Last July I spent a long weekend in Copenhagen, and the weather gave me the whole Scandinavian summer in three days: twenty-five degrees at noon, then a harbour…
Last July I spent a long weekend in Copenhagen, and the weather gave me the whole Scandinavian summer in three days: twenty-five degrees at noon, then a harbour wind by nine that had me hugging my arms on the walk back. I had packed like it was the Mediterranean — thin dresses, sandals, nothing with a sleeve. By the second evening I was wearing a borrowed men’s shirt over my slip dress, and honestly, I looked better than I had all weekend.
That trip reset how I dress for summer. Everything below is built on natural fibres — linen, cotton poplin, a little light wool — because synthetics cling and crackle the moment it gets warm. I keep the palette quiet (ecru, stone, ink, washed denim), let one piece be oversized at a time, and plan for the temperature to drop after dinner. These are the ten combinations I actually rotate through, mistakes included.
1. Oversized Crisp Cotton Poplin Shirt and Tailored Bermuda Shorts
My borrowed-from-the-menswear shirt — the one I reach for on every hot studio day.
This is my answer to looking put-together in serious heat. The shirt comes from the men’s rail — proper cotton poplin, two sizes up, with a crisp, papery feel that holds its shape instead of collapsing. I leave the top buttons open, tuck the front hem loosely into the waistband, and let the long back hem hang free. The shorts matter as much: tailored Bermudas in a linen-cotton twill, pleated, hem finishing a couple of inches above the knee. Too short and it reads beach; too long and it reads golfer. I roll the cuffs twice and wear flat black leather slides. My early mistake was a “poplin-look” shirt that turned out to be mostly polyester — by noon it was clinging to my back. Now I check the label and do the daylight test: if I can see my hand through it held up to a window, it stays in the shop.
2. Monochrome Cream Ribbed Tank and Wide-Leg Linen Trousers
All cream, all natural fibres. This is the outfit that taught me texture can do the work of colour.
One colour, three textures — that is the whole trick here. The tank is a heavy ribbed cotton in unbleached ecru, fitted, with armholes that sit flush; gaping armholes ruin this outfit faster than anything. I tuck it fully into high-rise, double-pleated linen trousers and add a slim tan belt so the join looks deliberate. The trousers graze the tops of my shoes — white leather sneakers or flat woven mules. Before I go out I give the linen a quick steam to lift the storage creases, then I stop. I once ironed a pair completely flat and they looked worse, stiff as cardboard, and re-creased in strange places within the hour. Linen is supposed to look lived-in. By evening I knot a fine ecru knit over my shoulders, sleeves crossed at my chest, and it still works when the temperature drops.
3. Tiered Poplin Maxi Smock Dress with Sleek Leather Flip-Flops
The dress that feels like wearing a tent in the best possible way — air moves, nothing clings.
This dress is basically a beautiful tent, and I mean that as praise. Tiered cotton poplin, gathered seams, puff sleeves — nothing touches the body anywhere, so air moves freely underneath, which is exactly what you want in a heatwave. Mine is chalk white, though the butter yellow version nearly came home with me. The styling is all in the grounding: flat leather flip-flops, the stitched kind with a proper sole, never the rubber beach sort, and my hair in a low bun so the top stays neat while the dress billows below. A small crossbody worn high breaks up the expanse of fabric. One warning: on a windy harbour day this dress will try to become a sail. I learned that outside a café in Malmö, holding my hem and my coffee with great dignity. Keep it for calm days and garden lunches.
4. Open Crochet Knit Polo and Straight-Leg Light Vintage Denim
My second-hand crochet polo — the breeze goes straight through it.
Crochet is the one texture my wardrobe was missing — I associated it with tablecloths until I found this boxy polo in a second-hand shop, olive cotton with wooden buttons and a camp collar. The open stitch lets the air straight through, which makes it perfect for breezy coastal days, but it does need something underneath: I wear a skin-toned camisole so the pattern stays the focus. I leave the bottom two buttons undone so the hem opens in a small V over the waistband of my jeans — non-stretch, high-rise, washed to that pale vintage blue — and turn the cuffs up once. Chunky fisherman sandals finish it. Two practical notes from experience: check second-hand crochet carefully for pulled threads, because one snag becomes a hole by August, and keep it folded, never hung, or the open stitches stretch under their own weight.
5. Lightweight Summer Trench Coat Over Cycling Shorts and Graphic Tee
Yes, I wear a trench in July. Copenhagen evenings made me do it.
Yes, a coat in summer — but the right kind. Mine is unlined, cut from fluid tencel in a pale stone colour, and it weighs almost nothing; it is there for wind and evening chill, not warmth. Underneath I wear the Stockholm formula exactly as the locals do: high-waisted black cycling shorts, seven-inch leg, and a vintage-washed graphic tee tucked fully in so my waist exists. White crew socks, retro suede runners, a cap, and a small nylon bag tucked under my arm. The contrast is the point — long coat, short shorts, everything moving as I walk. My first attempt at this used a lined trench I already owned, and I lasted ten minutes in twenty-six degrees before tying it round my waist in defeat. Unlined is non-negotiable. If your summer evenings stay warm past midnight, skip this one and take idea 10 instead.
6. Asymmetric One-Shoulder Linen Top and Relaxed Drawstring Pants
One bare shoulder, zero effort — my favourite dinner-by-the-sea combination.
This is the outfit I save for dinners near the water. The top is washed linen, cut asymmetrically with one bare shoulder, and the trousers are the same linen in the same dye batch — bought together, because “close enough” shades of natural flax look wrong in daylight. Together they read like a jumpsuit, with the practical advantage of separates. The drawstring gets a flat knot against my hip bones, nothing dangling, and I smooth the worst creases with damp palms, not an iron. Before buying a one-shoulder top, do my strap test in the fitting room: raise your arm, reach for an imaginary top shelf. If the strap slips or saws at your neck, it will annoy you all evening. Leather wrap sandals and a small structured bag keep it polished. Skip it if you burn easily — that bare shoulder catches the sun before you notice.
7. Striped Breton Long-Sleeve Knit Layered Over Boxy Cotton Boxers
Breton stripes over boxer shorts: the harbour-town uniform I never get tired of.
Every Scandinavian coastal town runs on this combination all summer. The top is a proper Breton — dense cotton, wide navy stripes, boat neck — and it has to be heavyweight. My first one was a thin fast-fashion version that went baggy at the neck and twisted at the seams by midsummer; the real thing costs more and lasts five seasons. I push the sleeves up to my elbows, tuck just the front corner into the waistband of crisp cotton boxer shorts, and let the back hem drape. The shorts should peek out a good few inches below that back hem so the layers read as deliberate. Suede clogs or canvas deck shoes, a big canvas tote, done. It is a morning outfit for me — bakery run, market, coffee on the harbour wall — and it takes ninety seconds to put on, which is part of its charm.
8. Sleek Structured Vest Layered Bare Over Wide Pleated Palazzos
A waistcoat worn as a top — borrowed tailoring, and nobody believes it cost so little.
A tailored waistcoat worn as a top is the smartest trick I have taken from menswear. Mine is a lined suiting vest in a wool-linen blend, stone grey, and I wear it buttoned directly against my skin over wide pleated palazzo trousers in a matching tone. Two fitting checks make or break it. First, the armholes must sit high and close — if they gape, everything underneath shows and the sharpness is gone. Second, do the sitting test in the shop: buttoned vests that strain across the chest when you sit down will strain all through dinner. I leave the bottom button undone, pull the back cinch snug, and let the palazzos fall to the floor, just breaking over pointed kitten-heel mules. My first vest was unlined and cheap; the front panels curled within a month. This one has been to gallery openings and two weddings, with just a leather clutch.
9. Oversized Gingham Cotton Blouse with Raw-Edge Straight Denim
Gingham is my one cheerful print. The raw hems keep it from getting too sweet.
Gingham is my one concession to cheerfulness. The blouse is oversized — black-and-white check, balloon sleeves, a little ruffled collar — and on its own it can tip into picnic-blanket sweetness, so I ground it with straight vintage denim, mid-blue, the hems cut raw at the ankle bone. I tuck the front centre in, push the sleeves up to show the volume, and untie the collar ties a touch so the neckline stays relaxed. The raw hems need ten minutes of maintenance now and then: I trim the loose threads with small scissors so they look intentionally frayed rather than gradually disintegrating. First time round, I skipped that job and the hem unravelled halfway up one leg by September. Strappy fisherman sandals and a woven net market bag finish it. This is strictly a weekend outfit — markets, outdoor lunches, days with no meetings in them.
10. Slip Dress Under an Oversized Lightweight Crewneck Sweater
The slip dress earns its keep after sunset, once the big knit goes over it.
This is the classic Scandinavian answer to a summer dress after sunset. The slip dress is bias-cut satin in a soft champagne colour, midi length, and on its own it is a warm-afternoon piece only. Over it goes an oversized crewneck in a loose, airy gauge — mine is an alpaca blend in warm oat. The styling trick is a thin belt at my natural waist, hidden under the sweater: I tuck the sweater’s front hem up into it, which gives me a cropped, bloused shape while the satin skirt swings free below. Chunky lug-sole loafers stop it looking delicate. The mistake to avoid is reaching for a proper winter knit — I tried that once and spent the evening both bulky and too hot indoors. The sweater has to be the open, breathable kind. With those two pieces, one dress covers lunch, the harbour walk, and dinner without going home to change.
What I’d buy first — and what can wait
Spend first on the two bottoms everything else stands on: one pair of tailored linen trousers and one pair of vintage straight-leg denim, both second-hand if you can find your size — the menswear rails are the best hunting ground for the oversized shirts, with heavier cotton and lower prices than the women’s department. One good pair of leather sandals comes next. What can wait: the gingham blouse and the crochet polo are the fun, trend-leaning pieces, and fun can always wait a season. Whatever you buy, wash it cold and gentle, reshape it damp, and line-dry it out of direct sun — natural fibres looked after this way outlast synthetics three times over, which is the real budget trick.
Questions I get asked
Why do my summer outfits look polished at home and scruffy by lunchtime?
Usually the fabric. Polyester and nylon trap heat, cling to damp skin and build up static, so the drape you liked in the mirror collapses. Check labels and choose linen, cotton, silk or light wool — and start the day steamed, so the creases that form are the garment’s own, not the wardrobe’s.
How do I wear oversized pieces without looking swamped?
One volume at a time. Pair the big shirt or sweater with something tailored, then show the frame: tuck a front hem, roll the sleeves, let an ankle show. If everything is loose and nothing is anchored, the outfit wears you.
How do I make a one-colour outfit interesting?
Build it from textures instead of colours. Ribbed knit against smooth poplin, open crochet against denim, matte linen against polished leather — my all-cream outfit in idea 2 works purely because no two pieces share a surface.
What shoes work with very wide trousers?
Something with presence. Delicate, thin-soled flats disappear under wide, pooling hems and the whole silhouette loses its footing. Chunky loafers, square-toed slides and structured sandals give the volume something to land on.
Is it worth keeping a layer in my bag all summer?
In Scandinavia, yes. A fine knit or an unlined trench folded into your tote costs you nothing to carry and saves the outfit when the coastal wind arrives after dinner — which, in my experience, it does every evening.
That is my summer rotation — nothing precious, everything breathable, and always one layer within reach. If one of these combinations makes it into your warm-weather rail, save it to your summer outfits board on Pinterest for the next heatwave. — Elias
