Beginnings

An essay on hope (+ some places to go in Copenhagen)

A Henry Moore sculpture at Copenhagen’s Louisiana Museum of Modern Art. If you’re here for my recommendations, skip to the bottom!

Beginnings are the best bit. The first sip of a cup of tea in the morning, a first kiss, the blank page of a new notebook. I suppose it’s a somewhat obvious subject for the first edition of this newsletter but it feels fitting, especially as I’m writing to you in January (albeit one of the last days) and it still feels like the beginning of a new year. But, unlike the character who inspired the title of this Substack, I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions. A blank slate is galvanising, certainly, but I believe beginnings are good for more than just an opportunity to ‘improve’ yourself. 

It’s why I think the opening credits of a film are so crucial, why starters are my favourite part of a menu and why I prefer watching a sunrise over a sunset. If you’ve ever sung along at the top of your lungs to Natasha Bedingfield’s ‘Unwritten’ (and I don’t think I’ll be off mark when I guess that’s a large proportion of you), then you know what I’m talking about. Natasha said it best: “I'm just beginning / The pen's in my hand / Ending unplanned”. 

Meet-cute (noun)

(in a film or television programme) an amusing or charming first encounter between two characters that leads to the development of a romantic relationship between them.

Oxford’s English Dictionary 

If you’ve read the ‘about page’ for this newsletter or, indeed, almost anything I’ve written in the past, it won’t surprise you that one of my favourite types of beginning is the romantic kind. When I was younger, I fantasised not of the day I’d marry the man of my dreams but of the day I’d meet him - not of my happily ever after, but of the first hello. Meet-cutes have been on my mind for as long as I can remember but certainly since childhood (problematic, perhaps, but we’ll save that for another essay). In fact, my earliest memory of one is animated - in the original 101 Dalmatians. Orchestrated by Pongo the dog, Roger and Anita meet because they both become tangled up in Pongo’s lead. If you’re not familiar, see below - it’s worth revisiting for the beautiful animation alone. It’s the Platonic ideal of a meet-cute: playful, (seemingly) serendipitous and fantastically romantic. 

Amazingly, the phrase dates back even earlier than the early 1960s Disney classic. It was first used to describe how Gary Cooper and Claudette Colbert first meet in the 1938 film, Bluebeard’s Eighth Wife. Set on the French Riviera, we meet millionaire Michael Brandon (Cooper) whilst shopping for pyjamas, but only in need of the top half. The clerk refuses and a squabble ensues, until another shopper (Colbert) intercedes: “I’ll take the bottom.” If that sounds familiar, it’s because the elderly, retired Hollywood screenwriter, Arthur Abbott in Nancy Meyers’ The Holiday describes the scene to Kate Winslet’s character in their first meeting. A meta-meet-cute, if you will. 

As soon as Pongo introduced the idea into my head, my imagination began to throw fictional first encounters at me like lightning bolts. Opportunities lay anywhere and everywhere, as is the nature of chance. I cursed myself for not being naturally clumsy, as so many meet-cutes I’d seen were instigated by fortuitous, physical accidents. Undeterred, I’d imagine run-ins with the paper boy: copies of The Times sent flying inexplicably high in the air, bicycle wheels spinning and us in a tangled heap, unharmed but suddenly enamoured. Journeys to school were spent mentally writing scripts: the tube carriage, a stage, and the starring role played by the boy in an unfamiliar school uniform, who I willed, each day, to reach for the same Metro as me. Even my poor, unwitting German exchange student wasn’t spared. On the way to pick him up, my mind raced with how I’d tell our future grandchildren our Heathrow airport origin story. 

I’ve had a few near-misses. After I’d left school, I found a wallet on a street near my house and became obsessed with tracking down its owner, so sure was I that our meeting was destiny. The Tate membership card - a sign of our shared interests; the organ donor card - his compassion; and his name - Albert Flowers - straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel: romance literally reified. He turned out to be in his early eighties and prone to losing things in old age - I was the third person to return his wallet that month. Not long after, I found a dogeared Moleskine - filled with bad sketches and even worse poetry - outside a bar in Camden. Apparently suffering from romantic amnesia, I convinced myself I’d found it for a reason, texted the number scrawled on the inside cover and arranged for him to come collect it from the bar I worked at. He arrived, he was gorgeous, he asked for my best friend’s number. 

Even now, happily married, I’m still a sucker for serendipity (literally, the Kate Beckinsale and John Cusack film Serendipity is - embarrassingly - one of my favourites) and I love listening to how couples met. The endearing interludes in When Harry Met Sally, where elderly couples talk to camera about how they met, are heartwarming not because they’re old and adorable, but because there’s a delightful purity found only at the beginning of something. It thrilled me to discover that whilst the stories are relayed by actors, director Rob Reiner collected all of them from real people. Nora Ephron (the film’s writer) shares my sentiments on beginnings - or at least her semi-autobiographical character in Heartburn does: “all beginnings are intrinsically happy, in my opinion.” It makes sense then that two of history’s best meet-cutes (Sleepless in Seattle and You’ve Got Mail) can be found in her films. On the topic of examples, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Groundhog Day which, if you haven’t seen it, sees Bill Murray stuck repeating the same day over and over again while he tries - and often fails - to win Andie MacDowell’s character over. In essence: one long, hilariously funny, meet-cute. 

In the morning there was hope 

Childhood, Tove Ditlevsen 

I think my love of beginnings boils down to an inherent, deeply Romantic, belief in hope. (Indeed, it’s always seemed incongruous that people like me are often described as ‘hopeless romantics’ when so clearly we’re full to the brim with it.) Hope is a feeling of expectancy - which beginnings have in buckets, obviously - but the word was also originally used to describe a feeling of trust. What distinguishes my hope from straight-forward optimism is that it encompasses both of those definitions: the heady excitement that comes from being on the cusp of the unknown, and an unwavering faith that - as the old Irish proverb goes - what’s for me, won’t pass me. 

Before you roll your eyes, hear me out. Hope is too often conflated with naivety, but it isn’t childish to hold on to hope - it’s actually very courageous. It’s hard work, especially if it doesn’t come naturally, but nurturing hope is a commitment to self-care - a metaphorical mac-in-a-sac for rainy days to come. 

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith

But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

From Four Quartets, “Part II: East Coker”, T.S. Eliot

A cynic might chalk a love of beginnings up to a fear of commitment but that would be unfair. It’s a genuine appreciation of anticipation. We spend so much of our lives in a hurry to get somewhere, to achieve something, to be someone, that we never consider what can be gained on our way there. The moment of accomplishment is just that - a moment. The striving, the waiting, the hoping - that’s the true crux of life. 

For what it’s worth... it’s never too late, or in my case too early, to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit. Start whenever you want. You can change or stay the same. There are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you’ve never felt before. I hope you meet people who have a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start over again.  
F. Scott Fitzgerald

Whilst I stand by the opening sentence of this essay, I don’t believe we have a finite number of beginnings. You can - and should - decide your own. January 1st is a fine one, but no better than today, tomorrow, or any other day of the year. I also don’t believe it’s insignificant that Fitzgerald, one of the literary greats, uses the word hope six times in the quote above.

So my hope for you is this: may you wake each day with your own hope renewed; may you always remember that it’s never too late for a new beginning; and, if you’re still unconvinced, may you use this newsletter as a drinking game and take a shot every time the word ‘hope’ comes up.

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Recommendations

Strawberries and cream soft-serve at Esmée

COPENHAGEN 

I was in Copenhagen for the first time earlier this month and, unsurprisingly, I adored every minute of the blissful, Baltic 48 hours I spent there. Aside from the street style, here are the things I loved most about Denmark’s capital. 

The Louisiana Museum of Modern Art ~ A short train ride outside of the city, visiting this beautiful museum is like setting foot in a shrine. It reminded me of galleries I visited in Japan - the tranquillity and attention not only to the artworks themselves but the architecture that houses them. The most exquisite collection of Giacometti works and sculpture gardens that overlook the sea (I’m told that on a good day, you can see Sweden). 

Thorvaldsen's Museum ~ Denmark’s first museum (opened in 1848) is worth a visit for the exquisitely painted ceilings alone. Dedicated to the art of Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen, it’s also currently (until March - run!) home to incredible large-scale artworks and paintings by the Irish artist, Sean Scully. Somehow, Scully’s sculptures - made out of felt, glass, oak and zinc - perfectly compliment their Neoclassical surroundings. 

Sean Scully’s Oak Stacks outside Thorvaldsen’s Museum. © Sean Scully. Photo by Jens Lindhe.

Esmée ~ Inspired by French brasseries but distinctly Danish, we loved the whole trout poached in a buttery sauce, freckled with roe. For dessert, the soft-serve (in regularly rotating flavours) is as delicious as it is photogenic. 

Apollo Bar ~ A firm favourite with the fashion crowd (in small part thanks to family connections - it’s owned by chef Frederik Bille Brahe, brother of jewellery designer, Sophie), this wine bar was the perfect pit stop between a morning of museums and an afternoon of shopping. Its location means you can also tick the iconic Nyhavn, where brightly coloured 17th century townhouses line the canal, off your list. 

A perfect lunch at Apollo Bar

Sankt Annæ ~ Originally opened in 1894, this sweet spot feels like stepping back in time. Traditional Smørrebrød (an open-faced sandwich), locally sourced smoked salmon, pickled herrings served on delicate, powder blue patterned porcelain. Don’t skip the schnapps. 

Juno Bakery ~ Copenhagen’s equivalent, it seems, to Paris’ Du Pain et Des Idées. Run by an ex-Noma chef (quelle surprise), you’ll likely have to queue, but this is the best cardamom bun in town. 

Holly Golightly ~ The best selection of independent designers, with a particular focus on Danish brands (Helmstedt, Stine Goya et al), as well as a selection of vintage pieces. I’d like to marry this store’s buying director. Eye-wateringly expensive, yes, but worth a visit if only for window-shopping. 

My favourite vintage shops (I went to a lot) were O.S.V Second Hand, Magnolia ($$ - The Row and Phoebe Philo era Céline), and Carmen. 

PS. I was devastated to discover that Tivoli (Copenhagen’s beautiful and beloved fairground, open since 1843) is closed for the first three months of the year, otherwise I’m certain it would be on this list. 

P.P.S This city is even more expensive than everyone warned me it would be. 

READING 

Childhood, Youth, Dependency: The Copenhagen Trilogy by Tove Ditlevsen

I had been meaning to read this trilogy for some time but it seemed apt to finally do so in the city it’s set in. The grey skies and icy chill of Denmark in winter certainly added to the experience, but I think you’d find yourself utterly immersed wherever you read Ditlevsen’s words. Devastatingly honest and incredibly tender, oscillating from harrowing to darkly humorous with a beautiful, easy lyricism, the series spans abuse, art, ambition, addiction, love and divorce. Melancholic would be an understatement, but so too would majestic.  

Really Good, Actually by Monica Heisey 

Funny, messy, joyful, heartbreakingly accurate debut from a Schitt’s Creek screenwriter. It feels like everyone in the world is reading this at the moment so it’s perhaps a totally useless recommendation but it’s been compared to Bridget Jones so for that and many other reasons, it would be unforgivable not to mention here. Buy it now. Read it in a single afternoon. Thank me later. 

I also loved this piece Heisey wrote for British Vogue about how solo-travel has long been misleadingly sold to women as a shortcut to personal growth (i.e. Eat Pray Love). 

BUYING 

This (admittedly expensive) combination of products, which  - short of going on medication / topical prescriptions which I’m trying to avoid - is the only thing I’ve found to help with the hormonal acne I’ve been suffering from recently.

This cleanser, this face oil, this mask and this moisturiser.

I used the mask in the run-up to my wedding - a recommendation from the brilliant facialist, Rhian Truman - and it’s the only thing I’ve found that consistently clears break-outs.