The Autumn Wardrobe, Uniforms and Other Things I Always Come Back To

On what is actually worth having in your wardrobe, on dressing almost the same way every day and on what happens tomorrow.

October is here, but the temperatures seem to have stayed somewhere around early September.

And no, I’m not complaining. I’m just saying that, at this point, I would rather still be on the beach at sunset, with long days and a Margarita in hand.

Spicy, preferably.

Instead, we’re in Milan, it’s October, and tomorrow something rather important is happening.

The Sloane will officially be online.

And with it, our first Autumn/Winter 2026 collection.

Autumn is here. October 6th is too.

WOW!

I also promised we would finally talk about the autumn wardrobe and, incredibly, this time I’m keeping my promise.

For more specific advice on the pieces in the collection, there will occasionally be a dedicated newsletter, The Wardrobe Notes: styling tips, outfit ideas and all those slightly more technical, less narrative things that probably don’t require a digression on Teenage Dirtbag or Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. (Yes, those are this week’s recommendations: the first in your headphones, the second on your bedside table.)

Here, though, I want to start with something else.

Uniforms.

This first The Sloane collection was built very much around that idea.

And by uniform, I don’t mean wearing exactly the same thing every day. I mean those pieces you know so well you barely have to think about them anymore.

A skirt that always works. A blazer. A pair of pants. A dress you can put on in the morning and still want to be wearing that evening.

Simple, minimal, well made and, most importantly, capable of doing exactly what they were designed to do:

follow you through your day, not dictate it.

I think almost all the women I find most elegant have a uniform of their own.

Not necessarily because they always wear the same things, but because they’ve figured out what works for them.

Jane Birkin had hers. Françoise Hardy had hers.

Your mother probably has one too. Nobody has ever made a Pinterest moodboard about it.

Mine, and my mother’s, predictably, begin with a skirt.

The pencil skirt is, for me, forever and always one of the sexiest things you can wear.

And here, with great pride, I should probably tell you something: the Madison Skirt has been thoroughly tested, so I can confirm with a reasonable degree of certainty that it makes your bum look very SEXY.

It needed to be said.

More importantly, it’s one of those pieces you can wear almost anywhere. Ballerinas or loafers during the day, heels at night. A T-shirt, a shirt, a blazer or a sweater.

Then there’s the Tribeca Skirt, which has considerably more interest in making an entrance.

Voluminous, a little dramatic, but surprisingly easy to wear.

Are you starting to see what I mean by a uniform?

The clothes don’t decide where you’re going.

You do.

Then there’s the Spencer Blazer.

I strongly believe in the power of a good blazer. It’s one of those things you can throw over almost anything and suddenly look as though you have your life considerably more under control.

Even when, naturally, you don’t.

With the Parker Pants, it becomes the suit you can always come back to. Separately, both work just as well with everything else in your wardrobe.

And then there are the Ellis Pants and the Perry Shirt in satin.

They work beautifully together, of course, but I almost prefer the idea of separating them.

Satin pants with a sweater during the day. The shirt with jeans or a skirt.

Because satin, in my opinion, shouldn’t have to wait until evening.

I have one very simple rule about dresses: they should do most of the work for us.

The Crosby Dress is the one to wear somewhere you’ll probably stay later than planned. But add a pair of ballerinas and it works just as well during the day.

The Soho Dress is considerably less interested in going unnoticed.

And then there’s the Midtown Dress, long, with a slit, and one of those dresses that doesn’t need very much else.

Three different dresses, but the same idea: getting dressed without having to plan too carefully what happens next.

This is where things get personal.

The Franklin Overcoat was one of the first pieces I thought about for The Sloane, more out of necessity than anything else.

Can we agree that there are few things more frustrating than being extremely pleased with your dinner look, only to ruin it five minutes before leaving the house by throwing something over it that has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the outfit?

I refuse.

Hence, the Franklin Overcoat.

And then there’s the Chelsea Coat, the one I want to wear practically all winter: over a dress, over jeans and a sweater and, most importantly, for those last-minute errands when your coat needs to make it look as though whatever is underneath is far more interesting than it actually is.

That, too, is an important function of clothing.

And perhaps that’s exactly the point.

When I think about The Sloane, I always come back to the same contrast:

Uptown elegance with a downtown ease.

I like the idea of being elegant without looking too dressed up. Of leaving the house for one thing and ending up doing something entirely different. Of having places to be, even when you don’t quite know where you’re going yet.

There’s something incredibly attractive about a woman who knows exactly what she likes.

Not because she always gets it right.

But because she isn’t particularly afraid of getting it wrong.

And I think the best clothes should leave room for exactly that.

For changing your mind.
For staying longer than you planned.
For saying yes when you were absolutely going home.

Because I don’t really think of clothes as the story.

I think about everything that happens while you’re wearing them.

The dinner that turns into somewhere else. The plan you almost didn’t make. The people you meet along the way.

That’s what I wanted The Sloane to be part of.

Not a wardrobe for a perfectly planned life.

Quite the opposite.

Something to wear while the story is still being written.

And tomorrow, after months of fabrics, fittings, samples, buttons, phone calls, boxes and a frankly concerning number of notes on my phone, these clothes will stop being just mine.

Tomorrow, The Sloane will be online.

It feels rather strange to write that.

Possibly even more than seeing October 6th written in at least two of my three diaries.

So, to recap: skirts, blazers, satin pants before eight in the evening, a coat capable of saving even a last-minute grocery run, and a collection you can finally take with you into your days.

Or, preferably, while you’re changing your plans.

See you tomorrow, at 12!