It was only my second official speaking engagement, and I felt incredibly honored to share my perspective with a new audience. Public speaking is something I have loved, practiced and worked at for many years. It is a skill I am committed to developing and an important part of a larger goal I am working towards.

I have also discovered how much I enjoy building a keynote. The process asks me to step away from the pace of everyday work and examine the ideas beneath it. Compiling this presentation gave me an opportunity to reflect on my approach to design, what I have learnt and what continues to keep me interested after more than a decade in the industry.

When I was invited to speak, I was asked to present something about product design trends.

The funny thing is, I am probably the wrong person to ask about trends.

I do not design around trends

I have never believed in chasing trends. By the time a trend has been identified, named and written about, it is usually already on its way out. Designing around trends often means responding to something that has already happened.

What interests me far more is understanding people.

How are they living? What do they value? What do they aspire to? How do they want to feel?

When we understand how people are changing, we can design for where they are going instead of simply reproducing what is popular now.

Rather than speaking about the next colors, materials or shapes, I wanted to ask a more enduring question.

How do we design products the world actually wants?

What ten years of product design has taught me

Product design is my main gig.

For just over a decade, I have worked as a product designer within my family’s business, Weylandts, where I now oversee our product direction and strategy and head up brand.

That work has taken me through India, China, Southeast Asia and Europe, working directly with artisans, factories and manufacturers.

Some of my most valuable lessons have not happened in studios or boardrooms. They have happened on factory floors, in workshops and marble yards, over cups of tea and around dinner tables.

I have watched someone spend an entire day finishing a single object by hand. I have seen how a maker’s knowledge can transform an early idea into something far better than I initially imagined.

Those experiences taught me that great products do not begin with sketches.

They begin with people.

Why some objects become loved

Over the years, I have had the privilege of designing thousands of products.

Some became everyday heroes, the pieces that quietly found their way into thousands of homes. Others were more collectible, objects people saved for, treasured and might one day pass on to somebody else.

The question that continues to fascinate me is why some products become deeply loved while others simply become more stuff.

The difference is not always price, function or beauty. It is often the meaning an object gathers through its creation and use.

People want products that enrich their everyday lives and make them feel something.

More is no longer enough

We are living in a world of extraordinary abundance.

Artificial intelligence is changing how we work and create. Social media gives us a constant stream of inspiration. Global platforms have made products cheaper, faster and more accessible than ever.

Almost anything can be bought with a few taps on a phone.

But convenience has come at a cost. Fast fashion has become fast furniture, fast décor and fast everything. We are consuming more, yet much of what we consume was never designed to last.

People are beginning to push back.

Consumers are becoming more intentional about what they allow into their homes. They are asking where something came from, who made it, whether it can be repaired and whether it aligns with their values.

In a world where almost anything can be copied, produced at scale or generated, human qualities become more valuable. Craftsmanship, originality and evidence of the hand offer an important contrast to the speed and sameness around us.

The future does not belong to those who can make the most products.

It belongs to those who can make products that matter.

Beauty has become the baseline

Social media has fundamentally changed how we encounter design.

For decades, luxury was built around exclusivity. It was difficult to access, difficult to discover and reserved for a select few.

Today, someone sitting in Cape Town can see Milan Design Week, a Tokyo concept store or the front row of Paris Fashion Week in real time.

This has democratized inspiration and made consumers more visually educated than ever before. It has also raised the standard for everyone.

Making something beautiful is no longer enough. Beauty has become the baseline.

What distinguishes a product now is perspective. People are drawn to work with a clear point of view and a sense that it could only have come from a particular designer, maker or place.

Your brand lives in the details

If I removed your logo, would someone still recognize your brand?

A brand lives in its photography, packaging, retail environment, customer experience and product finishing. It is expressed through both the things people immediately notice and the things they simply feel.

It exists in the underside of a table, the weight of a handle and the way an object feels when it is picked up.

These decisions communicate care. Together, they create something recognizable.

The strongest brands build a world that feels unmistakably their own.

The home has become a sanctuary

Our homes are no longer simply places where we live.

They are where we work, recover, entertain, reflect and reconnect. The home has become an emotional space as much as a functional one.

People are not only investing in how a room looks. They are investing in how they want to feel. Calm. Comfortable. Grounded. Connected.

This is why wellness has become a design language of its own. It can be expressed through natural materials, texture, light, quietness and objects that encourage us to slow down.

Luxury increasingly looks like linen, timber, stone, handmade ceramics and fresh flowers. Their appeal does not come from price alone. It comes from the atmosphere they create.

We are really designing rituals

Within the home, small daily rituals have taken on greater significance.

Making coffee in the morning. Lighting a candle. Preparing dinner. Making tea. Arranging flowers. Gathering around a table on a Sunday.

These moments matter because life feels increasingly fast. A product that supports them can become associated with comfort, connection and memory.

You are no longer selling a mug. You are selling the morning.

You are not selling a vase. You are selling the ritual of arranging flowers.

You are not selling a table. You are selling Sunday lunch.

This is the difference between designing an object and designing for a life.

From the next trend to the next heirloom

People are slowly moving from filling their homes to curating them.

They are asking different questions.

Will I still love this in ten years?

Does it deserve space in my home?

Can it be repaired?

Could I pass it on?

The desire for constant newness is beginning to fade. In its place, we are seeing renewed appreciation for timelessness, heritage, repairability, craftsmanship and objects that age beautifully.

Our goal as designers should no longer be to create the next trend.

It should be to create the next heirloom.

Your makers are your creative advantage

Creating lasting products begins with treating the supply chain as a source of creativity, rather than simply a series of transactions.

Most people negotiate with suppliers. Far fewer invest in genuine relationships with makers.

Yet some of the best product ideas emerge while walking through a workshop, listening to someone who understands a material intimately or sharing a meal with the people who will bring the product to life.

A maker brings generations of knowledge, practical experience and an instinctive understanding of materials. That knowledge should not enter the process only when production begins. It should shape the creative direction from the start.

When designers approach these relationships with curiosity and respect, manufacturing becomes collaboration.

We are not selling products

People do not only buy objects. They buy identity, belonging and a sense of how they want to live.

This helps explain why so many brands are moving into hospitality through hotels, restaurants, events and other experiences.

Hospitality allows a brand to become something people can enter and feel. The products they take home then become reminders of that experience.

This shift invites designers to think beyond function. What kind of feeling does the product create? What identity does it help someone express? What sort of world does it invite them into?

The answers are part of the product itself.

Storytelling creates value

The story behind a product changes how we value it.

When we understand who made something, why it exists, how it was crafted and where its materials came from, we see it differently.

The strongest brands invite people into this process. They celebrate their makers, reveal the work behind the finished piece and share the journey from material to object.

Good storytelling does not convince people to buy something they do not want. It gives them a story they want to become part of.

But the story has to be true.

Consumers recognize honesty, originality and a genuine point of view. They can also sense when a brand is borrowing someone else’s language simply because it is popular.

Authenticity attracts attention, but consistency builds trust.

A brand does not need to reinvent itself every season. It needs to keep showing up, refining its perspective and becoming more distinctly itself.

South Africa’s opportunity is to be distinctive

I ended my keynote by speaking about the opportunity for South African designers and makers.

That opportunity is not to become more global. It is to become more distinctive.

Across the world, people are searching for what we already have. Authenticity. Extraordinary craft. Meaningful materials. Indigenous knowledge. Culture. Stories rooted in place.

We do not need to become Milan.

We need to become the best version of ourselves.

Our advantage is not cheaper manufacturing. It is richer storytelling, local materials, deep relationships, skilled makers and the ability to create objects that could not have come from anywhere else.

The world’s next great luxury brands will not necessarily come from Paris or Milan.

They will come from places with stories worth telling.

Four ideas worth carrying forward

If there are four thoughts I hope people carried away from my talk, they are these.

Invest in your makers.

Build your brand through the details.

Sell emotion, not simply products.

Remember that authenticity attracts, but consistency builds trust.

For me, stepping onto the stage at the Kamers Makers Summit was another step in a journey I have been consciously working towards for years.

Public speaking gives me the chance to bring together my experiences, clarify my perspective and share those ideas with people outside my usual world. It challenges me to become a more thoughtful designer and a clearer communicator.

Most of all, it reminds me why I remain so interested in this work.

Design is not ultimately about predicting what comes next.

It is about paying close enough attention to people to create something they will want to carry with them.

Perpetually caffeinated,

Anna

A 27-year-old model and photographer from India is making me fresh chapati. Romantic Bollywood music is playing in the background. I am lying in my underwear, suspended in post- coital bliss. This is my third time here.

This was not on my bingo card.

I have been single for five years and have never made it past a third date. This year, I even started working with a matchmaker, who keeps sending me ugly, old dudes.

Right now, I want to send her a photo of this shirtless man making me chai in the kitchen and tell her to eat her heart out.

Ten days ago, he was a match on Hinge. Then came the slide into the DMs. We planned to meet on the first of August, but before then, we serendipitously bumped into each other at the Milnerton Market.

My close friends on Instagram will know him as Milnerton Market Man.

The date arrived early. Somehow, it never ended.

We have hardly spent a day apart since.

There has been plenty of sex, but the intimacy exists beyond that. We stroke each other’s faces and lock eyes as though searching for proof of something - or simply giving each other permission to stay inside the moment without asking what it means.

Sometimes looking at someone feels more intimate than touching them.

I am not trying to name this. Right now, I am floating around inside a bubble of lust and good-shit chemicals. Dopamine, oxytocin, pheromones - whatever is responsible, I can almost feel the cocktail moving between us when we lock eyes.

My brain is lit up, my body is happy and my common sense has politely stepped outside.

And then there are the sweet, ordinary moments. The kiss when the robot turns red. His hand finding mine as we cross the street. The photos he takes of me when I am not looking. The quiet comfort of simply being in the same room.

He is kind and a man of simplicity. He has made me feel comfortable in silence - in the pleasure of someone’s presence without needing to fill the space between us.

There have also been sweet declarations made under the influence of sleeping pills - tender things whispered in the dark and remembered by only one of us the next morning.

Nothing like discovering that your chemically uninhibited alter ego is apparently a hopeless romantic.

Over the weekend, I woke up next to him. We showered and cleaned each other’s bodies, went for breakfast, moseyed around the shops, and then I dropped him at home on my way to my first-ever appointment with a psychic medium.

Sometimes you have to stop and ask: How did I get here? What even is this life?

The psychic told me a new energy had entered my life five to eight days earlier. She said I should trust it.

And have fun.

Boy, am I having fun.

Say what you will about younger men, but the energy. The stamina!

Do we have much in common? Ambition. Fashion. A shared appreciation for Indian food.

Beyond that, our worlds could hardly be more different.

Maybe that is part of the electricity.

There is something intoxicating about someone whose life has been assembled from completely different materials. Under normal circumstances, perhaps our lives would have remained on parallel tracks.

Instead, I am eating chapati in my underwear in the Tampon Towers.

Ten days is nothing. It is barely enough time to learn how someone takes their coffee or who they become when they are tired. But ten days can also become its own tiny lifetime.

Tomorrow, he leaves for India for two months. This may be our last night together - either forever or just for a while.

I do not know whether this is the beginning of something or the entirety of it. Perhaps the flame will survive the distance. Perhaps this will remain a strange, beautiful fling: a self-contained story with no sequel.

I am choosing not to force an answer. I am choosing to trust the new energy, just as the medium told me to, and to enjoy it for exactly what it is.

After five years of dead ends, one night stands and first dates that never became seconds, I needed to remember that I can still be surprised. That desire can arrive without warning. That tenderness can form quickly. That something does not need a name - or a future - to be meaningful.

Some connections give you forever.

Others give you fresh chapati, red-robot kisses, candid photographs, a pharmacy receipt and ten unforgettable days.

For now, I am adding this one to the memory bank.

Perpetually caffeinated,

Anna

That’s how I felt when I discovered Anas and his floral studio, Stoop.

Originally from Syria and now based in Cape Town, Anas Osman is the new kid on the (corner) block that everyone seems to be talking about. Earlier this year, he opened the doors to Stoop on Bree Street - a small but incredibly impactful space washed in baby blue, with deep red floors and stainless-steel details. It’s bold, unexpected and somehow still incredibly gentle - the perfect backdrop for his distinctive floral creations.

Anas has been working with flowers since he was 16, and you can feel that history in the way he handles them. There is a genuine love for flowers, for craft, and for the material itself. Nothing feels forced or overly precious. His enthusiasm is contagious, and I found it incredibly inspiring to be around.

I resonate with Anas’s work so much. His arrangements are sculptural, instinctive and slightly undone, with an eye for color and form that feels very close to my own creative world.

So, we decided to spend a morning creating together. I found two matching vintage stainless-steel ikebana vessels, and we each made an arrangement in our own way - side by side, surrounded by flowers. We talked, created and got to know one another, and it was one of those simple, beautiful mornings that reminded me how much I love connecting with people through creativity.

Beyond the work, Anas is a beautiful, gentle human - someone I feel very lucky to have crossed paths with.

So, I wanted to know a little more about the world behind the flowers:

Welcome to the world of Anas.

What’s on your mind?

I often think about creating work that feels timeless. I love the idea of people walking into STOOP and feeling something before they even notice the flowers.

What’s on your Wishlist?

I would love to travel to Japan and visit the gardens, ceramicists and studios that have inspired me for so long.

I’d love to learn more about the culture and the people behind

these crafts. And if I can fit in a few days of skiing, even better.

What’s on your walls?

Cy Twombly. I think he’s incredible. Everything he creates has so much feeling and movement, yet it feels so simple.

I love that balance, and it’s something I naturally gravitate towards in my own work.

What’s in your vases?

That’s such a difficult question! I love so many flowers. Fritillarias are probably at the top of the list.

I love their movement, their uniqueness and the incredible variety they offer.

I also love alliums. They have such a sculptural presence, and there are so many beautiful forms to work with.

What’s on your radar?

Lately, I’ve been looking beyond flowers for inspiration. I’m finding myself drawn to landscapes, trees and the way things grow naturally.

It’s slowly changing the way I design and making me trust natural movement more.

@stoop.capetown

164 Bree Street, Cape Town

I’ve been trying to write it for over a week, but every time I’ve opened the draft, the words just haven’t come. As I mentioned in my last Substack, I’ve started new medication, and I haven’t felt entirely like myself. I’ve struggled to find that familiar energy and creative zone that I usually know how to access.

What makes it stranger is that I’m trying to write about a version of myself from only two weeks ago who feels almost unrecognizable to me now.

Because my word for May was motion.

So I guess my word for June was full fucking throttle.

I also find it deeply amusing that I ended my May newsletter with the intention: “Calm down, babes.”

….we did not calm down.

I’ve already spoken about it in my last Substack, but hypomania entered the chat in quite a spectacular fashion this month. Looking back, June feels like one long fever dream sponsored by caffeine, nicotine and delusion.

The terrifying part? A surprising amount of it actually worked.

I genuinely cannot comprehend how much happened in four weeks.

And now, sitting here in July, on lithium and slowly returning to Earth, I’m trying to make sense of a month lived at a speed I can barely relate to anymore.

The contrast is... stark.

But I also don’t want bipolar disorder to overshadow what was an incredible month. My team and I achieved an enormous amount, and I’m deeply proud of what we pulled off.

We kicked things off by launching our India collection and documentary. We transformed an old bank vault into an exhibition space for 100 guests, and several people told us it was “the best event I’ve ever been to.”

I’ll take it!

I also gave my first-ever keynote speech. It went far better than I expected, and I’m still quietly hoping I can somehow convert it into a Range Rover. The pitch is being worked on. Manifesting.

Then my brain decided one creative project wasn’t nearly enough.

I designed a collection of bags.

I accidentally walked into a bead shop and emerged with enough supplies to launch an entire jewelry collection. Which I did. And it sold out.

Naturally, I’ve now convinced myself ceramics also need beads. When I commit, I commit.

The builders are finally back on site, which means The House of Anna is officially happening again. Excellent news for me. Less excellent news for my bank account.

And somewhere in between all of that, I hosted a fabulous party.

The slightly daunting reality now is facing all the things I enthusiastically agreed to when I had the energy to do absolutely everything.

The downside of returning to Earth is that Earth Anna now has to deal with every promise Space Anna made.

Space Anna was wildly optimistic.

Earth Anna would quite like a nap.

But she is getting through it one email and meeting at a time.

So perhaps my intention for July isn’t growth or momentum.

It’s simply: Reset.

Now, onto everything that’s been on in my cart & on my walls & in my vases this June...

In my vases …

It was a successful bloom month and created some lasting arrangements. Maybe some of my best work yet if I may say so.

On my earlobes and jacket:

Obviously, my own jewelry. You can shop the last remaining pieces here: https://www.annaweylandt.com/

On my walls

I’ve known artist Kasia Stefanczyk for a number of years now. I recently bought a piece from her current exhibition at Untitled Art, and it has been so special to watch her work evolve and progress over the years.

I feel very honored to finally own one of her pieces, and I’m already looking forward to finding the perfect spot for it in my new apartment

On my Wishlist:

My wish list is ever-growing and, frankly, showing no signs of slowing down. But I keep coming back to the Balenciaga Rodeo bag. I can’t stop thinking about it, so I’ve officially started saving up - which feels very mature of me.

Also occupying far too much space in my brain: these new Chanel shoes. Completely unnecessary. Desperately wanted.

In my cart

I recently discovered London-based brand Renli Su at Dover Street Market in Singapore and fell instantly in love. I bought a pair of trousers that I’ve worn to death, so when I saw they were having a big sale, naturally I bought a few more pieces.

Everything is beautifully feminine and romantic, with a subtle Asian influence that I absolutely love. Soft, interesting and a little unexpected - very much my current mood.

On my nails

Kept it nice and simple this month with a line design and a black metallic magnetic finish. Understated, but still a little bit goth.

In my ears

Some upbeat indie dream wave tunes to keep us warm this winter.

Perpetually Caffeinated,

Anna.

And if there was ever a time to lean into that disclaimer, it would be now.

I had grand plans for this Substack this month. Renovation updates. Fashion. Flowers. Instead, I find myself staring down the barrel of yet another psychiatric medication and feeling strangely compelled to write about mental illness.

Maybe because I need to.

Maybe because writing and sharing has always felt cathartic.

Maybe because today feels significant.

Today is Day 1 on Lithium.

I have known this was coming for a while. The conversation has been hovering in the background for months. Every hypomanic episode becoming a little harder to ignore. Every crash a little harder to justify.

Still, when my psychiatrist suggested Lithium, it felt dramatic.

Lithium.

There is such a stigma attached to the word. Even for me. I always thought Lithium was reserved for people who were seriously mentally ill. The kind of people played by Claire Danes.

Then sometime last week I had the rather sobering realization that perhaps I had been misunderstanding the assignment.

Because if the past 4-6 weeks are anything to go by, I am, in fact, one of those people.

And the truly complicated part?

I fucking loved it.

Now, before we continue, there is an important distinction to make.

When most people think of mania, they are thinking of Bipolar 1. The version that tends to make headlines. Think Kanye West running for president.

Hypomania is Bipolar 2.

Think me spending forty hours in a week making beads on my balcony.

Bipolar disorder is essentially a series of waves. Highs and lows. Peaks and troughs. Periods of feeling like the world is ending, followed by periods where you are fairly certain you are its chosen one.

For the past five or six weeks, I have been very much on the up.

And honestly?

Hypomania is a hell of a drug.

Imagine the best you have ever felt. Not happy. Happy is far too small a word for it. Imagine waking up every morning with the overwhelming conviction that the universe is conspiring in your favour. Every conversation feels meaningful. Every coincidence feels like a sign. Every idea feels brilliant.

You feel beautiful.

You feel magnetic.

You feel capable.

You feel as though your life is finally clicking into place.

Creativity pours out of you at a rate that feels almost supernatural. Ideas arrive faster than you can write them down. You need less sleep. You have more energy. You become more social, more productive, more optimistic.

For weeks, I genuinely felt like I had cracked the code.

My ideas didn’t feel good.

They felt GENIUS.

The best way I can describe it is the gift of feeling in flux. Everything is moving. Everything is becoming. Everything feels possible.

And that is precisely what makes it so dangerous.

Because if I am honest, many of the symptoms of hypomania are things our culture actively rewards.

Increased productivity.

Confidence.

Creativity.

Charisma.

Purpose.

Drive.

If I posted those qualities on LinkedIn, people would be asking me to host a masterclass.

Which is perhaps why it took me so long to recognize what was happening.

Looking back, the signs were all there.

On top of an already demanding day job, in the past 3 weeks I somehow managed to start a jewelry production line from my apartment, spend R20,000 at the bead shop (amongst the other tens of thousands of rands spent online shopping), buy a sewing machine at 11pm despite the small technicality that I do not sew, get a tattoo, have a brief affair with an Indian doctor, and send every match on my dating apps my Substack alongside some truly unhinged messages. There was also a glue gun involved here at some point.

I spent weeks eating the exact same three meals on repeat: Melba toast with caviar, double-thick yoghurt with peanut butter and jam, and pickles. I listened to the same song for so long that Spotify should probably have conducted a welfare check. I invited twenty people to lunch in a house that comfortably seats eight, designed a handbag collection that is somehow now in production, overcommitted on maybe 10 projects, smoked what felt like twenty thousand cigarettes, and made new friends.

One of them recently told me, “Your aura is amazing.”

Thanks babe.

The chemicals in my brain are having a huge jol right now. That’s probably what you’re seeing.

The thing about hypomania is that your inhibitions become lower and your confidence becomes higher. You stop questioning yourself. You stop editing. Every instinct feels correct.

I once agreed to speak at a women’s leadership conference in a car showroom in Bloemfontein.

Imagine.

The truly wild part is that none of this felt strange at the time.

It all felt completely logical.

I was just vibing. THIS FEELS GOOD. I deserve this.

Until one morning I woke up at 4am and realized I wasn’t simply energetic anymore.

I was wired.

My skin was crawling.

My jaw was clenched.

My pupils looked like saucers.

My brain felt as though it was operating at a speed my body could no longer keep up with.

And suddenly the penny dropped.

Oh.

OH.

OOOOHHHH.

Right.

I have been hypomanic for weeks. FUCK.

Then comes the part nobody talks about.

The grief.

Because eventually you have to turn around and look at the trail you’ve left behind.

The unanswered text messages.

The neglected friendships.

Being a less present sister.

The forgotten responsibilities buried underneath whatever obsession currently has your attention.

And then comes the questioning.

Was that actually a good idea?

Was I brilliant?

Or was I sick?

Were those insights real?

Or were they symptoms?

There is a sadness that comes with trying to untangle those questions because the answer is never entirely clear.

The things I made were real.

The ideas were real.

The connections were real.

The work was real.

It all came from me.

Which is why I struggle so much with the idea of simply pathologizing the entire experience.

Because hypomania feels like part of my magic.

People often ask me how I manage to do all the things I do. How I run a demanding career .. plus …plus ….plus

The answer is complicated.

Part of it is ambition.

Part of it is curiosity.

Part of it is privilege.

And part of it, if I am being brutally honest, is mental illness.

That’s my secret.

Maybe it’s Maybelline.

Maybe it’s mania.

The hardest part about starting Lithium isn’t the side effects.

It isn’t the blood tests.

It isn’t even accepting that I have Bipolar Disorder. A lifelong, chronic illness.

The hardest part is saying goodbye to a version of myself that I genuinely love.

Because if I am honest, she has been very good to me.

She is the reason so many things in my life exist.

The projects.

The ideas.

The friendships.

The opportunities.

She is endlessly optimistic. Endlessly curious. She walks through the world believing that almost anything is possible.

I love the woman who believes she can do anything.

I love the woman who fills notebooks with ideas and convinces strangers to become friends.

I love the woman who walks into a bead shop spontaneously on a Friday and somehow ends up with a jewelry collection by Monday.

I love her confidence.

I love her optimism.

I love her certainty.

The problem is that she doesn’t know where the edge is.

She mistakes momentum for invincibility.

She burns too brightly. And too close to the sun.

And eventually she leaves me holding the bill.

So here I am.

Day 1 on Lithium.

Feeling relieved.

Terrified.

Hopeful.

Heartbroken.

All at once.

Looking around at the long list of things I enthusiastically committed to and realizing I now have to complete them as a mere mortal.

I have always been hesitant to talk publicly about this part of my life. I worried people would see it as weakness. That they would trust my judgment less. That they would view my achievements differently.

But perhaps the only way we destigmatize mental illness is by talking about it honestly.

Not as tragedy.

Not as inspiration porn.

Not as something neat and easily resolved.

But as the messy, complicated reality that it is.

Because this is part of me.

Not all of me.

But part of me.

So this piece is not really about Lithium.

It is a eulogy.

A celebration.

A thank you.

A raised glass to something that has given me some of the most exhilarating moments of my life and some of the most painful.

To hypomania.

You beautiful, chaotic, destructive thing.

Cheers.

And goodbye.

Maybe.

Perpetually caffeinated (and on the tail end of mania),

Anna

PLAY AND PRACTICE WITH YOUR CREATIVITY

People are often surprised when I tell them how little of my job is actually spent physically designing things.

For context, I’m the Chief Brand Officer of a national lifestyle retailer and the Director of an award-winning interior design studio. From the outside, it sounds like a highly creative role. And it is - but perhaps not in the way people imagine.

Creativity in an executive role often looks less like making and more like managing.

It is strategy. Decision-making. Mentoring. Briefing. Reviewing. Giving feedback. Solving problems. Managing people. Holding a vision. Navigating operational demands. Sitting in meetings.

Yes, creative thinking is required every day, but the reality is that the percentage of my week spent physically creating something with my own mind is surprisingly small.

The irony is that I am inherently a maker.

My happiest place is with my hands busy and my brain switched off.

So I prioritize it.

I make time for it. I protect time for it. I often forgo other plans for it.

Because I’ve realized that creative play isn’t separate from my work - it’s what enables me to do my work well.

When I spend time making ceramics, arranging flowers, creating collages, drawing, or most recently learning jewelry making, something shifts. My brain becomes quieter. More spacious. Less focused on outcomes and more focused on process.

And in that space, creativity returns.

Not necessarily for the project sitting in front of me, but for the bigger challenges that require imagination, intuition and original thinking.

The older I get, the more I believe that creative practice is not a luxury for leaders working in creative industries.

It’s a necessity.

Particularly in a world that is becoming increasingly digital.

We spend our days moving information around screens. Sending messages. Reviewing presentations. Managing spreadsheets. Living in the abstract.

There is something profoundly grounding about making a physical thing.

A bowl.

A necklace.

A drawing.

Something that exists because your hands made it.

No notifications. No algorithms. No optimization.

Just you and the material.

Perhaps even more importantly, creative play gives us permission to be bad at something.

As adults - and particularly as executives - we spend much of our lives operating in areas where we are expected to be competent. We become known for what we do well.

Creative hobbies throw all of that out the window.

You make something terrible.

And then you make another.

And another.

And eventually you improve.

There is a resilience that gets built through that process.

A confidence that comes from learning that you don’t have to be good at something immediately to enjoy it. That progress is often more rewarding than perfection.

I suspect this is one of the reasons creative play feels so restorative. It reconnects us with curiosity. With experimentation. With the joy of doing something simply because it’s interesting.

For me, my creative practice spans many disciplines.

I’m both ADHD and an Enneagram 7, which means I am naturally drawn to whatever feels new, exciting and slightly obsessive.

So over the past few years I’ve moved between ceramics, collage, ink drawings, flower arranging and now jewelry making.

Why not do it all?

The point isn’t mastery.

The point is play.

The point is continuing to make things.

To stay curious.

To stay connected to the part of yourself that creates without needing a business case.

So let this be your sign.

Take up the hobby.

Book the course.

Unpack the craft supplies.

Make the terrible ceramic bowl.

Learn the instrument.

Start the painting.

The world doesn’t need another perfectly optimized human.

It needs more people who remember how to play.

Perpetually caffeinated,

Anna x

Before I started, I gave the audience a warning.

“There will probably be some swearing.”

“Fok it!”

The manne loved that one.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, speaking to the custodians of some of the world’s most desirable automotive brands (who’s core brand philosophy is “modern luxury”) while making the argument that the word luxury itself has become almost meaningless.

At Weylandts, we’ve more or less banned the word internally.

Not because we don’t believe in it.

Because everything claims to be luxury now.

Luxury apartments. Luxury candles. Luxury gyms. Luxury burgers.

When a word gets attached to everything, it eventually stands for nothing.

The real question is no longer what is luxury?

It’s what comes after luxury?

One of the ideas I explored was the rise of post-luxury consumer behaviour.

Historically, status was communicated through ownership.

The car you drove. The watch you wore. The handbag you carried.

Today, status is increasingly communicated through behaviour.

How you spend your time.

What you consume.

What you choose not to consume.

In a world obsessed with more, restraint has become aspirational.

Eight hours of sleep has become a luxury.

A morning walk without your phone has become a luxury.

Time. Wellness. Presence. Attention.

These are becoming the new status symbols.

The conversation then shifted to what this means for brands.

Because luxury brands spend billions creating desire.

Through product.

Through storytelling.

Through marketing.

Through decades of carefully cultivated aspiration.

Yet the moment of truth happens somewhere else entirely.

It happens in the physical retail environment.

The dealership.

The store.

The interaction.

The handover.

The cup of coffee.

The follow-up call.

The experience.

That is where desire either gets amplified or destroyed.

And that was ultimately the challenge I wanted to leave the audience with.

If every brand is claiming luxury, how do we differentiate?

Because we can no longer do it on product alone.

Products can be copied.

Features can be copied.

Pricing can be copied.

Technology can be copied.

The future advantage lies in the experience surrounding the product.

I referenced Unreasonable Hospitality by Will Guidara throughout the keynote, particularly one quote that has stayed with me:

“Service is black and white. Hospitality is colour.”

That distinction feels increasingly important.

Service is expected.

Hospitality is remembered.

The brands winning today are not simply selling products. They are creating worlds.

They are building communities.

They are creating stories people want to belong to.

Which is why I also spoke about the rise of what we call the intellectual influencer.

For years, aspiration was driven by image.

Today, some of the most influential people in culture are not selling a lifestyle.

They’re selling ideas.

Influence is shifting from attention to authority.

From aesthetics to perspective.

From followers to community.

The brands that understand this are moving beyond transaction and into belonging.

Because people are no longer simply buying products.

They are buying identity.

A point of view.

A feeling.

A tribe.

If there was one thing I hoped people left with, it was this:

The future of luxury has very little to do with luxury.

It has everything to do with meaning.

And the brands that will win in the next decade won’t necessarily be the ones with the best products.

They’ll be the ones that create the most memorable experiences, build the strongest communities, and give people something bigger to belong to.

Perpetually Caffeinated,

Anna

“I can’t help but notice you’re only ever wearing black… could this be a projection of your current mood state?”

I looked at him and said:

“This is archive YSL. It’s chic. Not depressed.”

And although I still chuckle at myself when I think about that interaction, jokes aside, I do still almost only wear black.

This has been a very conscious decision. A choice. One I only really made about three years ago, which is wild to me because it feels like it has been part of me forever.

But I guess that’s what happens when you make a conscious decision repeatedly and consistently over time.

Boom.

“That’s so AW.”

And of course, there are exceptions to every rule. Even my own.

I love a good white shirt. An interesting one.
A great dress can be neutral if the design warrants it.
An occasional red outfit when the mood strikes.

But we are not here to talk about the exceptions.

Back to Black

I will say, it makes shopping very simple.

It becomes a filter. An intention. A shortcut.

Walk straight to the black rail in the vintage store.
Look for the Japanese brands. They love making black clothes.
You get where I am going here.

Call it a uniform.
Call it power dressing.
Some may even call it boring.

But there are ways to make an all-black wardrobe meaningful and interesting.

These rules could technically apply to any colour, but for the sake of this Substack, please imagine everything is black.

I wouldn’t describe my style as simple. It’s more classic meets feminine power meets avant-garde.

And a “simple” all-black outfit would feel too casual for me.

For me, it’s all about the layering.

So when I am shopping, or looking to add something to my wardrobe, or putting an outfit together, I tend to look for the following.

I don’t always do it consciously, but there is usually some element of this at play.

Mixing Textures and Fabrics

Velvet. Sheer. Pleated. Leather. Fringe. Fluffy. Feathers.

Mix them all together. Why not?

They are all the same colour, so naturally, they go together.

That’s the secret.

Everything matches.

Satin with leather.
Brocade with wool.
Lace and tulle.
Silk with cotton.

When everything is black, the texture becomes the colour.

An Interesting Detail

I love “an interesting detail.”

A strange button placement.
Buttons added where buttons do not technically need to be.
Concealed buttons.
A little bow somewhere.
Ties.
An extra strip of fabric.
A stitch you only notice up close.

A small detail goes a long way when your outfit is all black.

Especially the details people only notice when they are close enough.

Silhouette

Look, we all need a good blazer. A classic pair of pleated trousers. A set of polo necks for winter.

The basics are important.

But once the basics are covered, silhouette is where you get to play.

This is why I love Japanese designers. They have mastered this.

As an example, I recently added an oversized palazzo pant to my wardrobe, and I love the exaggeration it gives an outfit.

The drama. The proportion. The who is she and where is she going of it all.

Sometimes the outfit is not about the item itself, but the shape it creates.

Transparency

A sheer stocking goes a long way.

A sheer pant under a dress? Love.

A mesh or tulle dress over satin pants? A vibe.

For an occasion, try a sheer full-length glove.

There is something about transparency that adds softness and tension to black. It makes it feel less heavy. More sensual. More layered.

Tailoring and Fit

Again, this applies to all clothes. Not just black clothes.

If something fits you well, it immediately elevates the outfit.

I am a regular at Tidy Tucks Tailor at the Waterfront and get so many of my clothes tailored to fit me properly, especially vintage pieces.

See tailoring as an investment into your wardrobe.

It is subtle in a quiet-luxury way.

Annoying phrase, I know. But accurate.

The right fit makes something look considered. Even if you bought it for next to nothing and then spent more money tailoring it than you did on the actual item.

Which, honestly, happens.

Shoes

Shoes are important to the whole recipe.

A main ingredient.

I love a patent leather shoe. It really lifts an all-black look.

A tabi is also an “interesting detail” on the foot.

A pointy toe adds a bit of cunt to a classic outfit.

Shoes can completely change the tone of black. They can make it feel polished, weird, sexy, severe, elegant, or undone.

Invest in them.

In (black) Closing

Every item of black clothing in my wardrobe needs to work hard.

It must add value.

My rules are simple: it can’t just be black.

It needs texture. Shape. Detail. Fit. Something.

I can honestly say I have built my dream wardrobe. Or at least, I am building it over the past 3 years.

I keep layering it. Adding to it. Refining it. Plugging into the areas where I feel it can be bolstered.

It has taken me three years of consistent choices.

And it keeps getting better.

…

So yes, maybe my therapist had a point.

Maybe black is a mood.

But in my case, it’s also a strategy. A shortcut. A signature. A tiny daily act of decision-making in a world with far too many options.

Perpetually Caffeinated,

Anna.

Things are in motion, in flow, in the works. Projects kicked off, projects coming to completion, big briefs briefed, diary stacked to the brim, reels on fire, Substack launched… and I’m literally halfway across the world right now.

GIIIRRRRLLLL.

I returned from Milan at the beginning of this month and had a stretch of three weeks before this India trip — and I really needed to make it count.

So I put in the hours. Laser focus. Slightly overwhelmed. The pressure is there. Living off nicotine and Giovanni’s. A couple of late-night jols. Routine out the window. Pace, pace, pace.

JUST THE WAY I FUCKING LIKE IT.

But what do they say… what goes up must come down.

Maybe my word(s) for June should be:
calm it down babes.

Let’s circle back to that in a few weeks.

Until then, here is my WHAT HAS BEEN this month…

On My Walls:

It’s been quite an art-filled month.

I’ve been receiving pieces back from the framers that I bought during Art Fair in February.

I’ve been working with Koos and his business partner Jana on a number of projects at Weylandts over the past 18 months, so it feels fitting to hang this piece above my new Glint sideboard in my office.

In My Vases:

A very good month for flowers.

I did splurge on a great haul from Yes Exclusives. Honestly, I could drop 10k in there in a heartbeat. Their selection is unreal.

It’s a bit of a mission trekking out to Paarden Eiland, but that somehow makes buying flowers feel like a very intentional ritual.

This lotus, peony and willow arrangement lasted almost 12 days, and these incredible tulips gave me joy every single day as they opened up.

How insane are those frilly edges?

Will never regret money or time spent on flowers.

On My Wishlist

Not that I need any more clothes, but these caught my eye on Instagram.

I’ve been wanting to add a few more leather pieces to my wardrobe and this skirt is SICK.

Also, this sheer polka-dot number with the ribbons feels very AW.

In My Cart

I did something naughty and went on a full doom-scroll Temu shop while high on sleeping pills.

(I should really stay off my phone after 11pm.)

It all arrived while I’m still in India, so I think there may be some surprises waiting for me. Will likely be posting a haul to close friends only…

But on a more chic and sustainable note, I finally made a purchase from a brand I’ve been wanting something from for a while: Blonde Milk.

This also arrived while I’ve been away and I cannot wait to open it.

Been very into growing my silver jewellery collection lately.

On My Nails

Certified nail girlie over here.

Always “have a nail.” Literally haven’t seen my bare nails in four years.

In My Freezer

a frankly embarrassing R1,220 worth of viral fruit ice creams…

Shout out to Anke for giving me the heads up that they were back in stock at Hello Asia in Sea Point.

They are pretty delish.

Worth the hype?
Worth the price?

Hmmm.

In My Ears

Here’s a little playlist of what I’ve been hyper-fixating on this quarter.

Indie, dream-wave, scrunch-your-nose-at-the-crescendo-and-bob-your-head type energy.

Yaaasss.

Anyway. That’s May. Fast, feral, and fabulous.

Onto June,

Anna.

Where to Stay

I always stay in Porta Venezia.

It’s Slightly gritty, with a real neighborhood feel. It’s an area where you can actually walk to things rather than Uber between them. And definitely keeps you grounded in the city rather than floating above it.

Another good recommendation is: Hotel Calimala. It is newly opened & design-forward.

Getting Around

Lime bikes > everything. This is a non-negotiable.

And if you do take the metro — the yellow line is surprisingly beautiful. It’s worth noting & worth taking.

What I Wore

Where to Eat

(will be honest that I am not much of a “food traveler” – more of a “shoe traveler”) but some cute recs are….

For lunch, my favorite is Pattini on Via Solferini

They have great focaccia and in a classic Milanese lunch spot.

Dinner – A super chic spot in Brera is Trattoria del Ciumbia. Has a vibey disco downstairs for when the occasion calls for a night cap post dinner.

Design Districts

Two streets. That’s your list.

Via Solferino — The essential showrooms. Make sure to walk the whole thing.

Via Durini — Baxter Cinema and De Padova. Both are musts. This is retail at the level it should always be.

Architecture

Villa Necchi — and not only for the House of Gucci reference. Go for the details. The ceiling panels. The stainless steel door in the sunroom.

Also: as you walk the city, look at the doors. Milan is famous for its entryways — elaborate, chic, completely overlooked by people moving too fast. Slow down. Peek through. You’ll thank me.

Prada Foundation — worth the trip out. Rem Koolhaas architecture, a Wes Anderson café, and a full world unto itself. Block out a proper afternoon.

A real treat — and one of the most wholesome design outings in Milan — is booking a tour of the Achille Castiglioni Foundation (this needs to be booked in advance).

The tour is hosted by Castiglioni’s daughter, which makes the experience feel incredibly personal. Hearing the stories and thinking behind some of the most iconic pieces of design completely reframes the objects we know so well.

Culture

La Scala. Even if opera isn’t your thing — it’s iconic, it’s Milan, and you’ll regret skipping it.

Pre-drinks at the Armani Hotel before. Full early-2000s glam energy. Completely unironic. Completely worth it.

Bar Basso is iconic during Milan Design Week — but I almost prefer it any other time of year.

Without the chaos, you can properly enjoy its old-world Milanese charm, oversized Negroni Sbagliatos, and the feeling that nothing there has changed in decades. A perfect late afternoon drinks spot.

Shopping

It’s on another level. Genuinely.

Don’t just walk the main streets.

If you search ‘vintage Milan’ on TikTok and go down the rabbit hole before you arrive. You’ll find things you won’t find anywhere else, and you’ll feel infinitely more smug about it.

Some of my favorite vintage stores in Milan are:

• Cavalli e Nastri-

  📍Via Gian Giacomo Mora, 12, 20123 Milano MI, Italy

  Archival, museum-grade fashion handled with reverence, spanning decades of fashion history.

• Madame Pauline Vintage-

  📍Foro Buonaparte, 74, 20121 Milano MI, Italy

  Salon-like space where eccentric pieces meet classic Milanese elegance.

• Vincent Vintage Bujoux-

  📍Via Lazzaro Spallanzani, 11, 20129 Milano MI, Italy

  Antique jewellery displayed like relics in a space retaining the intimacy of a true Milanese bottega.

• Due 000-

  📍Via Niccolò Jommelli 22 in Milan

  A contemporary archive of pieces ranging from Y2K refrences to more obscure finds.

• Shop The Story-

  📍Via Melzo, 10, 20129 Milano MI, Italy

  Curated runway fashion from the 90’s plus thoughtful styling advise.

• Foto Veneta Ottica-

  📍Via Torino, 57, 20123 Milano MI, Italy

  Vintage eyewear in a family-run archival shop carrying deep Milanese history.

Milan beyond Design Week is a different city entirely. It’s Quieter, chicer & much more itself. If you get the chance to go outside of the chaos — go. It's one of the great design capitals of Europe and it deserves to be experienced properly.

Perpetually Caffeinated,

Anna.

Every two years, I go back - to be inspired, to understand the global benchmark, to see the Italians do what the Italians do best. This year, I arrived sick. Not a cute “push through it” cold - a full, take-you-down flu. Six days in, add food poisoning from train ravioli (honestly, offensive), and your girl was man down.

Still: 20k steps a day. Runny nose. Fever. Chapped skin. Trying to find inspiration that actually matters to my work. Lead a team. Set the tone. Show up. A perfect recipe for a bad mood.

And maybe that’s important context - because I left Milan with… mixed feelings.

The Shift

What used to feel like a focused showcase of furniture and interior design has slowly been overtaken. Fashion houses.

Sneaker brands. Viral collaborations. Experiential installations designed more for Instagram than for substance.

Everyone chasing the next “moment.” This year: 500,000 visitors. 1,300+ exhibitions. It’s no longer just overwhelming - it’s almost impossible to meaningfully engage. Queues of up to three hours. Endless “must-see” lists. A constant stream of content engineered to make you feel like you’re missing something.

Are the installations impressive? Yes.

Are they always meaningful? Not really.

The Question I Kept Asking

Am I actually seeing what I came here to see? Because beneath the noise, something more structural is shifting. The Salone fair itself feels… different. Still busy. Still important. But noticeably absent are many of the major Italian brands.

Instead, they’ve moved into private showrooms, palazzos, invite-only experiences across the city.

More controlled. More curated. More exclusive.

Is it a better format? Maybe.

Is it edging toward elitism? Also maybe.

And it raises a bigger question:

Is design still meant to be accessible? Or is it becoming increasingly closed off?

Cutting Through the Noise

My approach this year was simple: focus.

I wasn’t there for a Gucci vending machine with a two-hour wait. I wasn’t there for hype.

I wanted interiors, product, visual merchandising, how the best brands communicate design.

And when you filter Milan through that lens, it still delivers.

Fashion in the Interiors Space

One thing that’s undeniable: fashion has fully entered the home. And not quietly.

Other than activations by Prada, Gucci, Miu Miu and the likes.. you would be surprised how many fashions houses have interiors off shoots. from Fendi, Armani etc. Branded scatter cushions. Statement furniture.

Pieces that scream: “I got this from Versace.”

Of all of them, two stood out - because they had substance.

Prada

A collaboration with Theaster Gates.

A restrained, elegant installation.

Ceramics inspired by Japan.

Minimal. Intentional. Letting the work speak.

Issey Miyake

A standout. Not just visually, but conceptually.

Working with Studio Ensemble, they used waste paper from their pleating process to

create furniture, lighting, installations.

One of the few projects with a clear, intelligent sustainability narrative.

Where It Still Works

For me, the real value was in the showrooms.

This is where design lives properly. Retail at its best. Visual merchandising at an expert level. Spaces that actually communicate how people live with design.

Baxter:

Cassina:

De Padova:

Time & Style:

What I Noticed (Trends)

A few clear directions emerging:

• Japanese influence everywhere: Paper lanterns, soft, sculptural, atmospheric

• Tiles as interior cladding: handmade, textural, imperfect

• “Severance-core” minimalism: (B&B Italia nailed this)

• High gloss finishes: red, and unapologetic

• Organic forms shifting: less soft curves, more tension and edge

• Chocolate brown suede and deep leather

• Bouclé fading out (finally)

The Reality of It

It’s impossible to see everything.

And the system is designed that way.

The FOMO is part of the machine.

The showing off.

The constant performance of being “in the know.”

And in that noise, a lot of meaning gets diluted.

But Milan…

Milan is still a cool fucking city.

Undeniably chic.

Slightly overlooked.

And, honestly, better experienced outside of Design Week.

I find the rest of Italy to be a museum for Americans to enjoy. And the food. I get a bit over it.

SORRY – had to be said. There is only so much mozzarella you can eat.

But Milan..

beyond the chaos of Design Week, it’s still one of the design capitals of Europe — across fashion, interiors, architecture.

Final Thought

Milan Design Week is no longer just about design.

It’s about culture, fashion, media, and attention.

Which means the responsibility shifts back to you -

to decide what you’re actually there for.

Because if you don’t go in with intention,

you’ll leave with content…

but not necessarily with insight.

That’s all for now.

Perpetually caffeinated,

Anna

Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this.

Expression is one of my key drivers. It shows up everywhere - flowers, fashion,ceramics, my work, collage, social media… slash slash slash. But it also extends to writing.

I’ve always written. Notes app, voice notes, half-formed thoughts at odd hours.

Occasionally I’m asked to write for a magazine (at a whopping R4 a word), so maybe it’s time to graduate from ferocious Notes app writer to something I can actually share.

Why not. Do it all.

You might know me from Weylandts. The curse of the surname. A lifelong attachment and commitment to the brand started by my grandfather. Or maybe Instagram - where I share a lot of my life. If you’re on my close friends… probably more than what should be shared on the internet. But anyway. Content.

It’s easy to assume that what I share online is my life. But actually, my work is the most safeguarded part of it- and it takes up most of my time. It’s full on. Like… properly full on.

Working in a family business is a very specific experience. There’s pressure, expectation, identity all tangled together. A constant low-level hum of is this mine? or am I just continuing something that was always going to be mine anyway?

There’s a definite Succession energy to it. Power dynamics, legacy, the weight of carrying something that’s existed for over 60 years and somehow making sure it still matters in the future.

And this will be passed on to us - to be custodians of.

Also just to say - my dad is not going anywhere anytime soon. Retirement is not exactly in his vocabulary. So yes. Huge shoes. Looming. But overall - no chaos. No scandalous family feuds … SORRY…

What I can say is that this journey - 10 years in - has not been easy. About three years ago I had a proper wobble. Like… full internal spiral. If I didn’t work in a family business…

who would I be?

What potential have I missed?

Do my ambitions actually line up with what I’m doing?

Is this even what I want - or just what I’ve stepped into?

When your job, your surname, and your family are all the same thing, it’s quite hard to separate yourself from it. To figure out who you are in the middle of all of that.

How do I stand out as me?

How do I make this mine?

Full. On. Identity crisis.

In the middle of that, I went to visit my grandmother. I wanted to interview her about her life and the origins of our family business.

Two days of talking. Real talking. Tears - from a very stoic German grandmother who lived through World War II. Stories about my grandfather, his death, how they built this business from nothing. No resources, just instinct, grit, and a love for beautiful things.And freedom.

Staying at my uncle’s house added to it - photo albums, files, archives. A full shrine to the last 30 years of Weylandt’s. And somewhere in all of that (and a perfectly timed hypomanic episode), something shifted. I found a sense of purpose. A deeper understanding of legacy. From one store in Windhoek to what it is now… it’s actually quite incredible.And important.

And now - here I am. Chief Brand Officer. An executive title I’ve been working towards for over 10 years. I started as the first furniture buyer. Fully thrown into the deep end. A complete pivot from interior design into something I had to figure out as I went. Fighting for my place and respect as a nepotism hire.

And then I just kept putting my hand up. More. More responsibility. More scope. More understanding of how this whole thing works.

(There’s probably a very clean LinkedIn version of this story. This is not that.)

Now my role is… a lot. Buying. Product design. Creative direction. StudioLandt. Brand. Collaborations. How we show up. Visual merchandising. Creative sign off. And now - because why not - we’re building a whole new hospitality business. Three boutique hotels in development.

Casual.

Please know - I am not doing this alone. I have an incredible team. 20+ people and growing.

But still. The pressure of running five departments is real. And weirdly - this is the part of my life where I feel the most stable.

I fucking love my job. I feel inspired. Energized. We make amazing shit happen. It’s creative, it’s dynamic, it’s rewarding.

Professionally… I feel like I have my shit together. And I am good at it. And then there’s everything else.

Balance? I don’t know her.

Burnout is a recurring theme. Push push push. Say yes to everything. Take on all the projects. Grow the personal brand. Stay creative outside of work. Show up online. Keep it all moving. Which I do. Mostly. But at a cost. Always at a cost.

My health. My energy. The parts of life that quietly start buffering while you’re busy keeping everything else online.

The fridge that stays empty for weeks.

And still - I show up online. Daily effort. Sharing, connecting. Flowers, ceramics, outfits. Fighting the cringe. Fighting the imposter syndrome. Posting anyway.

Because for me, it is expression. And connection. And honestly, sometimes a distraction.

But there is another layer to all of this. Over the past few years, I’ve had to navigate my mental health in a much more real way than I ever expected to - a bipolar 2 diagnosis entering the chat 3 years ago. Which has meant doctors, treatment plans, medication adjustments, side effects, trying to find balance. Losing balance. The cycle.

Not exactly chic content.

Maybe one day I’ll write properly about that whole journey. Or maybe this Substack will remain mostly fashion, furniture, and me oversharing intermittently on the internet. We’ll see.

But what I will say is that there are periods where life feels incredibly expansive and exciting - and others where everything becomes much heavier and harder to access. And learning how to hold both at once has probably been one of the biggest challenges of my adult life.

And then on top of that - the usual human chaos.

Doubt. Insecurity. Loneliness. Being single. The occasional eating disorder flare when stress peaks. Bad habits. Self-sabotage. The constant internal questioning…

Am I doing enough?

Am I good enough?

Am I a good boss? A good friend?

Am I lazy? Or just exhausted?

Am I completely faking this whole thing?

I think about time a lot.

When will I do all the things I want to do? See everything? Experience everything? How do I ride the wave properly - without missing it, or burning out trying to catch all of

it? There are parts of my life that are undeniably fabulous.

My privilege, my access, my opportunities - I see them. I’m grateful. And I’ve worked hard. But having a beautiful life on paper (or on social media) doesn’t mean it always feels that way. So I try. That’s kind of where I’m at.

I try to express myself honestly.

I try to follow what feels aligned.

I try to work hard for the things I want.

I try to make things.

And now -

I’m trying to write about it.

And hoping someone reads this long ass Substack.

Perpetually caffeinated,

Anna

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