the conversation.

This is relevant because brands with a handle or newsletter can start following influential fashion writers on Substack, commenting on their work and restacking interesting articles, thereby building their own followings. The equation also works in reverse: if an influential fashion writer – say, or – mentions say, a Tory Burch sweater or a Balenciaga gown in a newsletter, they can not only embed a link to the product in their text (Substack does not force a potential customer to click out of Substack and onto the dreaded ‘link in bio’ to get to product, in fact quite the opposite: if the reader clicks on an underlined piece of text, they are taken straight to the website of the merchant, whether it’s a theatre ticket, a garden tour or a pair of Manolo Blahnik stilettos), they can also embed a link to the brand’s newsletter. This is one of the reasons I recommend brands stick to their known name for both their handle and the title of their newsletter. The reason the conversion rate from certain Substack newsletters is so high is, I believe, because it is just one click to get to the product the author is discussing. (I will talk more about conversion rates later).

2. Understand the subscriber model and the importance of creator-to-reader emails.

When a publisher has a reader ‘subscribe’ to their newsletter, what this means in practice is that the reader shares their email with that publisher. (They may or may not pay for the newsletter, and most brands’ newsletters are free.) The newsletter is sent to every person on the publisher’s subscriber list via their personal email. It lands in their inbox. There is no algorithm between the publisher and their reader, because there is no algorithm that can stop a writer, publisher or brand sending an email to an individual.

The value of this is immense. Let me explain why by comparing the scenario with a rival social media platform: if I put out a post on Instagram, I have no idea whether it will be seen by any of my followers at all because an algorithm decides who sees which posts and how many people see it. Conversely, when I send out my newsletter, I know that all my subscribers will receive that email.

To avoid losing you in the weeds of all this, let’s return to the working example of myself and Zac chatting. By now we were in the barn hanging out with the horses. I could tell he was still a little confused by the idea of Substack, so I spelled it out for him.

‘Zac, how many Instagram followers do you have?’ I asked him.

‘Like two million.’

‘Okay,’ I went on, ‘so that’s two million potential customers who you can’t contact directly. Imagine if they were subscribing to you on Substack: you’d have two million emails. That’s a business.’

‘Ohhh. Ohhh,’ he said, his eyes widening. ‘I see.’

3. Should a brand have their own newsletter?

Whether a brand should launch a newsletter or not is an entirely different proposition. For a direct connection with an audience and for acquiring their emails, it’s obviously a no-brainer. But the reality is that most luxury brands are already overwhelmed with managing the social media they do have and many do not have the resources to devote a team to creating a fabulous newsletter, which requires immense commitment, time and know-how. The writers here are their own publishers, editors, graphic designers, art directors, stylists and often photographers (this one is also its own hair and makeup). Substack was designed as a platform for writers, and anyone who tries to exist here without excellent writing to anchor their newsletter doesn’t get far. It’s not like TikTok where throwing up a bunch of reels will do: the newsletters that really break through, regardless of the subject matter, are helmed by people with the talent and skill to write well, which is generally backed up by a granular level of expertise on their subject.

Again, I defer to specific examples: , who has just joined (halleluiah) is writing about writing screenplays – I defy anyone to not sign up to read the bts of the creator of Withnail and I and The Killing Fields; shows up week in week out with stunning writing on American politics, media, the royal family and high society, subjects she understands expertly; Lauren Sherman’s newsletter on Puck, Line Sheet, is the daily bible for the industry and makes the business side of fashion seem, well, sexy; writes about American teenagers with a youthful p.o.v so influential that American Vogue recently partnered with her to find the fifty most stylish teenagers in America. These writers are incredible communicators, are trusted by their readers, have loyal followings and, most important of all, have a distinctive ‘voice’. Without a voice, writing is just, well, a load of vocab smushed together into paragraphs.

Now, most luxury brands do not just happen to possess an in-house Bruce Robinson, Biz Sherbert or Lauren Sherman. So if they start a newsletter they have to hire a brilliant writer, or a team - expensive and difficult. I can see why many are put off. The Tory Burch model is appealing but requires heavy lifting behind the scenes: the label’s in-house editors write the newsletter, as well as partnering with different writers on Substack to create content, photography and fashion edits.

4. Understand how the partnership model works.

Even if a brand does launch its own newsletter, that will not make the brand as discoverable as being featured in other writers’ newsletters, particularly with the growing influence of GEO (Generative Engine Optimization for the Luddites among you, which is becoming as important as Search Engine Optimization or SEO.) Where SEO ranks web pages based on traditional search engines like Google, GEO focuses on structuring content so it gets cited and recommended by AI tools. Since AI crawlers favour content that proves experience, expertise, authority and trustworthiness, that means that mentioning your own product or your own brand in your own branded newsletter isn’t going to put you at the top of the AI answers pile.

What I mean is that if, say, Ralph Lauren were to mention Ralph Lauren in its own newsletter, that would not get it far in terms of GEO. But if Leandra Medine Cohen states in her fashion newsletter, , that, say, she’s in love with a Ralph Lauren cable knit sweater, or Becky Malinsky makes one of her that week the cable knit Ralph sweater – bingo, the GEO could start answering the question ‘where do I get the coolest cable knit sweater? with ‘Ralph Lauren makes the coolest cable knit sweater’. I simplify, but the cable knit sweater will be ‘the answer’ on AI precisely because it’s been mentioned by fashion authorities who are not Ralph Lauren.

If we take this a little further, for a brand, the more they show up in native content, particularly the kind of content that is based on personal trust, the more ‘trustworthy’ AI will consider that product or brand. ’s sponsorship of vintage fiend ’s hilarious newsletter is exactly the sort of partnership I am talking about. You could call it cynical, or you could call it smart, but the brands who are targeting newsletters are tapping into the way that information for consumers is going to be summarized in the future. I’m not surprised that Uber and What Not are among the names joining Substack’s sponsorship program.

My answer, then, to the question of whether a brand needs its own publication is two-fold: yes it absolutely does – eventually - but it will fail if it exists in isolation. In terms of discovery, working with individual writers is almost more important, right now, than having a branded newsletter.

5. How can brands succesfully interact with creators on Substack?

The answer is multi-pronged: reach out, whether it’s with invites, meetings, appointments, product to try, samples to shoot, outfits to lend, or interesting events. Keep connecting. Follow the writers you’d like to work with. Repost their content. Get in touch with publishers/writers on Direct Messages and ask if they’d like to work with you. Most writers are open to trying things (unless its wildly off brand) as, remember, they need news to write about to create content.

It’s a no-brainer and, in reality, no more complicated than the way brands used to interact with me when I was a full-time Vogue print journalist. Designers invited us to their shows, to dinners, to interview them; PRs contacted us with juicy titbits. It’s no different now. We all need things to report on – and IRL is always better.

Real world example: Daisy Knatchbull, CEO of women’s Savile Row tailor Knatchbull, invited me to her No. 1 Car Park Picnic at Ascot in mid-June. I then posted about the hilarious high society picnic scene on my Instagram and in Notes. Knatchbull gets a mention, the label is suddenly on my mind and Daisy and I start texting – ‘borrow whenever you need to for an event’, she tells me. Fast forward to a week later and I’m in the store in Savile Row trying on a jacket to borrow to wear to one of the legendary Puck private dinners (which I’ll write about soon, promise, it was sooo cool). At the Puck dinner Lauren Sherman asks me who makes that jacket, I say Knatchbull, then , of My Take On, asks where it’s from, I say Knatchbull, she’s intrigued. And so, from one very generous invitation, Knatchbull is on the radar of a whole bunch of very influential fashion peeps. It’s the IRL-to-Substack pipeline. (Note to Daisy Knatchbull - get ya self a Substack handle as I haven’t been able to link to you in this story…)

6. Understand how a brand without a newsletter can smash it on Substack.

A fascinating example is how the small Italian brand Giuliva Heritage has been working with top creators in a very smart way. I had only been on Substack a few short months before , who is one half of the duo behind this label (her husband Gerrardo is the designer) started following me on Substack. Her handle is simply her own personal one. She got in touch and asked if I’d like to have a zoom with her to discuss the line. I had already been following the brand on Instagram, loved the aesthetic and wanted to know more. When we chatted on zoom I pretty much fell in love with Margherita who suggested she send me a bunch of stuff to try. ‘Absolutely no pressure, just wear it and see if you like it,’ she said to me. ‘Sure. Why not?’

When the box of clothing arrived, I was pretty stunned – the quality, make and design were outstanding - and although the product is expensive, I felt the clothes were relatively well-priced in comparison to other higher-profile labels, some of which are losing ground on quality while their prices continue to rise. My readers appreciate this kind of analysis from a seasoned editor. I shot a few pieces for a story about dressing for Christmas cocktail parties, the post did incredibly well, and Margherita told me that at that point I became her highest performing creator. (The click through rate was 20% on this post.)

A story can have more impact for a brand beyond the newsletter. Margherita shared an anecdote with me: after I photographed a Giuliva black leather skirt a few months later, Margherita told me that not only had several skirts sold after the post (in fact it had sold out) but that a buyer from Net-A-Porter had been in the Rome showroom ordering for the next season, had heard from an important fashion journalist at The New York Times that black leather skirts were ‘in’ after she’d read the post and asked Giuliva to repeat the black leather skirt for the next season. Win win.

7. Who Reads matters as much as How Many Read.

The importance of data cannot be underestimated and it is fascinating for me to see how revealing the transparent data provided around each Post and Note I create is. Overall, I have found that my open rate is higher when a story centres around some kind of amusing social dilemma or slightly satirical tale of high society, where product is mentioned only if it is part of the narrative or adjacent to it – Substack readers are smart and they recoil from being marketed to. For example, a story I wrote about the High Society Wellie and the ‘bourgeois horreur’ of Wearing The Wrong Thing at an English country house weekend has been my highest-ever performing post, with a 22% click-through rate, mostly to the Le Chameau wellington boots.

This brings me to numbers: numbers on Substack are not like numbers on Instagram or Twitter. If twenty percent of five thousand readers click through, that’s one thousand people clicking through. To get one thousand click-throughs on Facebook or Instagram, which has an average click through rate of 1-2%, you need at least 100,000-200,000 followers; on YouTube, which has an average click through rate of 0.5-0.6%, you need 400,000-800,000.

No wonder my agent, Susannah Friedman of Brigade, says, ‘If a potential client starts asking me how many followers a creator has on Substack, I already know they are not ready for the platform: it’s not how many followers a creator has, it’s who the followers are.” Let me go a little deeper for you on this: influential writers have influential readers who spread the word about a writer and what they write about. So, if Tish Weinstock ( ) writes, always hilariously, about a Gucci handbag, or walking their most recent show, you can be guaranteed that among her three or four thousand readers are some of the most important people in fashion. It doesn’t matter that she has a small-ish number of readers: many of those readers are her dear friends, who are super-cool people, and that matters because Substack, is fundamentally, based on something very, very IRL and old-fashioned: word of mouth. So, if Tish Weinstock implies that Gucci is suddenly cool enough for her to walk in the show, she is indirectly saying that Gucci is cool enough to buy.

8. How does a brand buy out a newsletter or sponsor a post?

Classic PR, where no money changes hands between brand and creator and there is no ‘advertising’ is one thing. But brands can go way beyond this model and sponsor a mention in a writer’s post, or even buy out a whole newsletter, pushing creativity for both parties. As said at our talk in Cannes, brands are becoming a modern version of the old-fashioned ‘patrons’ of artists and writers. But sensitivity is required: a ‘buyout’ only works if the brand aligns with the writer and vice versa. I’d say that any brand looking to sponsor a writer should partner first with writers who are already familiar with or mentioning their product so that a buyout feels authentic.

When handled correctly this can be incredibly successful for the brand: a real-life example is Bamford, who I have shopped with at their farm shop in Gloucestershire for the last decade and frequently recommend because the quality and style is so fantastic. When Bamford decided to launch in America, this past February, they approached me to buy out an entire newsletter to introduce the brand to the American market and help promote the series of trunk shows they would be holding over the spring and summer in the US. The symbiosis was obvious: Bamford already knew that my readers were shopping Bamford (Bamford could see how many sales came to them via ShopMy). The team at Bamford and I agreed on the tone of the piece: we knew that a post full of product would have no traction; instead, we needed a high society tale about Lady , who founded the brand, and how her social leverage combined with her ability to market her own style and taste had created a commercial universe that made some think of her as ‘the aristo Martha Stewart’.

That this universe happened to be Cotswolds-centric was convenient: I live in and frequently write about the Cotswolds, and once I had persuaded the Bamford team that a face-to-face interview with ‘Lady B’ was absolutely vital for the piece, we were on the way. The resulting story, ‘The Woman Who Invented the Cotswolds’, which was exquisitely illustrated after I persuaded to open her personal photograph album (the snaps of her walking around her garden with King Charles and Valentino are priceless), was hugely successful for both the brand and for me as a writer: it is one of my most-read stories, my subscribers adored it, it had a 60% open rate and a 20% click-through rate. Anyone I spoke to who read it had no idea it was sponsored (even though this was flagged at the top of the story), which shows exactly what I am trying to say: it looked exactly like a story I would have written anyway — because I would have.

9. How can sponsorship lead to greater creativity?

That Bamford sponsorship led me to far greater creativity for two reasons: firstly, because my company was being paid a generous sum, I could devote more time to this post than a non-sponsored one, which meant the writing and art direction could be developed over three or four edits. The story is witty and funny as a result. Money is, quite simply, time and time spent on a project improves the quality.

To Pauline’s point about brands as modern patrons, this is a truth that has become apparent to me. After the Bamford sponsorship, I collaborated with the country brand Fairfax and Favor () on Instagram. These two sponsorships meant my company was able to invest some of the funds earned into creating film for my Substack that I would not have been able to attempt otherwise.

A little background on that: last summer I worked on a pilot show with a huge network and production company. The idea was that one of my novels, Wives Like Us, a spoof of the Cotswolds, would be reverse-engineered and become a non-fiction TV show — a documentary-slash-reality show about the women of the Cotswolds. I was brought in to help write, produce, cast and narrate the show – an irresistible offer for a novelist. We shot the pilot but, as it turned out, the network didn’t pick it up. I was desolate as there were aspects of the pilot that were fantastic, and I’d loved the process. I’d also proposed to the network that we should try to create a show where every scene was a fashion or lifestyle ‘moment’, and that those moments should be entirely shoppable to create new revenue streams for the network, producers and creators. I was just as excited about the shopability as the editorial.

They smiled and dismissed me, lamenting that the networks have incredibly strict rules. But I felt a huge opportunity had been missed for a shoppable show about the English country lifestyle, for which there is a huge appetite in America. Surely, I thought, there must be somewhere you can show such a series and shop it? I spoke to a lot of producers about possibilities and got precisely nowhere. Then Substack announced early this year that it had launched a TV App – suddenly alongside your Apple, You Tube, BBC and Instagram apps on your TV screen, you’d be able to watch Substack TV, which at the time mostly consisted of Lives. Simultaneously I was also seeing the influence of ‘Micro-Dramas’ — two-minute soap operas from Asian creators — starting to take hold on Instagram.

What, I wondered, if I was to create a ‘film-ette’, or a Micro-Documentary, just a few minutes long, about the Cotswolds, drop it into a newsletter, and just try it? I felt that my audience was a classy one that would accept something more sophisticated than the toxic slop demanded by platforms where audience size is determined by algorithm. I could make the entire film shoppable with links embedded in the newsletter, with no restrictions at all from networks, and I could contextualise each film within the articles. My agent helped me envisage this over many conversations and I invited director , who shot the pilot, to work with me. Short form television is becoming more and more attractive to networks, creators and brands and Alex was up for the experiment.

I wrote three short scripts, Alex and his DOP came to my Cotswolds farm for two days and we shot the lot. I posted them over six weeks, and the readers absolutely loved them. Not only did they write to me asking for more episodes, but an uptick in traffic was immediately apparent where a newsletter contained a gorgeous little film. Was I surprised? Yes and no. I sort of knew that the readers would enjoy this content, because it was funny and had that old-school English glamour and wit that is my ‘lane’. It was beautifully shot and could be played cinematically on wide screen on Substack which feels so much classier than vertical video. Did I realise how much traffic the films would drive? No. Every newsletter that contains a film has driven a significant upward trend in paid subscriptions, views and click-throughs.

To circle back to the point of this story – the intersection of creativity, brands and tech - my newsletters containing films wouldn’t have happened without the investment in my newsletter from the brands earlier this year. The money allowed me to invest in an idea I’d long been harbouring: that there is a place for a shoppable show, and it might just be on Substack.

10. Should brands abandon print?

No and no and no. Tech dudes chant about the print business being dead mostly to boost their own digital offerings. It is true that the print business, whether it’s books, newspapers or magazines is in severe decline, but print is still terrifically important to a brand or an author. One of my greatest pleasures in life is to read a physical book, newspaper or magazine (I have never read a book on a screen or listened to an audio book!). It’s a real treat when my paper copy of The New Yorker or Vanity Fair land, even if they are two weeks late by the time they get to the Cotswolds. The digital generation are starting to discover the value of this, as well as the ‘cool’ of magazines like System and peer-led book clubs. If a brand abandons print in favour solely of digital, they risk losing prestige and are less likely to be featured in print, which, to get back to our GEOs, is critical. Likewise for writers: there is an authority and a glamour connected to seeing your words on the page that commands respect from readers and industry peers alike.

The truth is that print, digital, video, creators and brands now exist hand in hand and to exclude one is to undermine the power of the others. To my mind, perhaps the biggest media story of this year was the May American Vogue cover featuring Anna Wintour and Meryl Streep. This cover had everything: a compelling story (Anna and her fictional nemesis, Miranda, making peace); incredible visuals shot by Annie Leibovitz; chic and glamour in terms of the clothing and styling; and, more important than anything, it was a huge surprise, laced with wit and a sense of humour. I literally laughed out loud when I saw that cover, which went viral. And, dear reader, it was just an old-fashioned print magazine, the thing that everyone was saying doesn’t matter anymore.

What’s significant is that although that magazine cover might have been old media, everything that drove it was new media: the entire campaign for DWP2, which I dare say was a Vogue campaign as well, was driven by TikToks, Instagram reels, newsletters, brands and a global digital excitement that was building for an entire year before the movie came out. The cover was the icing on a multi layered digital cake whose ingredients were perfectly considered. And if there was ever a magazine cover that proved that the Era of the Individual is fully established it was that one: Meryl Streep on her own wouldn’t have been a big deal; Meryl with Anna Wintour – well, that was drama, that was thrilling, because Anna is the most authoritative, cultish figure in media and fashion and right now, what Anna says matters as much as what Vogue says: the ultimate editor has become the ultimate creator.

Maybe she should start a Substack. I’d read it, obvs.

XXX Plum

PS. For the attention-deficit, TLDR gang, here are my key takeaways:

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Dear Reader,

My relationship with skirts has been a fraught one. The most scarring skirt-wearing episode of my life was a torture which lasted from age 11 to 16: I had to wear a sludge-brown, A-line, 100% polyester, knee-length skirt to school along with a matching sweater with a garish gold trim, a brown blazer, brown beret (ugh!) and a white shirt. The tie - a fat, nylony thing with white, gold and black stripes, was an item of such hideousity I wouldn’t even use it to tie a trash bag. The school - Walthamstow Hall, which was abbreviated by other local school kids to ‘Wally Hall’ and abbreviated further by its own students simply to ‘Wally Hole’ - which said everything about how we all felt about the horrid place - was the kind of place skirts went to die.

The headmistress would sternly march up and down the tiled corridors in navy blue pleat skirts with stiff matching bolero jackets looking très Margaret Thatcher (not yet an ironic style icon); the art teacher, the unforgettably-named Miss Cowie, drearied around the art room in lumpen floral-print skirts worn with lumimous yellow sweaters she’d crocheted herself, accessorised with wooden earrings in the shape of daisies and the only person not in a skirt - the Latin teacher, Mr. Ross - was mocked by the girls simply for the crime of being a man. I will never forget the Latin lesson in which we, the ‘Upper Fourth’ (translation: aged 14) stole every single wooden board rubber in the Language Block during break time. When Mr. Ross, who was an anxious type anyway, found himself unable to find a board rubber anywhere in the classroom during our lesson, he asked Annabel Bilson (a raven-haired beauty who was, mysteriously, nicknamed ‘Bulge’ by her best friends) if she’d seen one, this was the cue for the twenty girls in the room to open our wooden desks, fish out the hidden board rubbers and hurl them at Mr. Ross as one. (Roald Dahl’s Mathilda was our bible.)

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Dearest Readers,

Hello from a delightfully breezy and warm St. Tropez, a town I haven’t visited in fifteen years, but was persuaded to venture to once more by my darling daughter Ursula. After being literally fried alive in the 37 degree heat in Paris last weekend while moving her from her college dorm room in the 5th to her first flat, she suggested we train it down to St. Tropez for a little rest prior to returning to England. I had a date with and at the Cannes Lions festival yesterday (I will bring you the full de-brief here next week, but I’m telling you now the day was amazing and fascinting in equal measure) so it all made sense geographically. Ursula wanted to holiday in France now that she speaks the language, and it has been a blessing to have a brilliant French speaker with me in a country where, although the French insist on speaking in English to the English, they simultaneously politely despise you for not being a fluent French speaker, which, dear reader, I am absolutely not. But more of Ursula’s views on speaking French later. Herewith, crucial notes from St. Trop:

1. St. Tropez is, according to Ursula, like a Disney resort which is pretending to be a real village, a micro-universe with its own particular rules and customs. The dress code here bears almost no relation to what is going on in the ‘real’ fashion world, and while the trendy set in London, Paris and New York are currently telegraphing their expensive taste via designers who are all about discretion and anonymity, the crowd that promenade in front of Senequier, the famous red-drenched café at the port in front of the mega-yachts are, mostly, dripping with ostenatatious, highly identificable logos. The evening look is a three-quarter length, draped chiffon, halterneck evening dress, cut as close to the bod as is possible to imagine, with all sorts of ties and ruffles at shoulder and neck, accesorised with wedge-heeled espadrilles and a variation on the theme of the $5-$30,000 price bracket purse. (Yikes.) The brand that is clearly doing best here this summer is Chanel, whose black vanity bag with the zip top and long chain is ubiquitous and seems beloved by the gilded teen girl set; second place goes to Hermès, whose miniature Birkins, in colours like deep purple and dark green, are slung off tan shoulders as casually as duffle bags; I award third place to Celine, whose new neo-BCBG gorgeousness has seen ladies flock to their leather-trimmed beach baskets.

   

2. It’s sort of tacky-charming the way St. Tropez somehow seems to be stuck forever in the 1980s, a time when driving a Bentley along the harbour front at 2 miles an hour was considered glamorous, and Ra-Ra skirts were the height of sophistication. There are still masses of Bentley’s slowly on the prowl here, (despite this being the most car-unfriendly town I’ve ever experienced) ditto the Ra-Ra skirts, but my favorite trend has to be the emergence of what I am calling the Ra-Ra Dress, a heavily embroidered, cotton mini dress with ruffled sleeves and neckline, tiny tight bodice and a skirt consisting of layers of frills that barely cover the butt. There are stores here selling only Ra-Ra Dresses, if you can imagine.

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Shirts are like teenagers: it is only after they have tortured you, driven you mad and nearly broken you that they are prepared to love you unconditionally. Until recently, I was one of those anxious shirt-parents with a closet full of the things, which I would try on, hate, fling off, try on again, get too hot in, get too cold in, until finally giving in and defaulting to a plain black turtleneck simply to stop the nightmare continuing. The shirts sat in my wardrobe resentfully, developing an abandonment complex that made me feel incredibly guilty for not paying them enough attention. I didn’t understand them and they punished me for it. I felt like a lost soul who would forever be excluded from the ranks of Interesting Women Who Wear Shirts, who include but are not limited to: the late Joan Didion; Vogue stylist Tonne Goodman; creative director Tallulah Harlech; fabric designer Carolina Irving (find her at ); businesswoman Alison Loenhis and Me & Em founder Clare Hornby. But more of them and their shirt-wearing talents later.

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A thorough investigation into the sartorial habits of the Cotswoldian population cannot be undertaken lightly: the female of the species roams far and wide in summer, emerging fully from hibernation in June, the month when she bravely abandons the safety of the manor house, finally lured outdoors by such delights as the glorious scent of rosa Charles de Mills or the innocent blast of a champagne cork rocketing from a chilled bottle of Ruinart. The inquisitive fashion journalist must now spend her days tracking the rare Femella Cotswoldia in her natural habitat, her only trace left in clues such as the hefty imprint of the new Range Rover SV tyres on mown grass verges, or flattened Net-A-Porter boxes disguised among the recycling, all the better to be hidden from the eyeballs of suspicious husbands. The geographical challenge is immense: the reporter must observe examples of the genus not only across miles of lush hills and verdant valleys, at pony club camps and prep school cricket matches, but finds herself forced to track this divine creature foraging for food at William’s Foodhall in Nailsworth, her fav spot for truffle-hunting, or observe her ‘taking meetings’ with other prep school mummies who run ethical brands on the rooftop deck of the Bamford club, post-Floating Yoga sesh, Dirtea Mushroom Infusion in hand. You can imagine the cost of the diesel darlings.

Needless to say, in the course of my investigations, I got together with director and we courageously ventured out into the field to make an extremely serious micro-doc on the subject, our third episode of Cotswolds Confidential. After the experience, I can’t tell you how much my respect for the incredible David Attenborough increased: I mean, he did all this in the Arctic, with no nice clothes for miles.

(Btw in the filmette above I am wearing a felt fedora by Anthony Peto, Paris, skirt and jacket by Giuliva Heritage, Le Chameau wellies and the tote is vintage Paravel (this one is similar). The car is my ancient Landrover Defender, obvs.)

My intense research reveals that, just as the beauty of the Cotswolds stems from the land, hence fashion here stems from those connected with the land. This is why, dear reader, Farmer Tim will always be eternally stylish in his Mole Valley overalls - they are appropriate, functional and perfectly weathered. And the tweed cap? My god. Iconic. Farmer Tim could walk into a bullpen or a ballroom in it and steal the show.

The ladies who make up the sartorial subsets of the Cotswoldian species, however, are unable to be quite so laid back about their clothing choices: fashion for them is a permanent existential crisis, for they know not whether the next person they bump into will be the stable lass or the Duchess of Marlborough, and aspire to be appropriately dressed to see both. So, forthwith, an analysis of three female variants of the species:

1. Ladies-Who-Farm

   

   The prime example of this variant of the breed is the shepherdess-slash-Burberry model, Iris Lasnet, who is in her early twenties and is a student at The Royal Agricultural University in Cirencester, Gloucestershire. An involuntary icon among the young farmer-ess set, and the daugher of the late model Stella Tennant, she glides seamlessly from runway to lambing shed. When this reporter analysed Iris’s fashion choices at a forensic level, yours truly was left with the somewhat unscientific conclusion that her style stems from an unselfconscious knack for dressing entirely appropriately for the occasion, whether it’s in her Scot Agri cap for lambing season, or a vintage Comme des Garçons skirt and punky boots for lunch at Badminton House with the Duchess of Beaufort, where I overhead makeup mogul Charlotte Tilbury tell her, ‘never, ever let anyone cut off your hair at a shoot’.

   

2. Ladies-Who-Picnic

   Picknicking à la Cotswolds is never, really, just a picnic. The high-octane variant of the species, whose favoured habitat is in the ‘OX’ postcode (preferably with the ‘-bury’ suffix, Charlbury and Cornbury being among the most coveted villages), doesn’t ‘get’ the concept of eating a ploughman’s lunch sitting on the ground in a grassy meadow. No. OX-ers feels safest beneath a marquee (open on all sides for breeze and views), perched on a cushioned chair and being offered a saucer of Tattinger Comtes de Champagne Blanc-de-Blancs by a uniformed, floppy-haired Eton boy who is waitering for By Matilda on his gap year. The Posh Picnic dress code, which I’d describe as ‘Provence-adjacent’ is super-specific and the tribe accepts others dressed in such items as: three-quarter length chintz-print Erdem skirts; LoveShackFancy’s eyelet maxi frocks; simple white dresses; canvas wrap skirts; mannish cotton shirts, accessorised with delightfully casual touches like Zoe de Givenchy’s wicker basket, silk neckerchiefs and wide-brimmed straw hats by Lock & Co. (The Lock store in Mayfair, is an amazingly lovely place to shop for a classy, reasonably-priced summer hat, btw.)

   

1. Ladies-Who-Garden-Tour

   

   In June, the American variant of the species arriveth, overdressed but immaculate, for her annual ‘garden tour’ of the Cotswolds, having packed for a different garden each day, and very much inspired by actual Ladies-Who-Garden such as Miranda Brooks, , and Catherine Fitzgerald. A private tour of the gardens at Daylesford House with Rupert Golby, the brilliant designer who created the gardens with Lady Bamford (a prized appointment that can only be arranged via deep Bamfordian contacts) calls for something lineny and fresh, swishy enough to waft around the wildflower meadows, but smart enough in case one runs into Lady B. herself, who, this summer, has been glimpsed in the quilted cotton waistcoat worn with the Teasel skirt, crisp but still somewhat relaxed. The wild walk around Rousham, the William Kent masterpiece, calls for a Miranda Brooks-esque practicality to roam the miles of landscape: Purdey’s linen field jacket with their stone cotton pants has the safari feel required, and the American female tends to tramp the gravel paths in Loro Piana’s exquisite Tennis Walk deerskin sneaker. For a roam at Sezincote, the Anglo-Indian pile near Moreton-In-Marsh, bohemian glamour is required, and the chic-hippie style of the florist Willow Crossley is very much the inspiration for wandering among the stone elephants, palm trees and spring-fed pools that populate this garden by Repton, unchanged since the 1850s. The tie-dyed silk dress by La Double J is typical garb for a summery lunch in the orangery on the estate, or for drinks later at The Bull, Charlbury, the area’s most fashionable country pub. American actress and model Dree Hemingway, who used to date the owner, Phil Winser, who also owns Canteen in Notting Hill, can occasionally be seen mooching about here. Dree, who has recently veered effortlessly between her role as Daryl Hannah in American Love Story and the Gucci campaign, looks as cool on the red carpet as she does on a haybale.

   

   I cannot let you go dear readers, without showing you this little clip below of Farmer Tim discussing headwear, a subject upon which he is an expert...

   I hope you all enjoyed watching and reading this story as much as I enjoyed creating it. Do let me know - I love hearing from you all, always. Thank you for taking the time,

XXX Plum

^{P.S. *I had something of a debate with two of my interns, and regarding the title of this story. A lifelong devotee of the novel Brideshead Revisited, I have never forgotten the way that the author Evelyn Waugh used the Latin phrase Et In Arcadia Ego as the title of the first part of the book. Literally translated, this means ‘Even in Arcadia, there I am’, where ‘I’ is the personification of Death. The title of this story came to me when I was pottering about dead-heading roses while I was having a break between paragraphs. When I met with Zeynep and Julien and asked them if they ‘got’ the title, Julien shook his head and Zeynep nodded, saying that this was because she had read far too many academic papers on literature. Under interrogation, Julien revealed that when forced to choose between Latin and Chinese at school, he had chosen the latter on the basis that it was more ‘useful’. On these grounds I forgave him for not getting the reference, though I was surprised he had never read Brideshead. Julien felt I should change the title, Zeynep that I should keep it. Faced with a hung jury, I took the executive decision to stick with the Latin: I know my readers are the sort of people for whom a smidgeon of Latin is not a prob, obvs.}

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SHOP PLUM'S COTSWOLDS CLOSET

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I write to you in a state of bliss. This pure sense of happiness stems from one thing and one thing only and that is finding the correct white tank for summer ‘26. Let me tell you, this did not happen by chance - I exist in a perpetual state of seeking when it comes to sleeveless white t-shirts, and this is a hunt that never, ever ends. But for now, I can at least pause my relentless quest, because I’ve found the one.

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Darling Readers,

There is a charming, chandeliered drawing room in a Mayfair townhouse that doubles as the most civilised book store in all of London. It’s on one of those polite streets that’s still populated by whiskery colonels ambling to their club for lunch and daunting elderly ladies in crocodile-skin pumps en route to the hairdresser. The bookstore – Heywood Hill, on Curzon Street - is just around the corner from the Curzon Mayfair, the most civilised cinema in all of London, and a short trot from 5H, still the most civilised private members’ club in all of London. You can see where I’m going with this – a visit to this sacred spot is about as civilised a retail experience as it’s possible to create (and perhaps one that the queue-to-buy-beg-to-buy brands could learn from).

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Well, firstly, there’s nothing like a reason to throw a dinner to give the thing a motor. A dinner purely for socialising’s sake, I’m afraid, fills me with dread, unless it’s with friends who are ‘old muckers’, so close that they may as well be family and you can eat with them in your pyjamas, the litmus test. But I digress: I had a good reason to do a dinner and that made it all easier.

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People fret about nepotism in the fashion world, but my fear is that equestrianism is a far greater barrier to female progress in this industry. If Betty Friedan could see the unfair advantages the supermodel horse girls wield, surely she would turn in her grave. No wonder I felt compelled to team up with director to make a micro-doc about this violent inequality, ep. 2 of Cotswolds Confidential. I hope you learn a lot.

(Here are the breeches, ridiculous leopard print jacket, shirt, sunglasses and boots I’m wearing in the film.)

Meanwhile, below I chronicle The Five Types Of Horse Girl, and curate Their Stuff. If you can’t exclude them, I say join them: you only need a Hermès Grooming Bag and you’re in.

1. The O.G. Horse Girl

All authentic horse girl shit stems from classic English hunting gear, and I have long promised my readers to share exactly where I get my cord breeches, tweed jackets and so on. I love this old photograph of me with Amanda Brooks, left and Miranda Brooks, right, after we’d been on a sunrise ‘hound exercise’ one autumn day in Oxfordshire. We are all in slight variations of the uniform: I remember being very impressed when Amanda told me she was wearing a custom tweed jacket by New York tailor Miller’s Oath and her mother-in-law’s old breeches. She was wearing the most traditional riding boots, with the tan leather top, and there are masses of these on 1st Dibs and Ebay. I bought my jacket, which is thick Irish tweed, for £60 from the vintage rail in the back room at Sydney Free Saddlery in Cirencester, a small local equestrian shop, which often has amazing antique riding clothes. I also bought my fav vintage pale yellow summer breeches there, for £20. It’s not online and you have to pay in cash (chic beyond, right?), but if you are in the Cotswolds it’s worth a visit, and they sell the best hairnets - the ‘heavyweight’ ones. Follow this with coffee and home made gooseberry sorbet at Jolly Nice Farm Shop, which is close by and often frequented by Serious Literary Author , whose mother-in-law owns the joint. You’ll be in heaven, promise.

The stocks we are wearing around our necks - there to protect the neck in case of a fall (yikes) - are like a rather charming version of a bandage. You wrap them around a high necked hunting shirt two or three times, tie an incredibly tight knot and then fan out the fabric over the top, which is secured in place with a stock pin. Often this is a plain gold bar, sometimes it is jewelled with a diamond hoof or fox head. I remember once going out hunting wearing my grandmother’s old pin, which had a large pearl in the centre surrounded by a circle of diamonds, and being scolded by an octogenarian huntress who told me it was too ‘flash’. (I carried on wearing it.) I bought my favourite cord breeches and yellow moleskin waistcoat from Harry Hall years ago, when Lady Martha Sitwell, now a reality TV star, had designed an exquisite collection of hunting clothes for the brand. I hope they will revive it but in the meantime these twill breeches and this woollen waistcoat by The Hunting Stock Market are fabulous. (If you want the slightly baggier look, go for men’s breeches.) The Hunting Stock Market has become the go-to online store among the British hunting set for super-trad, well-priced riding gear. Their soft wool checked stocks are absolutely gorgeous.

When it comes to actual horse shopping, well, it’s a minefield, and after several mistakes I now only trust one person: I bought my daughters’ two horses (both dreamboats) through Amelia Winter who gamely took part in my film. She is a stunningly talented young event rider (who won gold in Belgium last summer with the British Under-25 team), and is the daughter of Olympian equestrian Mike Winter. She recently found and bought the champion horse Sparki, for Jemma Kidd, and has just bought a new horse on behalf of Jemma’s beau, Arki Busson for his daughter Luna. They’ve called that one Sparkle, obvs.

2. The Pony Club Mummie

Currently emerging from winter hibernation, The Hon. Mrs. Arabella Armstrong-Fleate, so old money she can’t even remember where the money came from, will be ferrying little Archie and Araminta and their pure-bred Connemara ponies to ‘PC’ competitions all summer long, in her rusty Ifor Williams trailer, towed by her 1970s Landrover Defender. She will take a small tent to pitch for overnighters, as Arabella wouldn’t dream of ‘wasting money’ on a hotel. Dressed in three-quarter length skirts and waterproof coats, Arabella takes the Country Turnip aesthetic to another level, known in insider circles simply as ‘Barn Potato’. The look requires a deep dive into the attics of country houses, whence can be found the following highly unflattering, but psychologically comforting items, mostly because they remind the Pony Club Mummie of childhood: granny’s old kilt, ancient Hunter wellies with the ‘Made In Scotland’ label at the top, dating from before Hunter was so hatefully trendi-fied; thick shooting socks to wear inside the wellies, even in summer heat; grandpa’s moth-eaten Guernsey sweater that he wore for the Cresta Run in 1975, which has never been washed; an original 1980s Puffa jacket. The most prized 80s Puffas among the country set are those bearing a label embroidered with the words ‘Cotswold Stud’: these are distributed to favoured houseguests by Clementine Fraser, a great grand daughter of Sir Winston Churchill and chatelaine of Waverton House, one of many idyllic piles which host the Cotswolds Cup each summer. (Anyone can show up to watch and it’s divine: the ‘shopping’ consists of one tack shop and an airstream trailer selling coffee and bacon sandwiches.)

But I digress. Back to the Hon. Arabella. Do not let appearances deceive you: behind her ruddy cheeks and frizzy hair this female is so ruthlessly competitive she makes Shiv Leroy look like a hamster, and will do almost anything, including hiding a rival pony’s girth, to make sure her children leave each show with a rosette. Her patron saint is the late Queen, the ultimate horsey mum, and she violently disapproves of any flash nonsense at pony shows. She is most allergic to those driving golden 16-berth Oakley horse lorries, preferring to spend on the horse rather than the transport. Her motto, forever, is ‘Why drive a Rolls Royce and bring out a Ford, when you could drive a Ford and bring out a Rolls Royce?’

3. The Performative Horse Girl

There is no need whatsoever to get on a horse to be a horse girl: the adjacent accoutrements are quite plentiful enough to fill any white space between a girl and a non-existent pony. Here’s a starter pack:

a) Wallpaper fills a space with far more horses than even a barn at Wellington Riding ever could. I decorated the attic at my Cotswold farmhouse with a relatively inexpensive paper designed by the Stroud-based company Lewis and Wood, called ‘Hunting Scenes’ and inspired by an old document. The paper is £98 a roll and can be bought online without going through a snazzy American decorator.

b) Attend Royal Ascot in June, no wellies required. I went last summer with and her wonderful daughter Alice, above, who hosted the box that day, which was done up like the Bamford’s Daylesford Farm Shop. Alice was clad in Alaia, and took everyone ‘backstage’ to see her racehorse and meet the jockey after lunch.

c) Add physical magazines like Hounds, Country Life and Horse and Hound to your media diet. They make a brilliant substitute for an Ambien: reading them in bed is as close as you’ll get to a literary sleeping tablet.

d) Buy merch from local British hunts - the jute Beaufort Hunt ‘bottle bag’, with its distinctive blue and gold monogram, is about as insider as it gets. No one will have a clue what ‘BH’ stands for, which is cool. Sidenote: the Beaufort Hunt classified ads are a very good place to find things like a Cotswolds cottage to rent, home-made gin, or a horse to loan.

e) Decorate with horsey paintings, watercolours, photographs and sculptures or bronzes. I mostly find mine at auction, and if they are a little beaten up, I love them all the more. A chip on a gilt frame is charming, where perfection often is not. The best auction houses for these sort of things are Tennants of Yorkshire who have regular country house sales, Sworders for Old Masters and the odd bargain, and Dreweatts whose auction of the collection of The Hon. Patrick and Lady Amabel Lindsay on June 2nd looks irresistible in terms of country house stuff. You need a lot of patience to shop online at auction, and its super-important, with paintings for example, to ask for a condition report. Most auction houses will FaceTime to let you see things, whatever the price tag, and all the horse paintings in my study were bought at auction often after a jolly call with an auctioneer. It’s a lot more thrilling than shopping in an antiques store, a lot less expensive, and a lot less scary than learning to ride.

4. The Supermodel Horse Girl

Most famous culprits are Kendall and Gigi, who have perfected the art of galloping bareback on a horse in a ballgown, and rarely seem to feature in a fashion shoot or a reel without a horse in attendance. The fashionista as rider has a long history: in the 1980s, designers like Ralph Lauren and photographers such as Bruce Weber and Herb Ritts favoured society equestriennes as models, and blue-blooded beauties like India Hicks and Saffron Aldridge were often photographed with horses. The ultimate modern aristo horse girl, Edie Campbell, is not only a semi-professional event rider, but she’s sponsored by Loro Piana. Her saddle pads are objects of lust for me.

5. The ‘Metre Forty’ Horse Girl

So-called, as she competes at a height of 1m 40cm when it comes to the show jumping circuit. You will see her in the summer months at the Longines competition in Paris, with the Eiffel Tower as a backdrop, or pinging around Cannes on a Dutch warmblood, and the outfits get smarter with each location. Patron saint Charlotte of Monaco does it all in Gucci, Jessica Springsteen does it all in Parlanti Roma boots and Loro Piana kit, Eve Jobs is most often seen in a Team USA crimson jacket and white breeches, and swinging the LV Twist purse when she’s off duty.

When it comes to the sartorial coordination of yourself and your horse, no one does it better than Lady Claudia Rothermere, below, competing her horse Imposant Van de Renger, a.k.a ‘Po’. If she’s on her bay steed she wears a dark brown competition jacket, on the grey she wear navy, always with white breeches. Her wardrobe is Hermès, and so is Po’s. Obvs.

Thank you so much for reading darlings, let me know what you all think. This has been one of my favourite pieces to write because of my lifelong love of horses. I already feel Volume 2 of Horse Girls incoming...

Message me, ask me - you know the deal.

XXX Plum

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