Jess Cartner-Morley on fashion: forget your go-to maxidress – less is more this summer

One sunny day recently, I looked around and realised that every woman in my vicinity was wearing the same dress. Not the same dress, exactly. But the same dress. A maxidress, colourful but in a tasteful sort of way. Floaty, probably with a tiered skirt. Wholesome and vaguely rustic, but also a bit fancy. You know the dress I mean, because if you have been at any outdoor event between 2019 and about last Thursday, you have had the same experience. The maxidress has colonised summer dressing, and it’s out of control.

So I am here to tell you that the maxidress must die. Ha! Not really, but also sort of yes, really. It started so well. When the maxi first landed, it beguiled us all. Floor-length, after all, was new fashion territory for anyone born after about 1965, so it felt fresh and exciting, plus you could go to a party in flat shoes and not have to shave your legs. Result! But somewhere down the line the maxidress has got a bit Motherland. It has become a garment that somehow represents the tense negotiation between prettiness and exhaustion that defines modern womanhood. A dress you wear for a holiday selfie that you retake 14 times before posting on Instagram with a joie-de-vivre caption.

So, time to get your legs out. The short sundress is on the way back. This isn’t going to happen suddenly, so don’t panic. The maxi has become a summer dressing comfort blanket that will not be given up without a fight – in fact I can pretty much guarantee that three quarters of the women on your flight will still be wearing one when you go on your hols this summer – but the hemline energy is moving upwards, nonetheless.

Shorter doesn’t mean less interesting. The instinct, when hemlines rise, is to lean all the way in with strappy sandals and delicate jewellery, but the more interesting way to wear a shorter dress is to undercut its sweetness with something that pushes back. The short sundress doesn’t need help looking summery; if anything, it benefits from being pulled in the opposite direction. If bare legs feel like a leap, a boot, or a sock with a sandal can ground the look and help you find your balance. Try don’t-talk-to-me sunglasses instead of a sweet smile. The coquettishness of a mini is part of the charm, but don’t let it get the room to itself.

The short dress has an important advantage over its longer rival in navigating weather as it’s easier to layer over. A maxi is essentially a complete look and more or less insists on remaining one. Nothing quite works over the top. Whereas with a short dress, layering is a whole style opportunity. A blazer or leather jacket over a light dress brings contrast between structure and softness. The short dress is more generous in this respect, and it benefits from a companion piece that adds a little bite. Style has always thrived on a bit of friction. The tension between hard and soft, polished and undone, masculine and feminine are what give an outfit personality.

The real issue here is not hemlines but predictability. The maxidress is not really the problem. The problem is the way it has come to function as a default setting. The dress you reach for because it is there and because everyone else is wearing it. Default dressing feels as if it makes life easier, but it can just end up making life more boring.

Fashion should nudge you out of autopilot. It should be self-expression, not compliance. There is, of course, every chance that in five years we will all be standing in a sunny garden wearing the same short dress and someone will write a column about how it must die. That is fashion. A thing becomes the thing, the thing becomes the problem, a new thing arrives to rescue us from the problem, and the whole cycle starts again. It keeps moving. The trick is not to opt out, but to stay awake at the wheel.

Model: Fu at Milk Management. Hair and makeup: Delilah Blakeney using Moroccanoil and Nars. Styling assistant: Charlotte Gornall. Sunglasses, £42, & Other Stories. Necklace, £210, YSSO. Dress, £79, Nobody’s Child. Boots, £320, Alohas. Socks, stylist’s own. Stool, £289.99, La Redoute