Outfit diary: 9 days, two fashion weeks, and 11,000 kilometers

I’ll tell you quite honestly. Packing a suitcase for fashion week is a discipline of its own. To put together outfits (with the smallest possible number of pieces), you need the skill and calculation of a chess grandmaster, and the ultimate goal is reached when every item matches with all the others. That level of perfection is, of course, impossible.

Although I’m fairly good at pairing pieces into somewhat coherent combinations, I usually completely mess up when it comes to functionality. Summer, with its thin and lightweight clothes, allows me to pack a few “extra mistakes” into my suitcase, unlike winter, when I can barely fit two proper sweaters and a toiletry bag. There’s simply no room for the “just-in-case” pieces that might save the day. But let me tell you one thing — my bad judgment actually has nothing to do with the seasons. I just have the “luck” of always arriving at my destination to historically low temperatures and record-breaking rainfall. That’s why I often land with a suitcase full of completely useless clothes. For instance, I arrived in Berlin with sweet little matching sets, only to find it pouring rain as if it hadn’t rained in a century, and in Copenhagen, the relentless August wind nearly blew me away while I stood there in light shorts, praying to every karmic force for a bit of sunshine. Similar misfortunes, of course, followed me on my recent travels between Moldova, home, and Kazakhstan — during which I flew about 11,000 kilometers in nine days, passed through six airports, two continents, and two fashion weeks. This is my outfit diary.

DAY #1

In the morning, half-asleep, I’m awakened by the sound of my alarm. I don’t quite remember what I stuffed into my suitcase the night before, but I hope I was at least somewhat sensible. When I arrive, I’ll unpack it with the curiosity of a child opening presents on Christmas morning. I pace around the apartment like Balthazar, trying to decide whether I need a coat or if autumn is still just a warm extension of summer. At the last moment, I go with a denim jacket — a compromise between reason and nostalgia for summer — and rush to the airport. Frankfurt, our eternal transit home, greets us once again with the smell of expensive croissants and the rhythm of airport announcements. After several hours of waiting, and a flight above the clouds of Eastern Europe, we finally land in Chișinău. Cold, gray, gloomy — not at all a city for a denim jacket. As usual, there’s little sign of reason in my suitcase. Everything I packed seems more suited for beach bar parties or at least an Indian summer. All I have that might work are the already-famous denim jacket, my favorite navy-striped sweater, and a red blazer I decided to resurrect from the archives of forgetfulness. Let’s see all that creative brilliance now, I think to myself ironically (with an inner voice resembling that of a strict teacher), while simultaneously plotting expeditions to unknown Moldovan boutiques. From the whirlpool of mild despair, I’m rescued by a message about evening plans. The place, the time, and — most importantly — the dress code: the opening party is casual and a bit informal. The word lowkey feels like a lifeline — I’ll survive the first day in chilly Chișinău in my denim jacket, a few layers, and the simplest jeans I luckily managed to squeeze into the suitcase. I’m satisfied.

Second-hand denim jacket, white shirt Varteks, scarf Answear Lab, bagMarmelo, second-hand loafers, Levi’s jeans, earrings My Mon Mon, glasses Tom Ford

DAY #2

The second day is reserved for fashion shows — the Moldovan Brands Runway kicks off with a program scattered across different city locations. We’ll be driving, but also walking, so I decide on a combination of the warmest and most comfortable pieces in my little arsenal of wonders. Yes, one of them is, once again, the denim jacket. After properly scolding myself for being reckless and moving into the stage of acceptance, I somehow find the strength to congratulate myself on at least a bit of sanity. I could have, for instance, packed that colorful sequined sweater that only works with a purple satin dress (#fashion). If nothing else, at least this one life-saving item is versatile and adaptable. While brushing my teeth and combing my hair, I pray to every higher power that finds me even slightly likable to save the rain for another day. I tuck my navy-striped sweater with chic flared sleeves into dark blue vintage trousers that I can no longer remember when or where I bought. They look like they once belonged to a slim, youthful sailor. Anyway, I sprinkle all those nautical elements with a pinch of accessories that I believe can save the outfit: two belts with gold details (one of which, I think, is actually a necklace), a blue bandana around my neck, and loafers paired with white socks — perfectly fine for the occasion. Casual and a bit retro. I survived, despite all the weather’s mischief.

Striped sweaterAmi Amalia, second-hand denim jacket, vintage trousers, vintage Versace belt, second-hand loafers, earrings My Mon Mon, glasses Tom Ford 

DAY #3

I wake up happy that my body still hasn’t developed any symptoms of pneumonia. Outside, it’s still as cold as mid-January, and a thick gray cap hangs over the city. I wonder — does the sun ever shine in Chișinău? The day’s event schedule includes a series of shows, all taking place in the same venue. That may not be ideal for my adventurous spirit, but it’s certainly convenient for my outfit. I decide to give myself a little freedom: I’ll combine all the pieces I’ve worn so far in a different way and add a pleated gray mini skirt to the mix. I forgot my steamer, so I smooth out the skirt while warming up under a hot shower. It’ll be fine. I just hope that, on the way to the venue, I won’t be met by the fiercest wind Moldova has ever seen — the tights I’m wearing underneath aren’t nearly thick enough. The pistachio shade of my new bag brings a small ray of light. I love layers, and they love me.

Second-hand denim jacket, striped sweaterAmi Amalia, white shirt Varteks, skirt Mango, bag Calvin Klein, vintage Miu Miu shoes, glasses Tom Ford, vintage belt

DAY #4

It’s Saturday. I’m happy and free. Rain has been pouring since early dawn, but I don’t mind too much. I grab the hotel umbrella and head out to wander through unfamiliar streets, ready for whatever excitement life might have in store. I don’t even worry when the rain starts coming down harder and harder — until it becomes painfully clear that it’s high time to retreat to shelter if I don’t want to be swept away by the torrents running through the streets, along with the pumpkins and gourds that have somehow appeared out of nowhere. I wade through water that’s already covering my ankles. Everything I’m wearing will soon find its place draped across the hotel radiators. I wonder if I’m truly that “lucky” to be caught in such a downpour during one of the rare peaceful moments of exploring the city. After feeling sorry for myself for long enough, lamenting my tragic fate, I conclude that it’s the last day of the shows and I don’t really have much choice about what to wear. Most of the clothes from my suitcase are either worn out or soaking wet. I’m done with the denim jacket for at least three lifetimes. I pull on my favorite no-me-interesa outfit. Adidas shorts, a scarf tied around my head, vintage shoes? Works for me. I’ll probably be cold, but by now I’ve built some resistance. The people I pass shower my charming outfit with compliments. Well, why not.

Vintage red blazer, Levi’s polo shirt, vintage blue Adidas shorts, Lacoste bag, vintage Miu Miu shoes, Tom Ford glasses, no-name bandana

DAY #5

I have just one day in Zagreb to unpack and pack again. On Monday, I’m flying to Kazakhstan. Who knows what the weather is like on the other side of the world? I check AccuWeather every fifteen minutes. It says clear skies and around twenty degrees. Perfect, this is basically Hawaii! I think happily — but, having learned from recent experience, I still decide to pack one suitcase filled exclusively with sweaters. Just in case.

DAY #6

After twelve hours of travel, a layover in Istanbul, and several failed attempts to sleep on the flight to Almaty, I finally arrive at my destination. It’s three in the morning, and the air smells like an Arctic expedition. “Is it always this cold at this time of year?” I ask the driver. “No,” he replies, “winter came early this year. Look at Mount Tian Shan in the morning — it’s already covered in snow.” Resigned to my fate of freezing once again and realizing I completely ignored the altitude factor, I fall asleep like a righteous soul — only to wake up four hours later, a slave to my circadian rhythm. An exciting day awaits, but my life battery is deep in the red. I have no energy to think about outfits, so I throw on the first things I can find. I’m an editor, no one cares what I’m wearing, I tell myself for comfort. It’ll be fine. I’m lucky — during the day, the sun blazes down mercilessly, the way it does on ski slopes when you sip mulled wine between runs. I’ll peek into my miraculous backup suitcase full of sweaters (and a container of spare socks) only when the sun disappears behind the massive, snow-covered mountain range and my eyelashes start to freeze.

Related: I spent last week in Kazakhstan. The street style in Almaty is a story of its own.

Vintage leather blazer, second-hand striped shirt, vintage belt, Zara trousers, second-hand loafers, Tom Ford glasses

DAY #7

After ten hours of sleep, I wake up rested and ready for new victories at Almaty Fashion Week. The sun is shining like there’s no tomorrow; we’re catching a bit of color on the hotel terrace, sipping coffee with a view of the ski jump. Life is beautiful. Today feels like the perfect day to wear whatever I want, I think optimistically, replaying in my head all the brilliant street style looks I saw yesterday while I felt like a washed-out rag. I’ll put everything on and be happy. That burst of creativity, fueled by my freshly restored life energy, results in one of my favorite things — layering. A skirt over a dress, everything in shades of gray, with the addition of two different plaid patterns. I’m once again ironing my mini skirt under a hot shower because, of course, I forgot to pack the steamer. I could wear this every day, I think to myself while smugly admiring my reflection in the hotel mirror. The only dilemma tangling up my indecisive thoughts is whether to throw a knitted shawl in beige or red over my shoulders. I go with the latter — to break up the grayness a bit. Today is my day!

Vintage plaid dress, Zara blazer, Mango skirt, red and beige knitted shawlAmi Amalia, vintage Miu Miu shoes, vintage belt

DAY #8

The last day of fashion week meant, in short, that I had to come up with an outfit suitable for a marathon of runway shows — but also for the closing party. Plus, it needed to be warm enough to protect me once the sun went down and the city was wrapped in cold mountain air. We’d been sightseeing and didn’t have much time to get ready. Despite the time crunch, I decided this was the perfect moment to experiment with a combination I’d never worn before. What an amateur mistake! My first idea was an outfit in candy pastel tones, led by a sweater from Ami Amalia’s Fall 2025 collection and a pair of pink Ganni corduroy pants I impulsively bought in Copenhagen last summer, when early August mornings greeted us with a crisp eleven degrees and that lovely northern wind that stings your cheeks.

Left: Ami Amalia sweater, Ganni trousers, second-hand shirt, wool beret Eltier. Right: Answear Lab scarf, vintage leather blazer, vintage leather skirt

As it usually goes when you’re on an impossibly tight schedule, the decision to change outfits comes exactly two minutes before you have to rush out of the hotel. From ice-cream-colored chic, I make a 180-degree turn into the realm of a kinky, retro 1980s secretary. The only things I keep on are the blue striped shirt and the wool beret. It’s not that I didn’t like my original outfit — it just didn’t match my mood. Say what you will, but that matters to me. I’ve been known to go back home to change (or dismantle parts of my outfit in an elevator) simply because something didn’t fit my vibe. So, the playful, sugary tones are swapped for black vintage leather. I button the shirt all the way up and, at the last moment, style a vintage tie to look as if it were suspenders. I was missing a touch of color, and my favorite Lacoste Lenglen bag — shaped like a pleated skirt — fits perfectly as the finishing touch.

Vintage leather blazer and skirt, second-hand striped shirt, Lacoste bag, Eltier beret, vintage Miu Miu shoes, vintage patterned tie

DAY #9

As if the spirit of a carefree, mischievous twenty-something had possessed me, I decide that after the closing party I’ll head straight to the airport. There’s no point in sleeping for two hours anyway — I’ll have plenty of time to catch up on rest during the nearly half-day flight. If you read between the lines, you can probably tell that I’m actually anxious about oversleeping and missing my flight. I return to my room, send a few emails, gather the things I’ve scattered around, and think about what Bella Hadid would choose for her airport style before heading out into the cold Kazakh night. The leather aviator cap I bought last year at some vintage store in Budapest will be the perfect match for the thick sweater from my backup suitcase. Bella would definitely approve of the airport style. Time to go home!

Vintage aviator cap, vintage leather blazer, vintage sweater, Ellesse leggings, H&M socks, Adidas sneakers