My mama first wore this blouse on Formentera the summer before I was born 35 years ago. I discovered it in her closet when I was a teenager and, probably without asking her permission, decided that I was going to keep it. The cheesecloth is frayed to the point of disintegrating and I love running my fingers over the fabric, the places where it’s almost see-through from wear, a piece of our shared history. What’s still perfect after all these years is the crochet neckline that my mama made herself. Of the things I inherited from her, unfortunately a talent for sewing wasn’t one of them. But maybe that makes me appreciate what she can do a little bit more.
My favourite thing about this picture is what you can’t see – the photographer. James flew to Majorca as a surprise for the last three days of my holiday there, very sneakily arranged together with Steffi and her husband (who should all consider careers as secret agents!). I wish I could’ve seen my face when he suddenly stood there at the airport in front of me. Instead I’ll try to remember this face right here from this holiday. The one that looks happy.