Among many things (fear, confusion, grief, all-out panic), the whole pandemic has no doubt ushered in moments of reflection. For me, that’s spanned myriad things, but an overriding feeling has been travel. The age-old platitude, absence makes the heart grow fonder couldn’t resonate more; every day, at some point in the day, I think about travels past. But I think about one place more than others: Greece. This has been compounded by the fact I was currently meant to be overseas; attending friend’s glamorous weddings, enjoying (then regretting) debauched 30th’s, seeing family and of course, just holidaying. I miss eating fried calamari, iced rosé (because it’s acceptable in Greece), the 200-year-old, family-run pharmacy with its polished joinery, its homemade lotions and potions and perfumes. I miss all of it. But with Covid robbing these plans, the inevitable lament set it.

This photoshoot represented the closest to Corinthian columns I’m going to get for a while.

People often ask me where my favourite place in Greece is, and for me, it’s an impossible question, forever changing. I have a close infinity to Ithaca, the island my grandmother came from, not only because it has a deeply personal connection but because it stands for everything typical Greek tourism doesn’t; there’s not a blue-and-white, rather lines of pine trees, white pebble beaches and green seas. But I am always drawn back to a little island called Hydra (pronounced I-thra). Its beaches are nowhere near the brilliant cyan of Anti Paxos, or crystalline, It’s a feeling. That same feeling lured creatives the world over, with Hydra somewhat of an artistic hotbed. Composers, musicism, painters, poets and fashion designers flock to this tiny isle for a reason difficult to quantify.

This is me in Hydra, dressed in Jacquemus, in my dreams. Hopefully, not to soon, they will be my reality. Until then, I’ll wait…