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Things I haven’t been wearing, but have been loving:

• True Botanicals Cleansing Balm - I love a cleansing balm, especially in the morning. It feels so good to wake up your face with a gentle massage and this balm smells divine. True Botanicals also makes my favorite eye patches!

• Celisse Nail Polish - I’ve been on a natural nail journey for about a year now. Celisse polish holds up incredibly well, not to mention the ultra chic packaging. This would make a great gift!

• My Weekly Chiropractor Adjustment - I’ve been seeing Laila Arzouni in LA for about a month now and I feel so much better already. If you are in LA, go see her. She’s an angel.

• Jenni Kayne x Oak Essentials Hand Wash - Nothing better than a delicious smelling soap and lotion combo. It looks chic on my sink and leaves my hands feeling buttery soft.

• My Mill Food Recycler - This thing is truly magical. You can put almost ANYTHING inside and it will turn your rotting food into soil for the garden. I’m not sure how I went so long without one.

• Ice cold Diet Coke on a hot day - My guilty pleasure. Especially with pebble ice. IYKYK.

Hope you are all having a wonderful summer! xx

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Two girls trips up the coast. A tour of the Hearst Castle. A wine tasting in San Luis Obispo. Two days at Ojai Valley Inn. Vintage Shopping. Farmer’s Market runs. Pool Days. Beach Days. A trip to Florida. A home evacuation because of termites. A week in San Diego. My first chiropractor appointment. Multiple content shoots.

And yet, I was bored.

Really bored.

At the beginning of the month, I let go of one of my biggest clients after nearly two years together.

What started in August 2024 as a part-time freelance role eventually grew to be something much larger, and eventually demanded the time and energy of a full-time job. Time I didn't have to give. I had other clients. I had a life outside of work I was slowly losing my grip on. I was burnt out, emotionally exhausted, and ignoring every boundary I’d promised myself I’d keep.

My nervous system had been trying to tell me it was time to leave for a while and I finally gave in to the voice inside me. I had to believe the universe would reward the leap.

I resigned on Monday, June 1st, and spent the next few days tying up loose ends and handing everything off to the team. After that... I felt like I’d been given my life back.

I haven’t made a bold decision like that in awhile and the thrill was exhilarating. I was choosing me. I didn’t know what the month ahead would look like, but I was excited for the unknown, the promise of new possibilities.

What I didn’t realize was how much having the extra time back would feel almost negative instead of positive.

I suddenly had 20 to 30 hours back in my week. Roughly 5 hours back in my day.

And absolutely no idea what to do with them.

I’ve never been someone who does well with free time.

I don’t really know how to spend time if I’m not doing something. I’m not good at “relaxing.” Maybe it’s the pressure of optimization culture, but I feel a deep rooted aversion to stillness. I never watch tv during the day. I take maybe 4 naps a year, only after going out and overindulging in way too many martinis.

Before settling down for the evening or the weekend afternoons, I’ll reorganize a drawer, clean out my closet or make up some sort of task that “has to be done” because there’s always something that could be done. I’ll convince myself that sure, I can watch a movie, but also I should check my emails, plan content and make my weekly grocery list while doing so.

Despite all the trips and dinners and events filling my calendar last month, I always came home to the same four walls. For the first time in a long time, nothing demanded my attention and time as rigidly as before. I had all of this free time… and nowhere for it to go. The stillness was overwhelming.

The questions deep down started bubbling up to the surface. I didn’t have an overflowing inbox to distract me any longer.

Will I find another client?

Am I falling behind?

What am I even working toward?

Why does doing nothing make me feel so guilty?

The truth is, I’ve spent so much of my adult life trying to stay productive in order to feel accomplished.

To me, they are synonymous. If I’m productive, I’m successful. If I’m stagnant, I’m the opposite. Although I strongly reject corporate America and the hustle culture that comes along with it, I’d be lying if I said I don’t take some egotistical pleasure from being “busy” with work.

I think I’ve spent a long time confusing busyness with success.

For years, my days were measured by how much I could cram into them. The more meetings, emails, deadlines, and Slack notifications, the more successful I felt. Looking back, so much of it was productivity for productivity's sake — I felt proud to say I was on calls all day, that my inbox was overflowing, that there was always something demanding my attention. Having things to do made me feel valued. And stripping all of that away left me with just me.

Now, I have something I haven’t had in a long time: margin.

I have time to work on projects I actually choose.

Earlier in June, I created a tablescape for Year & Day. It took me three hours from start to finish. It was so much fun to be creative again, a spark I haven’t felt in a really long time. After I finished shooting, editing and dropping off my film at the lab, I was essentially “done” with work for the day.

Two years ago, I would’ve spent the rest of the afternoon making up things to do. I would’ve answered unnecessary emails, reorganized files, started another project, anything to prove I’d been “productive.”

Now, I’ve been trying to let small things be enough. It’s certainly not easy, but I’m giving it my best shot.

I’m realizing those are two very different things: being busy and doing meaningful work.

I’m still figuring out what a slower life looks like.

I don’t have the formula or the routine of the past, and it’s scary to look at an entire week and wonder how I’ll fill the hours. Some days, I spend two hours shooting content, answer a few emails, and call it a day. Some days, I read in the middle of the afternoon. And some days, I still catch myself wandering around my house looking for something—anything—to do, just so I can say I accomplished something.

Maybe that’s the real work right now.

Not filling every hour, but learning that every hour doesn’t need to be filled.

Thanks for reading,

Xo Barefoot

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Every now and again, I’ll overspend on something unnecessary and cringe about how I “wasted” money.

Like the time I flew United Polaris back from London to San Francisco but had the most euphoric experience eating an ice cream sundae, reading Rick Rubin’s book and looking out at the moon rising over Iceland. I’m genuinely not sure what I was thinking there other than the fact that I didn’t want to sit in seat 54F for 12 hours, one row from the bathroom.

But it was worth it. I overpaid and I felt alive doing it.

Sometimes you have to overlook the monetary cost to understand the real return.

Working in marketing, I’m constantly evaluating and defending the return. Was it worth it to gift this person if all they did was post one story? Sales are down but exposure is up. Platform fees are eating us alive, but we need the data the platform provides. Everything is measured against what comes back to us.

The return, you see, is everything.

Last weekend was my boyfriend’s birthday and I decided to cook for him. I love cooking, but rarely make food when we’re together. I cook during the week so by the time the weekend rolls around, I’m much more interested in going to sit at a bar and be waited on. Appetizers, cocktails and dinner all prepared by someone else is true magic.

I’ll always invest in a good meal.

But this time was different. I wanted to make something special. I settled on short rib ragu, not only because it’s his favorite food, but also because whenever he orders it at a restaurant, I’m lucky if I get two bites. (NOT an exaggeration).

I spent all week thinking about the meal. Researching recipes on Pinterest, Google and TikTok. Watching videos and tutorials and planning what else I was going to make to go along with it. Homemade ciabatta, a simple salad (that only I would be eating because “what is this purple lettuce”) and chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Spoiler alert: we were too full for cookies.

I was so giddy on Thursday night because the day had finally come for my activity. I had an all day event that would yield a return.

A meal. And a good one at that.

On Friday, I decided to head over to the specialty grocery store McCall’s Meat and Seafood. I’d only been in one time before just to look around. Shockingly, I’ve actually never bought meat at a butcher shop so I was excited to cosplay Ina Garten for the afternoon.

I went in and immediately felt alive. Purple artichokes stacked beside local peaches. Fresh herbs everywhere. The shelves were stocked with fancy mustards and Fish Wife. The fridge had Meredith Dairy sheep’s cheese and fresh pasta. I was in heaven.

I selected the beef short ribs and the man behind the counter went to cut them up. “3.5 to 4 pounds is all I need,” I said. But when he started laying them out, it looked like a lot. The recipe I’d landed on only showed four ribs in the photo, yet somehow I was leaving with six. Nervous, I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t need that many. Plus, I knew the ragu wouldn’t go to waste.

When I finally got to checkout and saw the gigantic parcel of beef sitting on the counter, I started to panic. I tried to mentally calculate how much all of this was going to cost. I’d originally guessed maybe $35, but quickly realized my foolishness and adjusted the estimate to around $65.

When he rang me up, I winced.

The beef was $107.

At that point, there was no turning back. I’d already committed the crime.

I walked out of the store and passed the specialty wine shop I’d planned on stopping into after. No wine, I thought. I’ve already spent too much on the beef. I sat in my car wallowing in self pity and texting my sister to make me feel better, something we both do when we spend too much money on material things.

Then I realized I couldn’t let the price tag ruin the excitement I’d felt all week.

I enjoyed the activity and I enjoyed going into the store even more. I’ve always been drawn to specialty grocery stores. Carissa’s in Sag Harbor. Rigor Hill in New York. The Cheese Store of Beverly Hills.

Food has always made me feel alive and specialty grocery stores feel like an extension of that feeling. They remind me that life is supposed to be enjoyed, not just optimized.

And thus, I brushed off the regret and carried on with the meal. I even stopped at a different wine store on the way home because what the hell, I deserved it.

Inspiration, taste, and creativity require investment.

Sometimes it’s financial.

Sometimes it’s time.

Sometimes it’s inconvenience.

But as I’ve found, not every return can be tracked on a spreadsheet.

Sometimes the return is anticipation. A trip planned months away. A recipe you spend all week thinking about. A beautiful grocery store to wander through on a Friday afternoon.

Sometimes the return is simply feeling like yourself again.

The short ribs were incredible, by the way. Rich and slow cooked and worth every dollar. We ate them with fresh bread and too much wine and afterward I thought about how often we deny ourselves small pockets of aliveness in the name of practicality.

Sometimes feeling alive, even for a moment, is return enough for me.

Thanks for reading,

Barefoot

All this to say… when I’m home, I’m home. I want to sit around in between these four walls and relish the routine I’ve built. I want to enjoy my couch and my trashy reality tv shows and make cookies before bed. And when I can’t do that, I want to at least make sure coming home still feels like something worth returning to.

Here’s how I’m doing that:

Buying Fresh Flowers

If I’m lucky, I’m taking a trip to the Flower Market in DTLA to buy the best of the best. If I’m short on time, I’m going to Trader Joe’s for hydrangeas. Either way, having fresh flowers just livens up my home. It makes me feel like I’ve committed to living fully while I’m here.

Baking

I love a sweet treat and I love a chocolate chip cookie. My friend, , gave me her recipe and I haven’t gone back since. They are surprising easy and beyond incredible. I usually make the dough ahead of time, refrigerate it, and bake 1 cookie per night! Keeps them fresh.

The Best Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipe

Having a closet full of cozy outfits

I live for a cozy set. And I’ve accumulated a ton of really great ones recently. From Daily Drills to J.Crew, you can’t go wrong with a matching set. I recently got this sweater from Barefoot Dreams (along with a new blanket) and omg… how do they make it so soft?

Prioritizing my routine:

Daily morning walks, tennis on the weeknights, one to two workout classes pre-scheduled so I know they’re coming and can’t back out. Movement is a non-negotiable, traveling or not.

A few other fun things I want to share with you:

• WORKING: Our TKEES x J.Crew collab is live and doing so well. It was a joy to work on this project and I can’t wait to wear these shoes all summer!

• READING: I just finished The Wedding People and The Hunting Party. Send all beach read recs my way!

• SHOPPING: KREWE has some of the cutest sunglasses right now! I just got these and can’t wait to wear them for the long weekend. Also while we’re here…. a few of my favorites for Summer, linked below.

That’s all for now!
xo, Barefoot

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There’s something about Jobs’ Stanford commencement speech that still strikes a chord. Find what you love.

I think, in some way, I’m always on the hunt to find what I love. I’m envious of people with a true capsule wardrobe, who drink black coffee every day, who say no more than they say yes — and who feel certain about the person they are. How their choices manifest into a daily life, a routine, a way of moving through the world that is entirely their own.

I want that. To be sure. Sure of what I like, what I don’t, and everything in between.

I wanted to love living in New York.

Why wouldn’t I?

The opportunity, the energy, the restaurants. God knows I love a good meal. What it would say about me that I lived there. The chip on my shoulder I could carry just for surviving it.

And I did love it, at first. It was new and electric and I was completely taken with it. But somewhere along the way I started to realize I didn’t love it anymore, not really. And I thought that meant something was wrong with me — that I wasn’t built for a city that big, that I should push through, that leaving would be some kind of admission of failure.

What I actually needed was space. Physically and mentally. Looking back, my favorite moments in New York were the times I’d drag a lawn chair to the West Side Highway and just sit there. I was always looking for the quiet version of the city. That probably should have told me something.

Two years ago I moved to LA. I know I talk about it constantly, but it remains one of the most important decisions of my life — and I didn’t make it because I knew I’d love it here. I made it because I finally accepted that I didn’t love it there.

Now I’m sure. Much more sure than that girl at 26.

I’m sure I love Los Angeles — parts of it at least. I’m sure I need a full-sized kitchen to feel like myself. I’m sure that every morning, tucking in both sides of the duvet (something I could never do when my bed was shoved against the wall) is a small and genuine pleasure. I’m sure that going outside every day is non-negotiable and that the ocean does something for me that nothing else does. And I’m sure that home, both the place and the concept, is where I actually want to be. I spend most of my time here. I work here, eat here, decompress here. And I don’t say any of that with resignation — I say it with certainty.

I’m learning, decision by decision, what Wallis actually likes.

Ina Garten’s Substack landed in my inbox recently and one line stopped me: “You should learn to cook what you love to eat.” It sounds almost too simple. But there’s real permission inside it — to stop performing taste, to stop choosing what you think you should like, to trust your own preferences even when they’re unfashionable or unglamorous or just plainly and simply yours.

Most people don't actually know what they like. They know what looks right. They know what the people they admire seem certain about. And now there's an entire machine designed to show you other people's certainty on a loop, which makes it even harder to hear yourself think. It's very easy to curate a life that looks right and feels like nothing.

The only way I know to get around it is elimination. You can’t think your way into knowing what you love. You have to try things, sit with them, and be honest about whether they fit. The things that don’t are not wasted time. They’re data.

I didn’t love living in New York. I do love tucking in both sides of my duvet. I don’t like wearing makeup. It feels gross and sticky and I’m better off without it. I don’t like brushing my hair either. It never looks good and I always lose my natural curls doing it. I love Diet Coke, Arnold Palmers and watermelon anything. I don’t like going to bed late and I especially don’t like sleeping in. I love wearing flip flops, probably more than anyone you’ll ever meet and have a hard time packing for a trip in a carry on. I just prefer to check my bags, regardless of the flights I’ve missed because my bag was delayed.

These things have taught me something.

None of it is particularly impressive. But all of it is mine. Every closed-toe shoe I wore when I wanted flip flops, every time I chose a carry on, regretful of the lack of options in my suitcase — that’s data. And data, when you actually use it, starts to look a lot like knowing yourself.

It’s not that profound. It’s just paying attention.

And then, the harder part, actually trusting yourself…

Thanks for reading,

xo Barefoot

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January marked two years in Los Angeles. When I moved here, life looked completely different. The past two years brought big personal and professional shifts. Ones that felt deeply unsettling while they were happening, but make perfect sense looking back.

Sitting here now, I feel immensely grateful that I followed my heart and let things change. I’ve never felt more in tune with my path and my purpose than how I feel living in California.

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Here are a few things that made the last month spectacular, in no particular order.

Monthly Facial at Spencer’s

If you have social media, you’ve probably already seen someone post about Spencer’s. Pictures of the dreamy interiors (designed by the most talented Charlotte Taylor) have been everywhere lately. I am here to further encourage you to go. I booked one facial last Fall, fell in love, and immediately joined the monthly membership. I have yet to try their massages (I’m very ticklish) but can confirm the facials are incredible!

Sweaters and Flip Flops:

A very specific Southern California joy that doesn’t need much of an explanation.

Last Fall, I went on a hunt for good sweaters and came out with about 6 new ones to add to my rotation. My most favorite sweater is this one - oversized, 100% cotton, and only $80. Highly recommend.

I’ve become really obsessed with checking the contents of clothes I buy and like to only purchase clothing made without synthetic fibers. The clothing lasts longer and feels better on your skin.

Cooking/Baking/Eating:

I found my way back to cooking in January, and I’m very happy about it. One of my goals for the new year was to learn all about sourdough bread, starters, and baking a loaf at home.

After two weeks of reading (books, Reddit threads, websites, blogs, articles) watching (TikToks, YouTubes), and feeding my starter, I baked a loaf and I am so proud of myself! Here’s to many more loaves, bagels, english muffins, cookies, and anything else I can bake using my starter.

I also made some apple bacon scones, turkey paninis with homemade artichoke pesto, grass-fed steak bowls and my own version of the Sweetgreen Harvest Bowl.

Weekend Getaways:

One of my favorite parts of living in California is how effortless it is to leave town for a day or two. Santa Barbara, Ojai, Palm Springs, San Diego. All within a couple hours of home, traffic permitting.

I’ve absolutely loved driving down Highway 1 listening to the Dire Straits and relishing in the winter sun.

Coming Home:

Because I traveled more in January, coming home became a ritual in itself. I’d unpack the second I walked through the door, start a load of laundry, and light my favorite Flamingo Estate candle. Even if I was only home for a week, I still made my trip to the flower market. Fresh stems on the table make everything feel like home again.

And nothing compares to an everything shower after being away. The full routine. All of the favorite products. Washing off travel and easing back into my own space.

Thanks for reading! I hope you’re staying warm and dreaming of a California vacation,

Barefoot

A special shoutout to my sister, Carson, the ultimate travel guide extraordinaire. She made every reservation and led us to so many new favorites you’ll find here. I happily wandered along like a lost dog, following her recommendations, and she did not miss once.

Cernay-la-Ville:

Christmas in the French countryside was magical.

If you haven’t heard of Abbaye de Vaux de Cernay, now you have. And unfortunately, yes, you will have to plan a trip.

Just an hour outside of Paris, it’s the perfect place to truly relax and unwind. The architecture is impeccable, as is the history of the property. Originally a 12th-century Cistercian abbey, it fell into ruin after the French Revolution, was later revived by Baroness Charlotte de Rothschild as a summer home, and finally acquired by the Paris Society and reopened as a hotel in 2023.

The rooms are wrapped in floor-to-ceiling wallpaper, and the breakfast hall is grand and abundant, with everything from pancakes and sausage to smoked salmon, blinis, and every kind of bread imaginable. I was, of course, in heaven.

The grounds include a large pond with rowboats, walking paths, padel courts, and a farm with alpacas. The property also has a spa! You can do everything, or you can do nothing. I highly recommend booking a stay for a few days of R&R! I’m already plotting my return this summer.

Paris:

Last year, we stayed at the Grand Mazarin in Marais and while it was amazing, it was unfortunately booked this year. We had the opportunity to try a new hotel - Experimental Hotel Paris which was a lovely stay! A lively bar downstairs, gigantic shower, big robes, friendly staff and a location even deeper in the Marais which can’t be beat.

A few favorites in Paris:

• Bistrot Paul Bert - A true Paris institution and absolutely non negotiable. Order the steak frites and finish with the soufflé. Both are flawless. Reservations are essential and should be made weeks in advance.

• Mamiche - Some of the best pastries in Paris. The croissants are exceptional and the Nutella filled doughnuts are unforgettable.

• Le Dauphin - Casual, buzzy and effortlessly cool. A great spot for small plates and wine when you want something relaxed but still very Paris.

• Paperboy - Order the fried chicken sandwich. Crispy, indulgent and exactly what you want after a long day of walking.

• Bar Omi - A tiny sushi counter tucked away in the 1st Arrondissement. Incredible sushi and sashimi, plus their raw cabbage with wasabi mustard is unexpectedly addictive.

• La Cuisine Cooking Class - We took a French market tour and cooking class and it was one of the highlights of the trip. You meet the chef at a local market, shop for produce together, then return to cook and enjoy a four course meal. So fun and genuinely memorable.

• Café Charlot - One of our favorite Marais staples. Perfect for an afternoon spritz and a cheese board after shopping.

• EN Salon - I had the most amazing facial at EN Salon last year! Each treatment is fully customized and the space itself is unforgettable, set inside an underground stone cave.

(If you’d like my full list, message me!)

London:

London may just be the best city in the world. The food scene is endlessly exciting, the city itself vast and beautiful, unfolding in layers of neighborhoods that each feel like their own small universe. There’s so much to explore, yet nothing ever feels overwhelming. The people are warm and welcoming, and after a week of pointing at menus and navigating another language, there’s a real comfort in the ease of conversation. Everything feels accessible, familiar, and effortlessly charming all at once.

The Stay:

We stayed at The Ned, which I will truly never stop talking about. It is one of the best hotels in the world and if I could move in permanently, I would. It strikes the perfect balance of everything you want a hotel to be. Lively and social, yet warm and welcoming. An excellent food scene, a genuinely great breakfast, spacious rooms, and so many luxurious bath products.

The basement spa and wellness facilities are on another level (literally). The sauna and indoor pool are reason enough to book a stay, and there is no better place to cure a hangover or reset after a long day of walking the city. It is the kind of hotel that makes you want to build your entire trip around being there.

A few favorites from London:

• The Barbary - One of my favorite restaurants since 2019. An open kitchen with counter seating, Mediterranean inspired dishes, and a lively, intimate energy that never disappoints. They’ve since opened a Notting Hill location, which we went to for New Year’s Eve. If you can, book a seat at the chef’s counter. It’s the best way to experience it.

• Bar Crispin - A charming little spot tucked away in Soho that feels like a neighborhood secret. Excellent small plates, clarified margaritas, and lamb skewers that are to die for.

• Jolene - We love Jolene. With multiple locations across the city, it’s the kind of place you find yourself returning to again and again. Perfect whether you’re grabbing a cheddar cheese scone to go or sitting down for a proper meal with freshly baked focaccia and seasonal dishes.

• St. John’s Bread and Wine - A classic for a reason. Simple, nose to tail cooking done exceptionally well, paired with great bread and wine (obviously).

• Mountain - By far the best meal of the trip. The interiors are stunning, but the food is truly on another level. The menu is built around small plates, so you can order widely and taste a lot. Everything is seasonal, and the menu changes daily, which makes the whole experience feel dynamic and exciting.

• Scarfes Bar - Classic, moody, and perfect for a late night cocktail. Live jazz, beautiful interiors, and a cozy, old world atmosphere that makes you want to linger.

• Elliot’s Borough Market - A go to stop at Borough Market. Reliable, delicious food with a relaxed vibe. Great for a casual meal while wandering the market.

• Saatchi Gallery - Fun, approachable contemporary art and an easy addition to a day in Chelsea. Not overwhelming and always worth popping into.

• Choosing Keeping - A stationery lover’s dream. Beautiful notebooks, pens, paper goods, and thoughtful gifts. The kind of shop you go into “just to look” and inevitably leave with a bag.

(If you’d like my full list, message me!)

Thanks for reading,

Barefoot ❤️

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I love this city, but sometimes I wish December came with a little cold front. A small signal from the universe that the season has shifted.

Instead, this time of year just blends into everything else. There’s work to finish, campaigns to wrap, emails to answer. Nothing about my day tells me it’s the holidays. I keep waiting for the festive feeling to arrive on its own, the way it used to.

Growing up, one thing was certain: Christmas always appeared.

It appeared at school with cookie exchanges, gingerbread house decorating and the promise of Christmas Break. It appeared at home, where the boxes of decor came out of the attic and buying a tree was a planned, family outing. It appeared on the radio in the car, or when my mom turned on Vince Guaraldi the day after Thanksgiving.

Christmas was easy, effortless, and magical.

My only job was to enjoy it. To revel in holiday spirit. To send off a wish list and see presents accumulate under the tree, which was always in the same corner of the living room.

Now, I’m the adult. And as it turns out, magic has a price. A literal one. And an emotional one. A price that takes effort. No one warns you that the holidays feel different when you’re the one responsible for building the feeling from scratch.

Last week I went Christmas tree shopping. I spent the drive there having an internal dialogue with myself about whether I even needed a tree. By the time I arrived, I convinced myself I didn’t need one. It’s already December, I’m leaving soon, and what’s the point?

But once I stepped onto the lot, I knew I would be leaving with a tree.

Because the truth is, I will always buy a Christmas tree. Always. No matter the weather. No matter the price. It feels almost disrespectful to the season to let December pass without one.

A tree is my personal line in the sand, my one non-negotiable. A memento standing tall in the living room, announcing quietly but confidently that yes, the holidays are here and yes, I am celebrating. Not for anyone else, not for guests I am not even having, but for my own sanity. A small acknowledgment that I made it another year and Christmas has arrived.

But a tree needs ornaments. And the ones I had — a tiny twelve-pack from Target that I bought years ago in New York — weren’t going to cut it. My tree deserved something new. My collection, something more permanent. Something to keep, to put away in my own box of decor and be excited to open next year. Next year, I’ll start collecting specialty ornaments, I tell myself.

So I did the only reasonable thing to do. I made an emergency pilgrimage to HomeGoods.

Going there is always a choice. One you make knowing you may leave with the score of a lifetime, or empty-handed and annoyed you wasted an hour.

I paced the aisles with hope. Maybe a miracle would happen in the form of a decent ornament set. Maybe I’d get lucky and find a few Christopher Radko ornaments in great shape for a great price.

No miracles. No ornate gingerbread men with glittery eyeballs. Just a bedazzled Reese’s Cup that I unfortunately had to pass on. I stood in a quiet corner and opened Amazon. The holiday decor world at my fingertips. A pack of bright pink ornaments could be at my door by morning. Was pink the theme of the year? Did I even have a theme? Was I really about to buy ornaments from Amazon?

After another lap through the aisles, I managed to find a few silver orbs and a roll of red ribbon that felt charmingly old-fashioned. Good enough. Classic enough. If I didn’t make a decision and leave then, I would’ve put down everything and gone home empty-handed.

Once home, the magic started to take shape. I broke my back moving my Audrey ficus to the dining room to make way for my new, albeit overpriced, silver tip tree. I unpacked the orbs, unrolled the ribbon, and laughed at the tiny Target ornaments I’ve been saving for years. Thank god I bought new ones, I thought.

I plugged in the tree and felt something shift. That small, unmistakable sense of something becoming more than it was a moment before. A quiet pang of magic moving through my body, brief but undeniable.

That’s the part no one tells you about adulthood. The magic doesn’t just show up anymore. You have to make it. You have to decide that it’s worth the trouble. Worth the money. Worth the time. Worth the HomeGoods detour. Worth the wreaths hung on a doorframe that only you will see.

The magic has to be built. Piece by piece. Ornament by ornament. Small decision by small decision.

You have to wake up and say yes, I will watch Home Alone at 8am on Saturday. I will go to Trader Joe’s and buy wreaths and I will make hot chocolate and I will listen exclusively to Vince Guaraldi.

I will buy the overpriced Christmas tree and decorate it. If only to acknowledge, however briefly, that the holidays have arrived.

Thanks for reading,

Barefoot x

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It’s those little luxuries that make vacation relaxing. For the past few years, I’ve been trying to bring that feeling home in my daily routines.

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Here are a few favorites that make a big impact.

The Bath Robe

Every good hotel has a robe. It’s one of my personal litmus tests for how well a stay pays attention. I’ve absolutely searched reviews and scrolled through guest photos just to confirm a property has one before I book. Call me crazy, but that’s how dedicated I am to the cause.

Anyone who knows me knows how much of a bath-robe girl I am. I’ve tried them all and, quite honestly, they’re pretty hard to f*** up. I have three personal favorites, depending on location and weather. Each divine in its own way, each serving the purpose of allowing me to rot between the shower and the cozy clothes.

My Top Three:
• Hill House Home – dubbed “The Hotel Robe” and for good reason. Giant, and so plush.
• Annie Selke – the cozy fleece robe I love during winter
• Quince – the $50 waffle robe perfect for warmer days

The Slippers

Slippers are the most underrated essential. As someone with self-diagnosed Raynaud’s, they’ve been a non-negotiable for years. I wear them around the house and set them next to my bed every night so they’re ready the moment I wake up. This tiny ritual makes me feel taken care of in a way that’s almost silly, but deeply comforting.

My Top Three:
• The $15 Amazon pair that somehow always delivers
• UGG – the OGs I’ve worn for a decade, but this new iteration has me curious…
• Bombas Plush Sunday Slipper – on my list and probably my next purchase

The Everything Shower

My perfect shower is scalding hot and 30 minutes long. Nothing screams relaxation like good water pressure and even better-smelling soap. Hotels usually nail this, and when they do, it’s perfection. I’ve recreated the hotel shower at home with an absurd number of products and the softest towels I can justify.

The Bed

Oh, the bed. I really do think I’ve mastered the art of it. I’ve shared my bedding setup on TikTok more than once, and the internet seems to agree the system is dialed in. My Oura ring does too. It’s hard to argue with consistent sleep scores in the 90s.

To achieve hotel-bed perfection, follow one principle: layer. Layering is everything. Start with good sheets, add a linen duvet comforter (double-stuffed if you’re like me), then blankets, then decorative pillows and texture wherever you can.

All of my bedding details — including the duvet insert and foam mattress topper— are linked here.

Luxury doesn’t always have to be expensive.
It’s often the small, thoughtful upgrades that make your home feel like somewhere you want to check into.

My hope is that a robe, a slipper, a softened towel, or a perfectly layered bed helps you create your own little escape, right where you are.

Until next time,

Barefoot 💛

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Last October (the 17th, to be exact), on a beautiful fall day in California, something life-changing happened. The kind of thing you never expect — a meeting pops up on your calendar and immediately you think, wait… am I about to get fired? But then you brush it off. You tell yourself to calm down, take a breath. There’s no way… right?

Let’s back up a bit.

I moved to California at the beginning of 2024 and took a job with the first company that hired me. It was in a completely different field than fashion, where I’d been working for the past 5 years. At first, the new job felt fine. Exciting even. A fresh start. A new coast. But after a few months, I realized it wasn’t my calling.

I missed fashion, influencer marketing, event planning, connecting with like minded individuals, gossiping about the latest happenings on r/influencersnark, brand campaigns and deciding which DÔEN dresses I was going to buy for the season. I missed seeing myself in my coworkers, and in my work itself.

All of the things I left behind in New York in search of a “break,” were things I started to miss deeply.

Back to California

So I’m working my new job and day by day becoming more complacent and less fulfilled. I spent an ungodly amount of time driving home on the 405, teary-eyed or fresh off a mental breakdown, contemplating life and being, well, miserable.

I wanted to quit, but I didn’t know what the next move should be. Should I just go back to fashion? Try something new? I didn’t know.

Then, out of nowhere, in April of 2024, someone recommended me for a freelance gig — social strategy for a luxury footwear brand. I said yes immediately. More money, more creativity, and a chance to dip back into the work I actually cared about.

By August, I had added two more freelance clients. My schedule was insane — starting at 6:30 a.m. with freelance, switching to my full-time job from 9 to 5, then back to freelancing at night and on weekends. I was working nonstop, but it felt so good. I was excited again. Inspired again.

Meanwhile, my full-time job was still there, technically keeping me “safe,” but it was also draining the life out of me. I kept telling myself I’d quit soon — maybe by Thanksgiving, maybe Christmas.

And Then It Happened

So there I was, on that fateful day in October. I joined a 10 minute Zoom call where I was told my position was “dissolved” effective immediately, and my last day was that day. I was speechless. Shocked. But also… not that shocked.

I called my mom crying, as one does after big (or small) life events happen. She told me everything I already knew: I hated that job. I was meant to be doing something else. And now — I was free.

I only told a small handful of people (the people I HAD to tell) because, honestly? I was embarrassed. I had never been fired before. Rejected, sure. But being let go hits a different part of your ego. It felt like failure, but worse.

In the coming days, I started to feel better than ever. Light. Electrically alive. Like the universe had done for me what I was too scared to do for myself.

That job ended up giving me the best gift: proof that I could actually do this on my own.

So yes — I would like to dedicate this Substack, with love and full sincerity, to the company that fired me. Thank You. Thank you for cutting the cord I was too scared to let go of. Thank you for giving me back to myself.

Where Do We Go From Here?

It has been over a year of self-employment now, and it has been the absolute, hands down, without-a-doubt, best year of my life. I started a business, built real creative partnerships, fostered incredible relationships within my industry, and worked on brands I thought were just a pipe dream.

But more than that, I gained something I never expected: a deep, almost unshakable confidence in myself. The kind that comes from being in rooms - or emails, or Slack channels - where your opinion is not just heard, but asked for. The kind of confidence that comes from speaking up and watching the results prove you right.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped waiting for a company to define my worth and started deciding it for myself. And when I did that, everything shifted. Not because I burned myself out or “hustled harder,” but because I finally aligned my work with what I’m actually good at, and let myself own it.

So here’s what I’ll say: Cool Girls Get Fired. Cool girls also quit. Cool girls realize something isn’t a fit and walk away anyway. If it’s already happened to you, own it! It doesn’t mean you failed — it means you were being redirected. Not every job, boss, or “dream role” is going to be the right match, and that’s more than fine.

And if you’re sitting at your desk reading this, quietly fantasizing about what your life could look like on the other side…

Consider this your sign.

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P.S. Cool Guys Get Fired Too.

Because sometimes losing your job is just the universe promoting you. ❤️

That sentence still feels a little dangerous to say out loud, especially in a world wired for bullet-point credibility. But I don’t have one. The last one I “made” was at the end of 2023 when I was moving to LA and applying for jobs. Since then, I haven’t had one, or put much thought into creating a new one. And frankly, I wouldn’t know where to start rebuilding it if I had to. Are we just Googling adjectives and ChatGPT-ing to say what we do now?

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When I apply for jobs (usually a cold email to a company with no listings, just me asking, “Have you thought about hiring for X? You could really use it”), I don’t send a PDF. I send what actually matters: visuals. A portfolio. The work that already exists in the world. My ideas for how something could be done better, or differently. That’s my resume.

How Did We Get Here?

My “career” in consulting, creative direction, brand storytelling - none of it was scaffolded on a one-page document. Each opportunity emerged from conversations, referrals, or from someone seeing my work unfold in real time.

I’ve always felt a little off about the idea of a “corporate” job. To me, it’s like putting on an outfit that doesn’t fit; one you’re forced to wear all day at school. You count the minutes until you’re home, ripping it off and changing into something that actually feels like you.

In college, I always said that I could never work anywhere that required wearing a suit. It just wasn’t me. My family would roll their eyes and say, “Well, you might not get to choose.” But I did get to choose. And those choices led me closer and closer to work that feels like me. The first day I walked into my first job wearing an Ulla Johnson dress, I wanted to turn back and say HA! to everyone who didn’t believe it could be done.

Even so, when I was working in more traditional roles, I could sense I was destined for more. Waiting two years for a promotion? Ten vacation days a year? It felt like a trap disguised as stability. I remember thinking: there has to be more to life than this. I wanted freedom, ownership, and ultimately….respect.

If I could go back, I wish I would’ve pushed myself harder in New York to follow those instincts sooner. I didn’t know where to begin, so I didn’t.

I recently read ’s Substack essay, “The Death of the Corporate Job” — which I’ve been forwarding to anyone and everyone. (Yes, I’m sending it to you, too.) It felt like gasoline on a fire that was already burning inside me. The corporate model is not the only way.

As a freelance creative/contract worker, I’m constantly having to defend that this world is “real,” that my job counts, that my version of success is valid. It gets exhausting. But reading pieces like this reminds me I’m not the only one who sees how fragile hierarchies and job ladders feel right now.

In creative fields, you don’t climb a ladder, you build a web. Your reputation, your output, your network, your signature - that’s the scaffolding now. You don’t “apply” in the old sense. You show up. You connect. You put ideas into the world, make suggestions, create things that didn’t exist yesterday.

The Creative Resume:

In traditional jobs, “proof” is a line on a resume. Managed 5 people. Worked in client services. Budgeted $1M.

In creative work, proof looks different. It’s lighter, layered, and harder to pin down.

• A successful influencer campaign

• A beautifully designed Instagram grid

• A strategy deck so clear it becomes the new template

• A client’s note that simply says, This looks amazing!

  

These things are harder to quantify. They’re messy. They’re alive. They’re what people actually respond to.

So when someone says, “Send your resume,” I sometimes wonder whether they’re asking for the wrong thing. Because if I sent a resume, I’d feel like I’m putting on the outfit that I hate again. There’s so much of what I do that won’t fit into Times New Roman margins.

Where Do We Go From Here?

The corporate world - its hierarchies, its linear paths, its guardrails - feels enormous mostly because it’s what we were trained to respect. It taught us that stability is a checkbox, that safety is a title, that credibility is a bullet-pointed list of job titles. But for many (me included), it also feels brittle, stifling, and oddly out of sync with how life actually unfolds today.

Here are a few things I believe:

• You can side-step whenever you want. Changing careers doesn’t mean you’re falling off the ladder and starting at zero. You’re probably better at your passion than you realize.

• There are more unconventional ways to live than ever. The internet has made reach, opportunity, and reinvention possible in ways a resume never could.

When I read ’s essay, I felt relieved. I’m not the only one, I thought. “See?” I wanted to tell everyone who said wearing a suit was “just what you have to do.” I’m giving myself permission to believe, and to build, something else. A future that is fluid, self-architected, and alive.

Because I don’t want to be one thing. I want to be a hundred things. An interior designer. An art director. A brand strategist. A photographer. A maker of beautiful things. The list will shift and change, but the drive will always be there. My world isn’t one-dimensional, and my work shouldn’t be either.

What This Revelation Means To Me (& Hopefully You, Too!)

If you’ve ever felt the urge to swim against the current and try something different, you’re not alone.

But here’s the thing: if you’re waiting for the perfect resume, you’ll keep waiting. If you’re waiting for the title change that makes the leap feel safer, you’ll keep waiting. If you’re waiting for more money in savings, for the timing to be better, for the sign from the universe, you’ll keep waiting. There will always be one more thing that makes it easier to delay.

The creative path isn’t about erasing risk. It’s about exercising choice. Choosing to start with what you have. Choosing to believe your work already counts. Choosing to bet on yourself even when the spreadsheet doesn’t balance perfectly.

Because waiting for the “right” moment is really just a way of keeping yourself in place.

So yeah, I don’t have a resume. But I have something I trust more: a path I’m designing day by day, with the mess and the magic. And in many ways, it feels more alive than any boxed-in career ever did.

I’ll leave you with this: I was waiting too. Waiting for the right time. The perfect next job.

And then, I got fired. The waiting ended, and the building began.

More on that next time,
Barefoot

Over the past year, I’ve come to the realization that living alone isn’t just about quiet mornings or not sharing a bathroom. It’s been a mirror for what I actually value in my space - and, in some ways, in myself.

For so long, I shared apartments, dorm rooms, and houses. My priorities at home were shaped by compromise: what fit in my section of the fridge, whose turn it was to take out the trash. All the common areas were a patchwork of other people’s furniture and belongings, so the only way I was able to express myself through space was within a a single room. There was always this background noise of negotiating, decorating, and making do - and over time I forgot to ask what I actually wanted from a home.

Now, at 27, with a space that’s entirely mine, I finally get to decide. And what surprised me most is that my priorities aren’t about filling every corner or making everything look “done.” They’re about clarity. Breathing room. Order that feels natural instead of rigid. For the first time, every corner reflects me. The sofa, the dishes, the art on the walls - they’re not just placeholders from someone else’s life, but choices that tell my story.

The Resident Guest

Somewhere along the way, living alone, I started thinking of myself as the “resident guest.” It sounds silly, but it’s become a guiding philosophy. When I clear the counters or put things away, I’m not doing it for company. I’m doing it so that I get to experience my home at its best, every day. If something’s left out, it’s because I’m actively using it. If it’s tucked away, it’s because I want to give myself that sense of calm when I move through the room.

The more I lean into this mindset, the more I notice what’s truly important. A cleared table where I can work without distraction. A kitchen that feels inviting enough that I’ll actually cook in it, not just eat standing up. A bed that feels like a destination I can’t wait to arrive to after a long day. The choices are intentional, and they don’t just change how my home looks - they shape how I show up in my day.

Living by myself has been a reminder that space is never neutral. It either adds to your headspace or takes away from it. And when you’re the only one living there, you get to decide which way it goes.

That decision, I’ve found, is made in the smallest moments: wiping down the counter before bed, folding the blanket instead of leaving it tossed, buying the flowers even when no one else will see them.

The way I care for my home has become a way of caring for myself.

A few rituals that help me keep my home in order:

1. Five-minute resets: Morning, mid-day, and evening, I do a quick sweep of whatever mess has piled up. It keeps things from snowballing.

2. Weekend problem-area tackle: Each weekend I pick one corner (the pantry, the bathroom cabinet) and deal with it. No lingering burdens or distress when looking for spices.

3. Fresh flowers: Always, always worth it.

4. Buying with intention: Letting go of impulse buys and only bringing in things I truly love or need.

5. A place for everything: When every item has a home, cleanup feels effortless instead of overwhelming.

6. Daily bedtime reset: Clear counters, fluff pillows, fold the throw blanket. A small ritual that makes mornings calmer.

7. Invisible storage: Baskets, bins, and trays keep the mess hidden but accessible.

8. Tiny luxuries: Matching hangers, glass jars, neatly folded towels. The small details that make everyday life feel elevated.

The Takeaway:

Living alone has been a lesson in responsibility. The dishes in the sink, the laundry piled up, the trash that needs taking out - none of it magically disappears when I look away. There’s no roommate who might step in, no partner who might pick up the slack. Every undone task sits there waiting, and I’ve realized it’s the same with the bigger things in life.

The conversations we put off, the decisions we avoid, the changes we know we need to make - no one else is going to swoop in and do them for us. It’s on me to face them, just like it’s on me to fold the blanket or clear the counter. And while that can feel daunting, it’s also a kind of freedom I’m grateful to have. Each act of responsibility, no matter how small, becomes its own act of care.

It’s how I remind myself that the life I’m building isn’t happening somewhere far off in the future - it’s happening here, in the little choices I make for my home and for myself, every single day.

I hope you take some time for yourself this weekend, and in the spirit of a new season - clean out the closet or cabinet you’ve been putting off.

Xo

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But that was two weeks ago, and now my profoundness (and opinions on flip flops) has returned.

The Adult School Year

I’ve been thinking a lot about the month of August, and what a transformative time it is. Not just for me personally, but in general. We’re in that in-between stretch where summer isn’t quite over, but fall hasn’t fully arrived.

To me, August has always felt like a quiet reset. It carries the same energy as January, only warmer and slower. It’s a time to take stock, set intentions, and begin the last chapter of the year. Maybe it’s the echo of back-to-school season: that annual reinvention we all once experienced, when a new backpack or pair of jeans felt like it could change the entire trajectory of your year.

So I’m declaring my own Adult School Year. A chance to reinvent myself. To choose who I’ll be this fall. To decide how I’ll feel, what I’ll wear, what I’ll do. And for me, there’s nothing I love more than an excuse to make a Pinterest board, fill my online shopping cart, and add to my to-do list.

California Fall

I grew up with East Coast falls: crisp air, changing leaves, the unmistakable shift in seasons. Beautiful, yes. But California Fall is something else entirely, and after two years here, I’m officially team Golden State.

California Fall is 70 degrees in October. It’s still swimming in the ocean, even if the water stings a little. It’s sleeveless dresses and sandals by day, a jacket tossed on at night. The light is soft and golden, the days stretch longer than they should, and you remember exactly why you moved 3,000 miles west in the first place.

Here, the months blur together, one sun-soaked week rolling into the next until suddenly it’s Thanksgiving, and you realize fall has arrived in its own California way.

This year, my “Adult School Year” reinvention is shaped by this version of fall.

Back to School Wishlist (For Adults)

Why should kids have all the fun? Here’s my “supplies list” this season:

• The world’s best flip flops → I will never ever ever stop talking about these flip flops. They’re as close to barefoot as possible and if you know me, well, you know I’m rarely wearing shoes. If I am, it’s probably these.

• Leset boxer shorts in merlot → Impatiently waiting for these to come back in stock. I have them in white and my cost per wear at this point is microscopic.

• Chocolate ballet flats → The polished shoe that feels like a grown-up version of a back to school uniform. Plus, they’re buttery soft and my favorite color ever.

• J.Crew Pointelle set → Already en route to me (both the white and the black oops), but I already know I’ll be wearing these pieces non-stop. Part of my wardrobe reinvention includes more neutrals! PS - they’re currently 50% off for Labor Day.

The Detour: Since reinvention isn’t just wardrobes…

• August Reading List: I started reading The Nightingale and so far I’m loving it! I’ve decided that for every fun, easy beach read, I’ll follow it with something a little smarter. Also, I cannot recommend my kindle enough! It’s so lightweight and perfect for beach days or traveling.

• I finally caved and got my first real haircut in almost a year. Let’s just say my DIY trims were… not it. Lesson learned, I should stop doing that immediately. To make up for the neglect, I’ve been religiously using this leave-in conditioner, and it’s quickly become my holy grail of the season. (Plus, it’s 20% off for Labor Day!)

• New bedding feels like just as much of a seasonal shift as anything else. I swapped my white linen bedspread for a chocolate brown set (sheets included) and I’m obsessed. I layered it with my other comforter for extra fluff, and now climbing into bed feels even more heavenly than before.

I may not be forcing my mom to buy me new binders (“Why can’t you use the ones from last year Wallis??”) sharpening pencils, or decorating a locker anymore, but I am deciding who I want to be this season. The supplies are different, but the ritual remains the same.

Here’s to a season of reinvention x

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I just got back from a week in New York, which is arguably one of the most magical and inspiring cities in the world. If you didn’t know, I used to live there before heading west. And while I immediately fell back in love with so much - the energy, the style, the people watching - I also found something even more surprising: peace with the fact that it’s no longer where I belong.

In college, New York was the dream. When I couldn’t move there right after graduation (boo, Covid), it felt like failure. Every second not living in the city felt like I was falling behind. I imagined a life that was fast-paced, fashionable, important. I saw myself with a great apartment, a job at Bon Appétit (or somewhere just as cool), a new wardrobe, and endless nights out at fun restaurants and bars.

And then I finally moved, and it wasn’t what I imagined. I didn’t know who I was. I couldn’t afford the life I thought I was supposed to be living. I felt like my potential was always just out of reach.

But somehow, in that time, I grew. Quietly, steadily. I built a life on my own terms. And after three years, I had to face the truth: maybe the dream had changed.

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Returning this time felt different. I came back with a steadier sense of self and a gentler approach to the city that once felt like everything. Streets I once paced with pressure and expectation, I now wandered with curiosity. And I let myself feel the shift: how right it felt to visit, and how right it felt to leave.

I realized I don’t need to chase that version of life anymore. I can just enjoy the city for what it is, without the pressure to make it mine. Because New York has its own kind of forever. Once you give it your heart, even for a moment, it keeps a piece of you. And in some quiet way, you belong to each other, always.

So that’s exactly what I did. I walked, wandered, ate everything, and let the city show itself to me in a new light. Here are a few things I loved most…

Dining: I truly had so many amazing meals. Lots of old spots I had to revisit, plus a few new ones. Details here.

Shopping: I’m honestly surprised at the lack of shopping I did this trip. I went in a fair amount of stores (Bomi, Big Night, Quarters, RW Guild, Suzie Kondi, Gem) but had very little room in my suitcase for anything other than this set from Buck Mason and finally some new Salomons. We also popped in Dôen to look at their newness and of course I loved everything, but this dress is really calling my name. However, I’m not sure I can justify that price for a linen mini when we’re heading into Fall. 😕

There was something refreshing about browsing without feeling like I needed to buy a bunch of things to prove my trip successful. Just being in the city and seeing so many beautiful spaces was enough!

Other miscellaneous things I loved:

• Waking up early and wandering through the West Village while the city was still quiet. There’s something sacred about New York in the morning, when it’s just you and the barista before anyone else wakes up. Those are the times the city feels personal. (Also, if you wake up early enough, you can beat the line at Apollo Bagels, which I did, twice.)

• Sitting at the bar at Jeffrey’s Grocery and ordering the seafood tower (a bit indulgent, but worth every bite). Their Bloody Mary could cure just about anything (including the brutal hangover I was nursing that day - thank you James from Rosella). The bartender even snuck a slice of key lime pie into our to-go bag and honestly… it gives Steve’s in Red Hook a run for its money.

All that to say: I loved the trip. But I also loved coming home. I’m settling into the stillness of August and looking forward to not seeing LAX for awhile. It’ll be my first full month home in Los Angeles since March, and it feels like exactly what I need. Lots of visits to the farmer’s market, cooking, flower market runs, tennis, Manhattan Beach days, and quiet mornings in my backyard with the hummingbirds. I already have a running list of DIY projects and I can’t wait to tackle them!

At the end of each newsletter, you’ll find The Detour.

Think of it as my corner for sharing the things worth going out of your way for.

• Summer Reading List: I just finished Great Big Beautiful Life and One Golden Summer and they were both incredible page turners. I’m in need of another good beach read so please send any and all recs my way.

• Haven’t taken off these absolutely incredible ballet flats from Margaux. Buttery soft and the cushion feels like you’re walking on a cloud. Barefoot Approved.

• Sixes and Ones - a portable dice game we played all week in NYC. Petition to bring back games? Fully signed. We also played cards nearly every night at dinner, it was the best way to stay present.

Thanks for reading!

As it turns out, it’s okay to outgrow your dreams, and even better to make new ones.

xo, Wallis

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Let me ask: does it feel good to finally be early to something? Like really early? You’re the “I wore that before it was cool” person right now. You’re patient zero (of my Substack). You’re in rare air. One of the few who could tell me to stop while I’m ahead. I’d nod, pretend to consider it, and keep going anyway. A year from now, when this is an international sensation (or at least has dozens of readers), you’ll get to say, “Oh, I’ve been reading that since the first issue.”

Doesn’t that feel good? If not, you’re probably in the wrong place and perhaps you should quit while you’re ahead and unsubscribe. Kidding. Please stay. At least until my readership grows beyond my mom, my sister, and the Gmail I created in 4th grade to test the signup link.

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So what will you find in Barefoot Errands? Glad you asked.

Barefoot Errands is a bi-weekly dispatch of everything I’ve been loving, noticing, wearing, cooking, craving, screenshotting, or buying. It’s part mood board, part diary, part recommendation engine. Sent straight from my brain (and camera roll) to your inbox.

Each issue will be a scroll through:

• What I’m wearing (and where I’m wearing it — to restaurants, hotels, the tennis court, on hot girl walks or weekends away)

• What I’m eating (cooking, ordering in, or assembling from the farmers market)

• What I’m obsessing over (wishlist items, repeat outfits, new brands, old favorites, interior design dilemmas)

This newsletter was born out of a need to stretch a little. I work remotely, which is a dream in many ways, but it can also feel pretty isolating at times.

I post regularly on TikTok and Instagram, but I rarely say much. It’s mostly photos with short, ambiguous captions. I don’t mind that approach, but lately, it feels like I have a backlog of thoughts. Should I wallpaper my bedroom? Should I paint my bathroom? I’m heading on a trip and can’t narrow down outfits. I have a running list of my favorite burger spots in LA (because I’m a burger addict) and need to know where I should try next. I have things! And I want to share them with you.

So, here we are. A longer format. A slower, more intentional space. A place to ramble, recommend, and maybe even connect.

That said, I’ve had the “should I start a newsletter?” thought more times than I can count. I saw a quote recently that said, “Embarrassment is the cost of entry.” And after a good, honest think with myself, I decided I was ready to pay the price.

And so far? It’s been fun. Dreaming up issues, organizing sub-categories and designing all the graphics you’ll find inside has brought me a new kind of joy. So, if you’ve been putting something off because it feels scary or cringey or too much, consider this your sign - I’m diving in. You can too.

As for the name: when I was little, I refused to wear shoes. I ran around barefoot so much my parents used to joke I had hooves instead of feet. Barefoot started as something literal. Now it feels like a way of life I’m always chasing (cue Matthew McConaughey’s “Who’s your hero?” speech). It’s California. It’s ease. It’s moving through the world without rushing. Barefoot Errands is my way of capturing that feeling, while sharing what I’m loving, eating, bookmarking, and figuring out.

That’s all for now! I hope this feels like taking your shoes off after a long day or a barefoot walk at sunset.

More soon,
Wallis

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