This Midwest Princess Left London

What 3 years in the UK meant to me & a few of my old haunts

Five days passed before I could so much as shed a tear, and then it all poured out of me while waiting for my single scoop of chocolate Moose Tracks at Mooville Creamery. I was driving home from Detroit with my parents, where we had spent the day catching up with cousins and extended family (that I had been longing to be around for quite some time now!). So why the fuss?

“I’m just overwhelmed” was all I could figure to say in the moment. I didn’t know where to look: the quirky, kitschy signs in the ice cream shop that could have all said ‘God Bless This Mess’ for all I care? A car ride that I’ve done over a thousand times in my life that made me ache for the nostalgias of childhood? Feeling like everything I fought for and carved out for myself in England over the course of three years was wiped clean from the board, within a singular 16-hour travel day that happened too fast? Was I just past my jet-lagged bedtime?

Saying goodbye can be as dragged out as possible — but leaving is quick. It is not something within your locus of control, but rather something that moves through you, carrying you along, not waiting for preparation or emotion or acceptance. It. Just. Happens. The shift has been nothing short of seismic, and my body is still adjusting. My dad flew in to London the week prior to moving, keeping me happily distracted from the impending goodbye, and at each step of the way he reminded me that the river flows regardless of our attempts to fight it. The world continues to turn.

I savored as much as I could of the farewell tour — knowing glances or remarks, drinking up each moment that felt special or definitive of this era of my life. Every good day I’ve had in the last three months had at least two moments where I was desperate to claw onto the memory of the thing as it was unfolding. It felt like everything was ripped from me so long ago, a dead man walking about London, and up until I found myself wiping tears from my chin at Mooville I was convinced I had peacefully moved on from visceral outbursts of sadness and anxiety.

“How are you?” simply won’t cut it, for me or anyone I’m reuniting with stateside. How can that be answered in enough detail, or multiplicity, as to encompass the full context with which I have lived these last three years in the UK? The random conversations minor mishaps or deeper burns that stick to my ribs…of getting lost, feeling defeated, riding a high of a flirty night out or best friend dates that I wish never, ever, ever ended…sobbing my eyes out at the Compton Arms, on the Overground, in random Airbnbs, atop the 73 bus, Essex Road, with my roommate on the couch at my old flat??? I’ve loved being a local at a couple different spots (detailed below), being a little Dalston Kingsland Road celeb at the bars and gyms that line the road, clearing my head at Clissold Park or basking in the sun at Hampstead Heath or drinking with friends in London Fields. In the meantime, there have been countless moments of loved one’s lives in the US that I’ve missed.

One of my cousins asked me what it would take to move or ‘make it’ in London. I’d love to hear someone else’s answer on this, because it really doesn’t feel like I did! I’m down a lot of money, from expensive visas and low salaries, to rising inflation and experiencing one of London’s worst housing crises in more than 50 years. Comparison is the thief of joy, yes, but it’s hard not to compare yourself + the *mostly* wonderful life you lead when there are older, wealthier, English homeowners getting to enjoy the shit that you do at a frequency that you couldn’t touch if you tried. Saltburn speaks some truths! At this rate, with post-Brexit immigration policy, you’re better off trying Australia or New Zealand instead. I’ve chosen to stop blissfully ignoring the love London will never return.

Despite all the city tried on me, I was so happy! I have never been so wholly committed to myself than I have in this time. I felt more “me” than ever, or at least the version I wanted to be for a very long time. More creative, more disciplined, more confident, more resilient. I give love freely to others and am not half as bad at being kinder to myself, too. I find my alone time more joyful, which may be hard to imagine for people who know me as an extreme social butterfly. I started this Substack in one of the most time-consuming phases of my adult life and couldn’t believe just how profoundly it’s changed my life. My inner artist (and fashion-loving child!) is equally grateful I started it and inspired to continue this pursuit.

I won’t miss the fact that no one knocks on a bathroom door before trying the handle; the lack of decent bacon; people who cough in their hands; staring silently into space and avoiding any eye contact on public transport. I left with better manners (I’ve always been kind, but apparently I wasn’t very polite); an affinity for signet rings, messy hair and relatively undone makeup/style; and a hankering for a candlelit pub. I get sentimental in a crowded park or market on a weekend, conscious of how small and interconnected we all are. I leave newer, lovable faces that have changed my life and return to ones that were rooting for me from an ocean away. The goodbyes were heartbreaking, the hellos bordering on euphoric.

Conflicted or comforted? Yes. But if the river continues to flow, so will I.

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FASHION

The four horsemen of London Fields: adidas shorts, white tiered maxi skirt, leopard cargos, and a wiener dog.

Why haven’t I been able to write about exclusively UK fashion all this time? Part of it may be that as an American constantly trying to expand my cultural awareness beyond borders, the topic feels too small to encapsulate in areas that haven’t already been spoken for when it comes to London’s history (and England’s at large) of punk rebellion, indie artistry and football culture that interplays with entrenched socioeconomic classes and aristocracy. Another part may be that I don’t see how it would sound any different from existing UK editorials that I subscribe to, and I don’t intend to steer this newsletter towards sounding too trend-focused anyhow. Perhaps, when I’m away for long enough, I can be reminded of other existing trends in my immediate vicinity, and I will juxtapose my London fashion experiences against it and see them in a new light.

What I can say is that Camden is exactly what you think it is — basically all Doc Martens. East London felt a little unexpected at first, but each neighborhood has a niche brand allegiance or accessory that is their claim to fame: a Carhartt beanie, a Samba or Spezial, a Margiela Tabi, those Damson Madder leopard print cargos. Everyone is seemingly willing to experiment, though there aren’t many people who dress “loud”. The country at large is enjoying the blokecore revival and mixing their rugby collared shirts with punk or cottage/country garments that feels athletic yet counter-cultural. My dad noted how baggy the pants were, the ubiquity of all-black fits, and how Michigan’s beloved outdoorsy workwear was co-opted not by the working class, but rather by blanket statement “creative director/artists'“ who once let a top model bum a cigarette from them outside their local. Maybe I said the latter of that…

Here’s a quick hitter of the gorgeous brands + thrifts that I love:

• Intimates: Fruity Booty, Stripe & Stare

• Vintage: Vival Studios, Nude Lagoon, Anna Wetton, West Archive

• Female-owned: Damson Madder, Alchemy, Yuzefi, Lydia Bolton (featured on last week’s Take Five!), Sir the Label

• Traid — Dalston has a huge one and they’re great for donating!

• Mary’s Living + Giving charity shop — faves are in Hampstead, Stoke Newington + Islington!

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YE OLDE LONDON RECS

I can’t possibly give everything away in this post; friends know I have a Google Doc with a smattering of picks in every borough possible! I think it’s fair to reduce it to a few absolutely legendary go-to’s for pastries, sausage rolls, decent pints & roasts, and a couple of my personal landmarks in the city. Always happy to give further detail or more specific categories/neighborhood deep-dives :)

I’m moving at a slower pace right now, and a week after the Mooville menty b I feel more accepting and excited by the transition. I’ve got some ideas about the next phase (NY or nowhere??), but until then I’ll be focused on nurturing myself and reconnecting with everything & everyone I love in the US. Lake Michigan’s silky-sandy beaches, watching my parent’s dog swim in our backyard brook, and walking to touch the sign at the end of the road by my neighbor’s cornfields are all I need for now.

Hope you enjoyed this — I was fully intent on adding more about Michigan and the Midwest, but thought it was competing for space. Another time, perhaps! If you’d like me to start writing more travel/city rec-focused newsletters let me know. All love!!

Ryann xx

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UP NEXT

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