nicolette kaponis

My life at this particular moment is filled with what you would call first world problems. Tomorrow morning I need to be up, showered, dressed and ready to leave my flat at 5.30am for an early flight to Italy. This may seem like a wonderful way to begin a Thursday but I am NOT a morning person. Add to which the fact I haven't begun to even think about packing and you can imagine the panicky spiral I'm about to journey down. Still, I'm super excited to be spending a pasta-and-red-wine fuelled mini break with my sister but today needs to be all about what the HELL I'm going to take to the most fashionable cities in the world. It's empty, EMPTY!! Send help.

Napoleon, Madonna, John Cheever, Jacqueline Kennedy, Iggy Pop, Zelda Fitzgerald, Lester Bangs, Fidel Castro, readers of the Guardian, my dad. All these people have something in common. They have written letters. Another thing they all have in common? Me. Earlier this month, I found myself surrounded by the literal written word. I became a reader, and listener, of letters written in the recent past and those written in a time relegated to the annals of history. I loved every moment. Apart from the handcrafted ode written to me by my father (more on that later), these letters were discovered as part of an extraordinary event called Letters Live. An event like no other

When I was in my early teens, my mum gave me one of the best gifts she’s ever bestowed on me (save for the woollen jumper she is currently knitting and will send to me in time for British winter). In my early teens, my mum gave me her entire collection of authentic, 1960s Beatles memorabilia. This amazing collection included magazines, records, John Lennon’s book ‘In His Own Write’, her ticket stub from their concert at Festival Hall in June 1964, and so much more. The gift marked the midway point of my blossoming obsession with the Fab Four. An obsession that my mum understood, approved of and encouraged. The Beatles - an obsession all mums approve of At this point, you may be wondering what The Beatles have to do with my declaration that I wanted to spend my next weekend doing something completely different. Something I could never do in Melbourne. Well, wait for it…

When I first started travelling, I loved nothing more than discovering a new store, buying a unique piece of clothing, taking it back to Melbourne and waiting casually for the inevitable ‘I love that! Where did you get it?’ question, to which I’d haughtily reply ‘Oh this? I picked it up when I was in Barcelona/Paris/London’. Oh the smugness! As gentrification crossed oceans, the ability to impress people with my international purchases went the way of Borders. (Oooo, too soon – sorry!) No longer were friends impressed with my tops from Zara, or my shoes from Topshop. Everyone in Melbourne sported a piece of clothing from Uniqlo which meant I could no longer crow about how good their jeans were, if only you happened to be in NYC to pick up a pair. And it’s not just fashion that has become homogenised. We’re all pretty much Topshop-wearing, Wagamama-eating, Game-of-Thrones-watching, people. Sometimes everywhere's the same You know what else we all do? Visit Ikea.