Sophie Dahl writes about sweaters.

I remember reading Roald Dahl’s memoir, when I was 10 or 12. He wrote about having a motorbike and riding it around disguised when he was in school.

“I never told anyone, not even my best friend…I had learnt even at that tender age that there are no secrets unless you keep them to yourself, and this was the greatest secret I had ever had to keep in my life so far.”

I’ve thought about that line often through the years. Having a true secret has always seemed like a coming of age. A real big kid thing to do.

The first cashmere sweater I owned was dusty sugar pink, and I wore it so a boy I liked would want to put his arms around me. I imagined us at the pub, his hand resting with ownership on my soft shoulder. I was 15 and had yet to understand boys or see “ownership” as a rather…

Sophie Dahl writes about sweaters.