Glossy hair, perfectly pressed trench coats and unassuming – yet oh-so-elegant – leather bags and shoes. Tailored pants, pristine white sneakers, manicured nails and eyebrows. Not a tracksuit, hoodie or athleisure outfit in sight.

Welcome to Denmark on a Sunday morning. Or any morning, really. Having recently returned from living there for seven months, I can confirm that our far-flung Nordic friends do, in fact, dress a million times better than us Aussies – no matter the weather, event or circumstance.

As someone who has always been obsessed with clothes – something I share with my very stylish Polish mother – moving to a country where people treat clothing as more than just something to cover a naked body was a surreal experience.

But it wasn’t just Denmark. In Milan, locals donned fabulous bling, Chanel gumboots, polished loafers and leopard print. Bordeaux was a sea of floaty, floral dresses, dainty gold sandals and artfully crushed linens. Barcelona, home to Zara, Massimo Dutti and some of the most beautiful espadrilles I have ever encountered, was the motherland of off-duty street style.

For seven months, I lived in sartorial heaven. Then, when I came back down to Earth – otherwise known as returning to Australia – the clean, beautifully put together outfits were replaced with sloppy track pants and stretched out logo T-shirts; the well-groomed beards gave way to scrappy facial hair; and shoes became heavily scuffed slides.

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According to Nicole Jenkins, a Melbourne-based fashion historian, “Our way of dressing has got to do with our national identity – we like to see ourselves as being super relaxed, not taking ourselves seriously.

“Australians are also not as attached to our history or culture as Europe, and this bears out in our clothing choices.”

Our weather has also got a lot to do with it because, as Jenkins points out, living in a warm (and sometimes oppressively hot) country fosters an outdoor lifestyle, which comes with an increased focus on comfort over style. It’s hard to look sartorial chic or saunter down the street with the perfect blow wave when, for the fourth day in a row it’s already 34 degrees before 9am and the train has broken down again.