The first time I went to Copenhagen for fashion week, it rained sideways for two of the four days, and nobody — nobody — changed their shoes. I stood outside a show space, coffee going cold in my hand, and watched a woman in a cobalt suit and flip-flops collect her bicycle, tuck her trouser hem, and pedal off into the wet like it was nothing. A ruffled skirt and hiking jacket followed her. Then a man-length blazer over gym shorts. I took forty-one photos that afternoon — not one of the actual runway.
What I love about the Danish way of dressing is that it starts from real life — bicycles, coastal weather, clothes that have to earn their place — and treats fun as a requirement, not an afterthought. Back home, I spread those photos beside my wardrobe and found I already owned most of the raw material: a trench, a leather jacket, a slip skirt, too much denim. What was missing wasn’t clothes; it was permission to combine them oddly. These are the ten formulas I’ve worn since, tested on markets, school runs, and one very wet trip back. Every one passes what I now call the bicycle test: you can sit, stride, and move in it.
1. Oversized Blazer with Sporty Bermuda Shorts
My flea-market blazer earns its keep every time I pair it with cut-down trousers and trainers.
This is the look I copied first, because I already owned both halves. My blazer came from the men’s rail of a Berlin flea market — €25, pure wool, shoulders a good two sizes too proud. The Bermudas I made myself, cutting down a pair of thrifted men’s trousers, and my first attempt taught me something: cut them longer than you think. My first pair ended mid-thigh and looked like school shorts. Just above the kneecap is the sweet spot. Two checks before you commit: the blazer hem should fall past the widest part of your hip, or the proportions collapse. And sit down in the shorts — if the waistband digs, they’ll never get worn. A slim belt matters more than you’d expect; when the blazer swings open, that belt line keeps it looking deliberate rather than borrowed.
2. Romantic Prairie Dress Over Relaxed Denim
The wedding-guest dress I now wear to the bakery — jeans underneath changed everything.
I have a tiered poplin dress that came out twice a year, for weddings and one christening. Over jeans, it now comes out twice a month. The trick I learned the hard way is the leg underneath: over skinny jeans, the dress clung with static until every step crackled. Straight-leg denim, mid-wash, minimal distressing, lets the skirt move the way it’s meant to. Leave the bottom buttons or ties undone from the waist down so the jeans show as you walk — that glimpse of denim is the point. One warning: under a sheer dress, wear seamless slip shorts, for comfort and because backlight is nobody’s friend. If you’re petite, choose a midi rather than a floor-length dress over trousers; two long layers can swamp a shorter frame. Ballet flats or fisherman sandals keep it grounded, hair up in a claw clip, done.
3. Vibrant Monochromatic Suiting with Casual Flip-Flops
The green suit gets worn more than any black one I own, flip-flops and all.
Outside one show venue I watched a woman in her fifties cycle past in a grass-green suit and leather flip-flops, completely unbothered, and thought: that’s the whole philosophy in one outfit. Mine is cobalt, second-hand, cheaper than new jeans. Two things I got wrong first: the flip-flops must be leather — my rubber beach pair squeaked through a gallery dinner and felt wrong all evening. And the fit check matters: sit down in the jacket. Coloured suits are usually cut relaxed, but if the button pulls when seated, it reads sloppy rather than easy. Practical notes: trousers hemmed to brush the top of your foot over flat soles, cuffs rolled once to show the wrist, and buy a washable fabric if you can — dry-cleaning a bright suit twice a season adds up. Underneath, a plain white ribbed tank keeps the colour from shouting.
4. Chunky Scandinavian Knit with a Silky Slip Skirt
November’s uniform: the heaviest knit I own over the slipperiest skirt I own.
Every Scandinavian woman I know owns a version of this. By November, so do I. A heavy cable knit — mine is a cream sweater that weighs more than my winter coat — half-tucked into a bias-cut slip skirt. The contrast is the outfit: matte, fuzzy wool against liquid satin. Before you buy the knit, hold it up to the light. A good chunky sweater is dense; if you can see daylight through the stitches, it will pill and sag by Christmas. The skirt needs a sit-down test too — bias cuts ride up, so sit, stand, and walk ten steps. My lesson came at a November market: warm on top, frozen from the knees down. Now I add wool tights and lug-sole boots without a second thought — nobody sees them under a midi skirt anyway. One more thing: mohair sheds onto satin, so a lint roller lives in my crossbody bag.
5. Technical Windbreaker Over a Ruffled Tiered Skirt
Rain jacket over a party skirt. Copenhagen logic, and honestly, it works.
This is the look my daughter calls “hiking to a wedding,” and it’s the one that gets the most comments. A technical windbreaker — mine is a colour-blocked shell from a sports shop, bought for cycling years before it was fashion — zipped to mid-chest over a tiered white cotton skirt. Cinch the hem toggles so the jacket blousons at the hip; that shaping stops it looking like you grabbed the wrong coat. Now the truth the street-style photos skip: a tiered maxi skirt and a bicycle chain are enemies. Walking, it’s glorious. Cycling, I clip the skirt up on one side, or I don’t ride that day. If you dislike being looked at, skip this one — the contrast turns heads whether you want it to or not. Everyone else: trail shoes or chunky sandals underneath, hair in braids, and enjoy the weatherproofing.
6. Head-to-Toe Tailored Denim with Modern Hardware
Denim on denim looks deliberate only when the washes match exactly.
Double denim has a reputation problem from the nineties, and the Danish version fixes it with one discipline: the washes must match exactly. Not approximately — exactly. My first attempt paired a mid-blue jacket with darker jeans, and in every photo it looked accidental, like I’d dressed in the dark. Take both pieces to a window at home; shop lighting lies. Tailoring does the rest — a boxy jacket with deep patch pockets, wide-leg trousers with a pressed crease, and real hardware: a thick silver belt buckle and dome earrings echoing the denim’s buttons. Expect raw denim to fight you for a fortnight; I wore mine around the house for a week first. Button the jacket to the throat for the sleekest line, and do the gape test — raise your arms, and if the buttons strain, size up. Pointed boots peeking from the hems keep it sharp rather than slouchy.
7. Clashing Prints — Striped Poplin with Bold Florals
Stripes and florals sharing one blue. That’s the whole trick, I promise.
Print clashing is where I embarrassed myself, so learn from my photograph: an orange floral skirt with a green striped shirt, no shared colour anywhere, and I looked like I’d fallen into a market stall. The rule that fixed it is simple enough to say in one breath — the two prints must share a bridge colour. My working version is a blue-and-white butcher-stripe poplin shirt, half-tucked into a floral skirt where that same blue turns up in the petals. Scale matters too: one loud, large print, one quiet, linear one — stripes are the quiet one almost every time. My favourite test is the camera — take a mirror photo before leaving, because your eyes forgive clashes that a photograph exposes instantly. If the photo looks busy, swap one print for a plain piece in the bridge colour. Keep shoes plain trainers or sandals and jewellery minimal; the fabrics talk enough.
8. Trench Coat with a Coquette Bow Accent
Three euros of velvet ribbon did more for this old trench than any new coat could.
Of all ten looks, this is the cheapest to copy: the trench is already in most of our wardrobes, and the update costs about three euros — a length of velvet ribbon. I tie mine into a low ponytail; you can also pin a bow at the lapel. Learn from my first morning, though — I made the bow enormous, and a friend kindly asked whether I was gift-wrapped. If the bow is wider than your palm, it’s costume. Narrow ribbon reads as charm instead. Two more details: knot the belt loosely rather than buckling it, and pair it with ballet flats or Mary Janes, plus sheer ankle socks if you like the vintage note. Underneath, keep the base simple — wide-leg trousers and a cashmere crewneck — so the ribbon is the only joke in the outfit. One joke per outfit is a good rule generally.
9. Leather Biker Jacket with a Sheer Lace Maxi Skirt
Twenty years I’ve had this jacket. The lace skirt is what finally made it interesting again.
My biker jacket is twenty years old and has outlived three cars. For years it only went over jeans. The sheer lace skirt is what made it interesting again — but this is the look that needs the most honesty. First, coverage: under a sheer skirt I wear high-waisted bike shorts or a mini slip, and I check it standing against a bright window, because lace reads far sheerer outdoors than in your hallway mirror. Second, weight: a real leather biker is heavy, and after two hours my shoulders ache. If yours do too, skip the vintage cowhide and choose a lighter boxy leather bomber instead — same attitude, kinder on the neck. Third, my own nerves: at my age I hesitated over sheer fabric, and the answer was proportion. Chunky buckled boots, a plain fitted tank, the skirt hem just above the ankle — nothing about it feels exposed. It feels deliberate.
10. Tailored Vest as a Top with Puddle Trousers
A waistcoat with nothing under it scared me at first. Now it’s my smartest summer top.
The waistcoat-as-top frightened me slightly — bare arms, buttons doing all the work — and it’s now my smartest warm-weather outfit. The fit check is non-negotiable: button it fully, sit down, raise your arms overhead. If any button gapes, it will gape in public too; size up, or have a tailor move the buttons — €12 in my case, and a thrifted vest fit like it was sewn for me. The trousers are the other half of the discipline. “Puddle” means the hem breaks over your shoe in one soft fold — it does not mean dragging. I learned that on a rainy Copenhagen pavement, where two centimetres too much length wicked water halfway up my calves. Have them hemmed for the exact shoes you’ll wear. On cooler evenings I drape a fine knit over my shoulders, sleeves knotted loosely, which also answers the bare-arm hesitation. Slingbacks underneath, small gold hoops, nothing else needed.
What I’d buy first — and what can wait
Start where the Danes start: second-hand. If I were building this wardrobe from zero, my first money would go on the oversized blazer — thrift shop men’s rails hold pure-wool ones for the price of a pizza — and on decent leather footwear, because shoes are where cheapness shows first. A trench, if you don’t own one, is worth buying once and well. Almost everything else can wait or costs nearly nothing: the ribbon is pocket change, the windbreaker can be a plain sports-shop shell, and two of the best looks here — dress over jeans, knit over slip skirt — are probably already in your wardrobe, unacquainted. The coloured suit is the one piece I’d test before committing: buy it second-hand, wear it three times, and only then think about new. My Sunday habit: fifteen minutes of steaming, three formulas laid out, forecast checked. Dull — and why any of this actually gets worn.
Questions I get asked
I’m in my fifties — isn’t streetstyle a young person’s game?
The women I photographed in Copenhagen were every age, plenty of them grey-haired with better posture than me. What reads as “young” is really just proportion and movement. Start with the trench and ribbon; nobody looks out of place in a trench.
How do I clash prints without looking a mess?
One bridge colour shared by both prints, one loud pattern and one quiet one, and a mirror photo before you leave the house. If the photograph looks busy, it is busy — swap one print for a plain piece in the shared colour and try again.
Can I actually cycle in these outfits?
Mostly, yes — that’s the point of them. The windbreaker is cycling gear to begin with. Long skirts are the exception: clip the hem up on one side, or walk that day.
Flip-flops hurt my feet. Can I swap the shoes?
Freely. The rule is contrast — something casual against something tailored — not the specific shoe. Loafers, fisherman sandals, or clean trainers do the same job. Never build an outfit on shoes that hurt.
Where do I find a good oversized blazer without designer prices?
The men’s section of thrift and vintage shops, always. Check the label for wool, budget €10–15 for a tailor to nip the waist, steam it, push the sleeves up — it will look like a decision, not a hand-me-down.
If any of these land on your Pinterest board, save the blazer-and-Bermudas one first — the fastest five minutes in this list. — Elias
