I moved to Copenhagen – here's how my style changed

It’s 8.54am and I’m cycling to work along Copenhagen’s famous Nyhavn waterfront, the still water reflecting the colourful terrace fronts. I pass an acquaintance on my journey and give a jolly “hej hej”, then swirl into my workplace courtyard after a seven-minute commute, greeted by the Instagram-worthy blooms in the flower shop beneath our offices. Life is not only good, it’s Scandi, baby.

It has been six years since I relocated to the Danish capital (then the second happiest place on Earth after Finland, according to the World Happiness Report), with the UK’s blind tumble into Brexit, my own growing pains and a fair few flunking romances all coagulating into the decision to accept a relocation role to Copenhagen. Sure, arriving six months before a pandemic struck the world might not have been the most ideal timing on paper (if anything a classic case of Murphy’s Law), but it was exactly this pandemic that saw me become an editor for an acclaimed architecture and design publication (I was crap at the role but if you can’t convince them, confuse them), contribute to a range of publications from Modern Weekly in China to Vogue Scandinavia, before being offered a role as digital strategist at Copenhagen Fashion Week (I was less hopeless at this position, so luckily the opportunity stuck). A few years later and I’m now COO of Copenhagen Fashion Week, which is now considered the fifth fashion week after London, New York, Paris and Milan and known for its commitment to emerging designers and working towards a more responsible fashion industry.

What has changed the most for me in this time? A fair few apartments, a new boyfriend, but mostly it’s been my clothes. Outside Denmark, two images typically come to mind when thinking about Scandi fashion: the minimalist wardrobe featuring neutral knits and tailoring (ie the Toteme school of dressing), or the girl on the bike wearing a floaty Cecilie Bahnsen or Ganni dress.

In reality though, Scandi style is so much more than a blonde on a bicycle. It’s the Tekla pyjama top tucked into a Marimekko skirt, paired with flip flops because you will have a swim in the harbour on your way home from work. It’s jeans with a skirt by Fine Chaos chucked over the top, matched with sneakers and a cross-body Venczel bag, as you’re going to two exhibition openings, the bodega (Copenhagen’s answer to the pub) and then the club (my team at work are experts at this look). It’s a chunky Skall sweater over a Rotate mini, or a Stine Goya sequined number with Stel trousers – a mixture of practicality and sparkle, all topped off with a cosy Caro Editions hat.

It’s also the relaxed-fit pinstripe suit by Sunflower with a Berner Kuhl T-shirt underneath, because sexy equates to comfort, ease and ‘Can I chuck this in a 40-degree-wash?’ (a vital tenet). It’s an Alipo bikini top as a, well, bikini top, because, hell, the sun is out and we live in the Nordics, so let’s enjoy the good times while we can.

For me, the true personification of Scandi cool is seeing a gaggle of women strolling down the street, pushing their little A-frame bikes, all sporting independent local designers like A Roege Hove, Nicklas Skovgaard and Birrot, mix-and-matched with pieces bought at the flea market or from teeny tiny little creatives. It’s about dressing to live and putting clothes on your back that champion and uplift the tight-knit Copenhagen community.

In many ways, this approach isn’t so different from my seven years on and off in London, which was all about emerging designers. At every turn they were integral to my career, some of my most valued friendships, and inspired my passion for supporting the next generation of creative talent. When I think back to those endless nights in the pub when I worked at the British Fashion Council in London, my colleagues and I would stick out like sore thumbs for wearing the city’s stars: Ashley Williams, Martine Rose and Nicholas Daley tees, Aries everything, Ryan Lo sparkles, Wales Bonner trousers, Marques’Almeida denim, Molly Goddard cardigans, Simone Rocha clips and earrings.

Since moving to Copenhagen, though, comfort – as well as supporting a wealth of Danish talent – has become my priority. My tight Levi’s have been swapped for looser menswear pairs; my micro blink-and-you’ll-miss-them dresses have lengthened into midi-skirts by Forza Collective and Saks Potts; and my vintage Ferragamo pumps and giant Gucci platforms have now been replaced by my clogs, anything by Kalda (even the heels are comfy!) and my Camper sandals in summer.

I have spent my life as a chameleon of sorts, being born in England, raised in Australia, spending my teenage years in Ireland, before moving to London and then Copenhagen. My mum is from New Zealand but spent her formative years in Fiji, while my father is a Brit – leaving me and my sister with a silly accent and a vague answer when people ask us “Where are you from?"

I was always going to adapt to the Danish way (call it a survival tactic you learn moving around as a kid, so you’re not completely tortured throughout school). While I feel more at home in an Mfpen knit and a pair of Sunflower jeans today, compared to a Claire Barrow minidress with some knee-highs back then, how my clothes have really changed is that they now reflect my values. I’m proud to be a woman in a C-suite role; I’m blessed to work with inspiring women and organisations advocating for change; I love that I live in a society that prioritises a life outside the rat race; and I think every city should shift to bikes as a primary mode of transport.

Bike grease might be a pain to get out of trousers, but I’ll take that as a trade-off for living my happiest, most fulfilled, and arguably best-dressed period of my life to date.