It’s absolutely freezing and I’ve had enough. There are so many great things about great Britain—fish, chips, custard, the queen—but our winters just go on and on like an EU trade deal. The chill has scurried its way through my veins and into my bones, I have rising damp in my hands and my knees creak with icicles. I’m rusting into motionlessness like the tin man without oil. I've hatched a plan to hibernate. To over-eat and stockpile little bundles of good cheese and scrape out a little burrow in a city park and lay foetal and dormant until they turn the sprinklers on and I hear the ice cream vans of summer. I don’t hate winter exactly. And it’s awfully romantic to be nuzzled up at the fire with a hot guy and a hot toddy. But we’ve had months of this drizzly what-to-wear? weather, with the no-show of snow, and all the waterproof just-in-case layering is wearing thin. Springtime is an alarm we just keep snoozing, waiting for the clouds to part.
As a lifelong devotee of navy, I look positively dashing in my dependable merino knit but moments into my commute through London’s puddles the world feels flat as a pancake. I need a raising agent. I need a shot of acid to cut through this grey existence. And nothing says I’m ready for Spring like the Sorello knit in Acid. Behold, the cashmere / wool crew knit.
What do we even call such a hue? Is it acid banana? It’s the colour of Limoncello after dinner in Tuscany. It’s the colour of the radioactive folded eggs you’re having for brunch at the utopian Mars colony of the future. It’s medicinal like sweet cough drops. Sorello lifts your mood like a good espresso or a head massage at the hairdresser. This jumper is snuggly, sure, but also has the nocturnal vibrancy of a gentle club throb that encourages the sustainable stealth-bopping you can do forever because you don’t lift your feet. You’re bopping as soon as the material hits your weary winter skin. Your complexion brightens. You’re a pedicure away from the beach.
The Sorello Cashmere Knit in Acid is going to get me through this torrid Winter and out into the darling buds of spring. Catch me outside, shedding thermal layers and donning the shortest shorts. This is more than a jumper. It’s a tonic.
Raven Smith is a writer based in London.