At one point in my style search, Margaret Howell felt like the perfect answer.

I was already drawn to workwear, heritage, and traditional menswear, so Margaret Howell looked like a softer translation. Same quiet palette. Same utilitarian roots. Same matte fabrics and understated shapes. It felt like “workwear for girls.”

Intellectually and visually, it made sense. Somatically, it didn’t.

What I later understood is that I wasn’t drawn to the aesthetic category. I was drawn to what I thought it represented: weight, stability, material integrity, and visual calm. But the actual garments often had details that didn’t match my body’s needs.

Some trousers had a higher rise which created abdominal compression. Some fabrics, like her wide-wale corduroy , had so much surface texture that they felt visually and physically noisy. Some cuts looked relaxed, but still required my body to hold itself a certain way.

On the hanger, it read calm and grounded. I liked looking at in my closet, but on my body, it felt very different

This was a sad turning point for me. I loved my Margaret Howell clothes. But I was still trying to solve a sensory issue through a style proxy. Unfortunately, I had to accept I needed different garments for my body . Regardless of the brand they belonged to.