Alice Vincent is a writer, horticulturalist, and journalist who often weaves her deep appreciation of nature and gardening into explorations of women’s lives and issues. Her work blends practical insight with thoughtful cultural commentary, offering a distinctive voice at the intersection of plants, storytelling, and feminism.
Hi Alice, it’s lovely to meet you! To begin, could you tell us a little bit about yourself and the work you do?
It's lovely to be here :) I'm a writer. I have columns in The Guardian and the New Statesman but I mostly write books which focus on the more overlooked aspects of everyday life, especially women's everyday lives. My latest, Hark: How Women Listen, is an exploration of what our lives sound like and how, if we tune into them, we can find more meaningful ways to live. It's also about amazing spies, academics and artists who listen in extraordinary ways. My previous books looked at our relationship with the earth and our gardens, and include Why Women Grow and Rootbound.
Alice wears the Polly black linen top and Mabel black & ecru pencil stripe linen trousers.
Your writing beautifully explores the idea of growth — both in gardens and in life. Since becoming a mother, how has your understanding of growth, in all its forms, evolved?
Sometimes it feels like it's a different beast entirely! Growth feels like a shapeshifting, amorphous expansion, rather than a linear journey, both of my child as much of myself. I've come to realise that growth is inherently uncomfortable, and that discomfort is usually a sign that you're growing out of or into a new phase of life - and that sometimes, it doesn't look very much like progress at all. As for the garden, I've loved letting my control over it go and instead spend time bearing witness to its growth. I'm enjoying it a lot more as a space as a result.
Alice wears the Ottie mid blue denim jumpsuit.
Your last book, Why Women Grow: Stories of Soil, Sisterhood and Survival, resonated deeply with readers. It became a bestseller thanks to the way it shares the stories of women who have been silenced or overlooked. What can readers expect from your *new book, Hark: How Women Listen? What drew you to explore the subject of listening?
Since Hark was released in May I've been really touched by how many readers have said they've found comfort or resonance or understanding in it. Some have said it's a book that "rips the seal off something no-one ever talks about", others have said it's taken them back to their earliest days of motherhood, even though their children are in their forties. A few have suggested it should come with a warning that it may make you cry on public transport...! I suppose I can promise readers a way of looking at sound and life that will make you re-consider both, and hopefully shed some light on some of the transitions we all undergo as women, regardless of whether we have had children or not.
I was drawn to the subject of listening because, after 15 years as a music journalist, I felt like I'd lost the ability to listen - and I wanted to recapture that. What started out as a very limited binary, however, soon expanded into something far more explorative and fascinating: the sound of women's lives.
So much of your work delves into the layers and complexities of womanhood. Through your research and storytelling, what have been some of your biggest insights? Have there been any discoveries that truly surprised you?
Oh my goodness, so many. That womanhood is as beautiful and broad and rebellious and nuanced and blurry and complicated as we all are. That it exists in so many forms that are rarely represented by traditional media. That most of us have overcome things, and do overcome things, on a daily basis. That we are fiercely resilient and we don't often realise it. That our stories are extraordinary and there's never been enough space or time to tell them.
Alice wears the Esme rust stripe linen top and Bobbi rust stripe linen trousers.
In a recent piece for The Telegraph, you challenged the often one-dimensional narrative surrounding parenthood, writing: “the reality is something that nobody really told me: that motherhood is far better than I could have imagined.” That was a powerful statement. Could you share some of the more joyful or unexpected moments from your own journey into motherhood — stories that might offer a more uplifting counterpoint to the more common narratives we hear?
I think so much of the joy is unspoken because it's difficult to pin down. It's why people resort to cliche and problematic statements such as "you've never known love like it". How to express the pure, grounding delight of sitting in bed with a small, newly woken up toddler, reading a book? Or the shared silliness of a simple game? It's impossible, because it's difficult to believe it exists in the first place. I suppose more broadly I have been surprised by the deep contentment that can arrive from having a child around, and how that can exist cheek-by-jowl with deep irritation, resentment, exhaustion and boredom, often within minutes.
Hark explores how women listen—to themselves, to others, and to the world around them. During the summer holidays, many women find their own needs drowned out by the demands of family and caregiving. How do we reclaim space to listen to ourselves in those moments?
I mean, there's the practical - and often impossible-seeming - solutions of finding additional childcare or an extra pair of hands for anything between a few minutes and several weeks, but if researching Hark taught me anything it's that modern life, especially the highly demanding modern life so many women live, often invisibly, can't be paused. It doesn't stop. We're not going to find that quiet we're craving. So we have to find ways of tuning in. Perhaps summer holiday life sounds like screaming children and the dishwasher chugging and the endless to-do list in your head. That's important - that's what makes you human. I found a lot more beauty in the noises of the domestic once I stopped starting to quieten them and accept that they were the music of my life. I'd also recommend sticking your phone in a drawer for an hour or so; it's noisier than you think.
There’s often so much noise—expectations, responsibilities, pressure. What role do silence, slowness, or solitude play in the idea of listening, and why do you think those are especially hard for women and mothers to access?
I was particularly fascinated to explore silence in Hark because I think we fetishise it; we think it's the solution to our problems. And then when I experienced the closest you can get to true silence - in an anechoic chamber - I realised that it's a void, rather than a luxury. We have to greet silence on its and our own terms, and often acknowledge that quietude might be the closest we can get, and that's ok. Solitude and slowness are similar. I wish everyone reading this could have an entire day - at least! - to themselves, somewhere quiet and beautiful and totally alone. But those times will arrive in our lives and we'll probably spend them wishing we were in the company of our loved ones. Acknowledging the noise of where our lives are right now can be quite empowering.
At Beyond Nine, we champion the idea of dressing for yourself — comfortably, confidently, and without compromise. What does that look like for you these days?
It's increasingly challenging as I'm nearly at the end of my second trimester! So I've been reliant on Beyond Nine's deliciously accommodating designs for months now. But in practical terms: wide-legged, loose cut trousers with tighter, often cropped tops (the bump has spent a lot of summer out and about, quite literally), and workwear shirts layered over the top. My body has changed plenty over the past few years - this is my second pregnancy - but if anything it's become even more important to stick to the core of dressing that makes me happy. I love unexpected colour combinations (I've been wearing a lot of olive and chartreuse together lately), playing with proportions and, fundamentally, trying to find myself among all the noise. I am also heavily reliant on baseball caps for the less-than-good hair days.
You’re expecting your second child, congratulations! If you could offer a single piece of advice to yourself this time round, what would it be?
Thank you! Oh god, I'll probably feel like I've forgotten everything by the time they actually turn up. But I think forgiveness is going to be key. Before I had my son I had some quite set ideas of the boundaries I was going to draw around my motherhood. Since having him I've realised that sometimes you've just got to do what most makes sense in the moment, and that's ok.
Finally, for women who feel disconnected from nature or intimidated by the idea of “not knowing what they’re doing” when gardening — what would you say? Where’s a beautiful place to begin?
Nobody really knows what they're doing, that's why they keep doing it. Gardeners are constantly learning and trying and experimenting, it's partly why it's so addictive. Start by looking, much as you would if you were trying to work out how to get dressed: what do you like about other gardens or parts of nature? Why? How does it make you feel? There's no wrong or right answers, really - and the only way to begin is by giving it a go, and trying again if it doesn't work.
Alice wears the Lily black & ecru pencil stripe linen top and Remi indigo rinse wash jeans.
Ready to get stuck into her latest book? All Beyond Nine readers get an exclusive 10% off her latest book Hark: How women listen, from The Portobello Bookshop, using the code: HARKPB10 at checkout. Happy reading!
