Notes to self: Far from chic

It is with horror that I realise I am a comfort dresser. I first moved to Dubai to become a fashion and beauty writer. I wasn't drawn by the sunshine or the shopping or the glamour (though that didn't put me off). I moved to Dubai because I wanted a job in fashion.

How things change. I think the ultra groomed women who live in the UAE — those with eyebrows more shapely than my legs and who know the name of their manicurist because they see them on a weekly basis — can have one of two effects. Either they can make you raise your game or they can make you lose the will to dress up.

At first, perhaps the first six months I lived in the UAE, I realised that my bitten nails and frizzy yellowish hair wouldn't cut it. I went for manicures, I had massages until they got boring and I bought designer clothes in the 70 per cent-off sales. I still didn't look groomed but I probably looked a bit less like I had jumped from a moving car and into the office.

I can't pinpoint when but at some point, I gave up. Maybe it was when my boyfriend gave me his old jogging bottoms. I would wear them when we watched TV and ate pizza. Changing into them after a day of wearing tailored clothes was an unimaginable relief. I would give an audible sigh of joy as I would slide from the zipped-up confines of some dress and into the elasticated waistband-loveliness of those saggy-bottomed grey marl sweatpants. I love them so much that I shipped them back home when I left the country.

But perhaps it wasn't my love of oversized sportswear. Perhaps it was just a realisation that Gaby and glamour don't mix and that I don't care enough about my stubbly legs to bother going for a wax. I eye knitwear in shops; I looked longingly at a pair of Birkinstocks on the weekend; and I choose my work outfit based on how easily I will be able to sit cross-legged in my office chair in it. Harem pants are in, any kind of tightness is out.

Don't even get me started on heels. I used to be known as "the girl in the gold stilettos" in my hometown. Nowadays, I think I would be known as the girl in the grubby brown flats. I don't care how worn-out they are, they make my feet feel lovely.

I have even stopped caring about fashion. My Elle addiction has been replaced by a Runner's World addiction and I'm more up-to-date on my current affairs than the latest trends. My mum has more of a grasp of what is "in" this season than I do. As far as I'm concerned, next season is all about slippers and strokably soft pyjama bottoms.