Jess Cartner-Morley on fashionLife and styleChannel the cool elegance of Jay Gatsby this summer, not the crumpled heap Atticus Finch
You know that thing on social media – “How It Started v How It’s Going” – where you contrast the way a story began with how it turned out? Sometimes it’s cute, like a screengrab of a new love interest sliding into your DMs next to your engagement photo. Or it could be a portrait of you and the fiance with a new puppy, then a shot of you, diamond-less, with fully grown dog.
That right there is the issue with linen. How it started: leaving home looking crisp, cool and timelessly elegant. How it’s going: arriving at work looking like you slept in your clothes. One minute you’re Jay Gatsby, sipping a gin rickey on the veranda in a pink linen suit; one train ride later you are Atticus Finch, frowsty and crumpled in an Alabama courtroom where the fan has bust.
Linen is a whole vibe: sundresses and ice-cream, The Talented Mr Ripley and the Amalfi coastAnd yet, summer swings around, and we’re all like, “Oooh, where’s my linen shirt. It would be perfect for work on this hot day!” The triumph of hope over experience. What we need to do, I think, is to lean into linen, but strategically. Embrace that rumpled-but-upstanding Atticus Finch vibe, but without collapsing into a messy heap.
Linen is a whole vibe: sundresses and ice-cream, The Talented Mr Ripley and the Amalfi coast. It is having an effortlessly chic holiday wardrobe that fits in a stylishly small, probably vintage leather holdall yet somehow includes several surprisingly flattering large-brimmed sunhats. So a few creases are a small price to pay, surely?
Well, yes. But there is something deflating about looking in the mirror and realising that your carefully ironed shirtdress has morphed into a Worzel Gummidge costume.
The very qualities that make linen appealing in warm weather are the qualities that make it crumple. Fine cotton and silk will stick to the body, but linen has a stiffness that allows for ventilation. The downside of that rigidity is that linen creases and folds like paper, where softer fabrics mould and spring back. The smart way to wear linen is to be smart about which garments you go for: picking one linen piece, and accentuating the Amalfi vibe with, say, a silk scarf around your ponytail, and leather sandals.
Linen trousers are the prime culprit in giving linen a bad name. It’s a crotch issue, you see. You only need sit down for a moment and your linen trousers will have crumpled into origami at the top of the thigh. To wear linen without creases, think about where they will scrunch. If you want to sit down, avoid trousers, basically. A linen shirt can be tucked into shorts or tied at the front so the crumples aren’t visible. If you want to wear it untucked, wear it unbuttoned, like a jacket, so the front part doesn’t puddle in your lap. If you wear a linen jacket, keep it unbuttoned when you sit down – or even better, hang it over your chair.
Visual illusion can blur out creases better than any steamer. Stripes are excellent for tricking the eye so the rumples barely register. If you’re looking for a linen skirt or dress, one with large buttons down the front is a good bet as the buttons will distract and draw the eye. I recently bought a sleeveless, trench-style dress in a linen-viscose mix from the latest JW Anderson collection for Uniqlo. It has a D-ring belt and a storm flap and deep pockets and large buttons, all of which somehow makes the inevitable creases less annoying. I’ve only worn it a few times, though, so I can only tell you how it has started. As for whether I end up in a crumpled heap, the jury’s still out.
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