The Sparkly Disco Mushroom.

Cropped striped t-shirt with lace back + pocket, Romwe.com. Black sequined beret, Forever 21. Black blazer, Leifsdottir. Black denim shorts, Urban Outfitters. Black knitted over knee socks, Asos.com. Black mc boots, Scorett. Lipstick by Rival de Loop Berlin.

(Photos by me.)

I'm trying not to notice how annoyingly shiny and new these boots are. Leather boots should not be shiny and new! They should be ragged and battered and look like they've been passed down through generations. Well, not much else I can do but wear them, and wear them, and then wear them some more. Especially in bad weather. By this time next year, they should be perfect!

This sequined beret is just the best thing. Look at it! My head is like a sparkly disco mushroom! I wish I could make sparkly disco mushroom soup for lunch. Or fry them up with cream and butter and eat them on toast. Sparkly disco mushroom toast. Mmmm.

You know, I blush with pride whenever I'm asked to translate more of my magazine columns for you, and you can be sure that I most definitely will. The only problem is that when I read through them, a lot of times they're very... Swedish. Full of references to Swedish song lyrics, books, people, places, stores, television shows, you name it. Though, maybe that doesn't have to be a bad thing? I can try to work around it when possible, and when I can't, it shouldn't have to be any more weird than reading a translated book or watching a foreign film. I hope.

The one you're just about to read was written back in September of 2009, and it's the first one I wrote after deciding to leave the more opinion-based form and instead focus on telling stories from my life. (Mostly because I was at this time writing bi-weekly columns for a newspaper, as well as one every week in Sofis mode - and to be honest, I didn't feel like I had enough opinions to fill six columns a month with them.) It turned out that I loved writing these personal stories, and I kept doing it once a week for the next two years. Until now. A couple of days ago, I submitted my last column to Sofis mode. As much as I will miss it, it's about time I channel my creativity into finally writing a book. And when there's something I just need to tell someone - I have you guys!

So. It's September of 2009, I'm alone in Berlin, my life is turned upside down for a number of reasons... and, well, I'm going just a little bit crazy.

She has a ring in her nose and weirdly pale eyes and she wants my number.

I type it into her Nokia and press "save". Someone has used duct tape to keep the battery from falling out.

"Thanks", she says, "I'm going to call you later and we will party all night!"

Terrific. You do that.

She skips off towards the subway, but before she lets the giant gap in the ground swallow her whole, she turns around and waves.

I'm not stupid. I'm well aware she won't call me. I'm fine with that. It's not like I'm really planning on going to a techno club with a nineteen-year-old I just met at the hairspray aisle at Rossmann's, anyway. It was nice talking to someone, that's all.

Friday afternoon and I've been alone in Berlin less than 48 hours. Which doesn't say a thing. You see, something has happened to time; it's gotten stuck somewhere, moving in slow motion.

I'm honestly not sure what it is I'm doing here. I guess my plan is to become more independent, sort of. Start appreciating my own company. Prove that I can take care of myself, that I'm just fine without him.

On my way home I swing by Lidl to buy milk and frozen pizza with salami and extra cheese. The couple in front of me in the cashier's line keep throwing glances in my direction. They're talking about me. 

Honey, look, it's so sad! And two cartons of milk, aaw. Like we don't get that one of them is going to get old and sour in the fridge while she eats her cereal at a kitchen table set for one. Who does she think she's fooling?

In reality, they're obviously talking about something completely different. For some reason that doesn't cheer me up one bit.

I'm halfway through the front door when my cellphone starts vibrating in my pocket. My first thought is that she's dialed my number by mistake.

"Aneka, one o' clock at Icon! Coolest party, everbody's going. I see you there, yes?"

Her English is broken but enthusiastic and I can't remember how to say no.

My new lipstick is extremely red, it cost me three euros and coincidentally that's exactly how cheap I look wearing it.

Then, a text. It's from him.

"I'm out having a beer", it says, "I miss you. What are you up to?"

"Going to a club with a nineteen-year-old German girl", I reply. I don't write: Can you tell how hip I am, how much fun I'm having without you? Can you tell how freakin' hard I'm trying here?

I'm pretty sure he already knows.

It's half past midnight and I practice walking in front of the mirror, a black sequin dress and high wedges. Trying on my nineteen-year-old smile. It's a bit rusty. 

A new text: "Aneka, are you on your way?"

...

When I open my eyes, the room is flooded with sunlight.

I eat my cornflakes at the kitchen table. German milk tastes different from Swedish. Sweeter.

Then he texts me.

"How was your night with the German club kids?"

"I stayed home", I write back. I'm not nineteen anymore and honestly I don't miss it, you on the other hand, you I miss so much I feel like I'm going to fall to pieces at any moment. Can't you just please hurry up and get here? Independence is so goddamn lonely.

I don't tell him that.

I'm pretty sure he already knows.

A fall makeover in my go-to outfit.

T-shirt and Levi's denim cutoffs, Urban Outfitters. Leopard print tights, H&M. Black Everest platform boots, Jeffrey Campbell/Nelly.com.

(Photos by me.)

When I found these Levi's cutoffs hidden in the back of a shelf at Urban Outfitters in New York, I instantly knew that they were meant for me. There was only one pair, and without even trying them on, I could tell that they would fit perfectly. (OK, I did try them on, of course. I mean, just to be sure. Hmm.) I honestly have to stop myself each morning when I get dressed, or I would wear them every single day!

This is their fourth appearance on the blog - I wore them here, here and here - and since they're pretty much the corner stone of my wardrobe at the moment, it seemed quite appropriate that they got to be in my new header.

Yeah, I decided it was time to give the blog a bit of a fall makeover. I feel like right now I need less bright and peachy cheerfulness, and more calm, blue softness. Other than that, everything's just like it's always been - I'm even laying on the same spot in my garden as in the last header, still wearing light blue denim shorts, a splash of leopard print and with Jeffrey Campbells on my feet! If it ain't broke, why fix it, right?

And speaking of items I could wear daily if I didn't remind myself that I actually do own other pieces of clothing: ah, leopard print tights, how I adore thee! I have no idea how many pairs I actually own, but it has to be somewhere around ten, because at the moment there's a pair thrown in each and every corner of our extremely messy house. A lot of them are ripped and torn from being worn way too many times, but I don't care (I tell myself it's, eh, "punk"). So, obviously they had to be in the new header, as well. (Three outfits with leopard-clad legs: worn with orange wedges, sequins and black and white brogues, and my favorite black dress.)

And if you haven't already noticed that I have a very unhealthy obsession with Jeffrey Campbell shoes, well, I do. I'm going to have to open a JC museum one day - then I'll have an almost decent excuse for owning way, way, way too many pairs. 

Haha, now I made it sound like I styled an outfit specifically to make a new header! And maybe I did, subconsciously? Can't rule it out! Or - more likely - it's only natural it turned out like that, since this could easily be called my "go-to outfit" these days. Comfortable clothes for hanging out at home, not nearly as comfortable shoes to keep myself from being too bored with they way I look when I leave the house.

But right now, I'm putting on a pair of flat boots and I'm off to yoga class!

Sticks and stones may break my bones, Sticks and Stripes may... get me hypes?

Light-blue flowy summer dress, Sticks and Stripes. Light pink bowler hat, Monki. Cheetah print peep-toe wedges with ankle straps, luichiny.

(Photos by me.)

Today summer decided to make a surprise reappearance, and it seemed like an opportunity as good as any to wear my new, fabulously flowy dress from Sticks and Stripes. I have so much respect for founder Brit Furgeson, who truly takes responsibility for the environmental aspects of her designs: the fabric she uses for her dresses is made out of wood pulp (and is so wonderfully fluid and light!), and for each purchased dress, Sticks and Stripes will plant a tree on your behalf. I'm always inspired by people who are actually making an effort to sustain our incredible planet - and it's a much-needed reminder that I ought to work a lot harder myself when it comes to this subject.

I got these cheetah print wedges in NYC, and I can't decide if I love or hate them. Which is basically a good thing. That keeps things interesting, and it means that at least they're not too plain! If you decide you hate them because of their immense tackiness, I completely get it. But I came to the conclusion that I do love them... at least today I do.

(Oh, and the stupid title of this post is simply a case of really bad Lookbook.nu humor.)

The Doctor Will See You Now.

Ever since I saw Glee's Kurt Hummel rock his white Doc Martens in the "Born This Way" episode, I knew I needed a pair just like them. Comfy boots are my go-to shoes all through fall and winter, and trust me - these babies sure won't be as white and shiny come February! Luckily, I have a feeling they're going to look even better by then...

Mounting the Everest or Ready for a Fall.

When I woke up this morning, summer had decided to take a break and instead make room for a whiff of fall. Which I completely didn't mind - it gave me an excellent reason to try out my Jeffrey Campbell Everests! Let me tell you, these will without a doubt become the foundation of my fall wardrobe.

I honestly feel sorry for everyone living in a climate that doesn't include a real fall season. It's by far my favorite out of the four. I love it when the air starts getting crisp and chilly, I love the changing colors of the leaves, and oh, I so love the clothes! No other season comes close to the fall wardrobe - honestly, it's the one time of year that I thoroughly enjoy fashion, and might even buy a fashion magazine or... five.

But I think what I adore more than anything about the last few months before winter arrives is that we all know they're fleeting. Winter, for me, is all about enduring the torture of the cold and darkness, summer is simply too lazy and dull (plus usually warmer than I prefer, yeah, I'm annoyingly hard to please when it comes to temperature). And then we have spring, my second favorite season, well... spring is a little bit like being stuck in a waiting room, queue ticket in hand. All the signs that it's soon going to be our turn - in this particular metaphor "our turn" would be the arrival of summer - are of course properly aaaaaaw:ed and ooooooh:ed, but they're still just indications of what's to come, distractions while we're waiting for the "real treat". It's just not fair! The flowers and the melting snow are such fantastic wonders, but I don't feel like they're enjoyed the way they deserve to be. Not by others, and not by me. Every year when springtime comes, I forget that I'm actually not at all crazy about summer, and waste these breathtakingly magical months leading up to June holding out for what I incorrectly believe is something better down the line.

I think the British word autumn is amazingly beautiful, though I still prefer fall. Because that's exactly what it is. As summer releases its grip, we're suddenly in a free fall, plummeting against months and months of freezing darkness. We're surrounded by these incredibly vivid shades of red and yellow, and we know that any day the leaves are going to turn brown and crumble under the thick soles of our boots. Therefore, we savor each moment of beauty, we appreciate every last trace of summer, we finally start to relish the small things: that we don't yet need to wear gloves or change the tires of our cars, that our lungs don't hurt from the cold when we take a deep breath, that the sun has not yet set as we leave from school or work. That we still might have a few more heartbeats left within our chests.