I’ve always loved this stretch of Bay Head and Mantoloking. I grew up coming here, but as an adult, I’ve become someone who instinctively seeks out places after the crowds have gone home. It’s probably why you’ll more often find me flying halfway around the world to a quiet beach in shoulder season than squeezing onto the sand in the middle of August. But the Jersey Shore is often misunderstood. There are in fact corners of it that feel every bit as restorative as the destinations we romanticize from afar. And this warm Tuesday in mid-September felt entirely romantic.

While Matilda spent the morning making memories with her little pals, I gave myself something I rarely do: a day with absolutely no agenda. I fueled up with a giant iced coffee and an irresponsible amount of half-and-half, wandered the shoreline collecting shells, decorated one of my favorite linen top with my finds, watched dolphins crest just offshore, thumbed through the latest issues of Harper’s Bazaar and AD, and let my mind quiet (as best I could) for a few uninterrupted hours.

At the time, I called it a wellness day— probably because I just gave myself permission to disappear into a place for a few hours with no expectation that I’d accomplish anything at all.

I’ve been thinking about it because in a few weeks we’ll be heading back to the shore—this time with Matilda.

It will be a completely different experience. There will be sand toys and snacks instead of solitude, and far more excitement than quiet contemplation. But there’s something pretty magical about seeing a place through the eyes of a three-year-old.

Tild probably won’t notice that the beach is busy (well if I’m being honest with myself— she will— and might even say “there’s too many people here mom.”) But eventually she’ll notice the other kiddos building sandcastles, the excitement of carrying her bucket to the water, and the simple joy of a summer day that feels endless.

The quiet beaches will still be there for me in September. This summer, though, I’m looking forward to borrowing her version for at least a long weekend.

A Look: There's something deeply inspiring about women who continue to embrace beauty, curiosity, and personal style at every stage of life. It's one of the reasons I was so delighted to collaborate with Sciura Glam this past spring on a partnership with Orient Express. Bringing these women's enduring elegance together with a brand that embodies the same felt like a perfect match. Goals, truly.

A Trip: Grace Kelly visited Newport to film the year my dad was born (1956). She chose Castle Hill Inn for its privacy and seclusion (while in Newport, it’s really its own separate haven at the end of Ocean Drive). And between filming, she liked to slip away to the rocky cove below the Harbor Houses to swim, sunbathe, and escape photographers. She loved the spot so much that the wonderful staff (who are still wonderful) eventually built a staircase down the rocks to make it easier for her to reach the water. It’s a very special spot.

A Piece: One of my favorite finds from the Sunday flea market in Palermo: these wonderfully chunky, hand-painted ceramic fish from Caltagirone. They're made to hang on the wall, and I can't wait to find the perfect spot for them. I love them more every time I look at them.

A Dish: My daughter is deep in the play-dough phase of being three. Fortunately, the edible kind is even more fun. I ate a lot (and I mean a lot) of pici during a month I spent in Tuscany years ago, and I’ve loved its texture and unpretentious shape ever since. We made ours with a simple tomato sugo, alongside an equally Tuscan panzanella finished with dried Sicilian oregano and fried zucchini.

A Take: Nothing revolutionary here, but simple, thrown-together picnics are great. Especially with a giant vintage crochet throw.

Thanks for reading x

What’s a hollication, you ask? In the lead-up to this trip, my three-year-old coined the term, and I’ve become quite fond of it. It’s her solution to growing up between two versions of English: holiday from her Scottish side and vacation from her American side.

To her, they mean the same thing, so naturally they belong together. And honestly? “Hollication” makes perfect sense. One of the things I love most about children is how they aren’t memorizing language—they’re reverse-engineering it. They notice patterns, find inconsistencies, and create their own logic. Sometimes the result is a word that’s more intuitive than the adult version. Apparently, linguists call these inventions child neologisms. Parents call them things they’ll never forget. So this year’s trip was officially a hollication: twelve days of sea swims, sandy feet, mermaid games, and the kind of magic that only seems possible when you see the world through a child’s eyes. Are you taking a hollication this year? Where to? Big supporter over here.

A Trip: I’m happiest near water. Completely submerged in salty seawater is my preference. Sicily has become one of my trusted happy places. It’s impossible to rush here (no one will meet your urgency), and after years of practice, my Northeast neuroses seem to quiet there more than anywhere else. Call it a bloodline thing or a cultural pull, but I’m simply grateful to have found a place that makes my soul happy and my mind calm. This was Matilda’s first visit (I was still carrying her during our last trip), and I was so excited to introduce her to the West Coast (Egadi Islands, Zingaro, and the wider Castellamare region). Sandwiched between some solid urban exploration in Palermo, we spent our days foraging for Sicilian sea pottery (the western part of the island draws tons), getting our hair wet and pretending to be mermaids, eating plenty of fish (mermaid food), having brioche con gelato (gelato sandwiches) for breakfast, and covering ourselves in sand before swimming at dusk. One of the best ways to travel is by calling upon your inner child, and I feel so grateful for twelve days of that kind of bliss with my family.

A Place: Speaking of magic, have you heard of the Opera dei Pupi, Sicily’s traditional puppet opera? Recognized by UNESCO as a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity, it’s one of the island’s most treasured cultural traditions (and one that feels wonderfully alive rather than preserved behind glass). We always sandwich our trips with time in Palermo—a city so layered, so complex, so dripping with character that it awakens the senses in a way I can’t quite describe. She’s not for everyone, and we love that about her. No city I’ve visited carries quite the same depth. Greek, Roman, Byzantine, Arab, Norman, Spanish, and Bourbon influences all leave their mark here, creating a cultural patchwork that somehow feels distinctly, unmistakably Palermo. Even her crumbling corners seem to tell stories; she’s a city that has seen it all.

We always stay in Kalsa, the city’s old Arab quarter, in the same lovely apartment filled with hand-painted tile and quintessential Sicilian design. Conveniently, the flat sits just steps from the Antonio Pasqualino Puppet Museum and the adjoining puppet theater, home to one of the world’s most important collections dedicated to the Opera dei Pupi. Founded by surgeon, anthropologist, and passionate collector Antonio Pasqualino in the 1970s, the museum helped rescue this centuries-old art form at a time when it was disappearing from Sicilian life. Today, its galleries house hundreds of intricately crafted puppets, armor-clad knights, painted backdrops, and stage sets that bring to life the medieval epics of Charlemagne and his paladins. The museum is fascinating, but the real magic happens next door when the puppets take the stage. Watching these wooden knights clash swords, fall in love, and wage epic battles feels less like theater and more like stepping into a living piece of Sicilian history. Matilda loved her first theater experience, and I simply loved that it happened to be in Sicily.

A Look: Exactly a year ago this month, I found a 1958 sea-foam green Singer sewing machine at an estate sale in northern New Jersey. I’d been searching for one for years, dreaming of teaching myself how to sew.

I think, subconsciously, I knew this was where I was headed. About a year before that, I’d started collecting vintage linens, quietly squirreling them away for some future project. Over the past year, I’ve spent countless afternoons myopically focused on the basics: learning how to connect fabrics, backstitch, hem, wrestle with bias tape (hard), and decipher the endless mysteries of tension and seam allowances.

Somewhere between then and now, I’ve managed to make a handful of wearable pieces. They’re full of mistakes, of course. But unless you’re following me down the street with a magnifying glass, you’d probably never notice them. Fellow sewing enthusiasts (thank you!) have encouraged me to keep going, reminding me that in these early stages, I’m the only one who can really see every crooked stitch and imperfect seam.

So here are six pieces I sewed for Sicily. To be honest, they ended up being some of my favorite things we wore on the trip—not because they’re perfect, but because I made them myself (and I tried!). From the top:

• A pair of cotton twill toddler pants I made from a vintage Chaps by Ralph Lauren men’s button-up

• This little dress and headscarf set I repurposed from old Doen dress that no longer worked for me

• This cotton tote Matilda used as a purse for the beach and seashell/ sea pottery foraging

• This tank dress I made from a 1960s cotton tablecloth (I love the pattern)

• This other dress that’s a work in progress but also was a tablecloth with some epic blue embroidery

• This crochet bag/ purse I used at the flea market in Palermo

• This embroidered sheet I turned into a simple white tank dress.

A Dish: We ate well. What stood out on this trip was an incredible dish of busiate con sugo di tonno rosso (local pasta with red tuna sauce) on Levanzo, and the always-delicious almond granita with brioche at Antica Pasticceria Colicchia in Trapani, not to mention this insane plate of local pastries from Pasticceria La Rinascente in Trapani.

A Place: I’m going to do a whole post dedicated to this market, but the Sunday antique market in Palermo (Piazza Marina) remains one of my favorites. So much so that I often plan our trips around it.

I mean, look at this. This is my Olympics.

- Dana

Our daughter had just turned one. This was her third long-haul flight– which sounds either impressive or mildly unhinged, depending on your perspective. Either way, she crushed it. Slept the entire flight. I, on the other hand, got maybe 45 minutes and arrived in Lisbon feeling like a ghost with a passport.

We breezed through arrivals (family line— always a meaningful win), grabbed our pre-booked transfer, and made it to our apartment. I had booked the car through Transferoo — a service I’ve used before because you can request a car seat (I refuse to travel with one). It’s one of those small decisions that makes everything feel easier.

Thirty seconds into check-in at Look Living Design Apartments, it hit me:

My phone.

In the car.

What followed was a very modern panic– the kind where your entire life is locked inside a device you no longer have access to. I couldn’t remember the company name, couldn’t access my email, and trying to log in from my husband’s phone only got me locked out.

Somehow, we tracked down the reservation, then the driver. He came back. I tried to give him money. He refused– kindly, easily– like it was nothing. A small, humbling reminder for me: not everything needs to be transactional. Sometimes people are just good.

We spent the afternoon wandering Lisbon– tiles, espresso, that effortless drift I can only seem to find in European cities (and occasionally in New York). Lunch was grilled fish, and about 90 minutes later, things unraveled.

Matilda started vomiting– not baby spit-up, but full, unexpected projectile. She was smiling through it, which somehow made it more disorienting. Every attempt to nurse came right back up.

So we head back to the apartment to regroup.

Thirty minutes later, my husband: “I don’t feel well.”

Two hours after that, it was me. Food poisoning. All three of us.

We were down for about 15 hours. And if you’re a parent, you know the real fear isn’t you– it’s dehydration in a baby. Our pediatrician gave us the line: eight hours without a wet diaper, and it’s hospital time.

So I stayed up all night, holding her, wetting her lips, doing that quiet, hyper-focused parenting that kicks in when things feel just slightly out of control.

Five hours later, I tried nursing again.

And then— the most important win: a wet diaper.

By morning, we were human again. Just in time to leave for Comporta.

The drive out of Lisbon is one of those subtle pleasures– smooth, easy, almost meditative. It makes you question every life choice that led to regularly driving in North Jersey.

Comporta felt like a different world: quiet, understated, comfortably calm. Early-season light, storks perched like they own the place, and none of the chaos I associate with East Coast beach towns.

We rented a small older beach cottage up on a hill– five minutes to town, five to the beach. The beach clubs are chic (and, by Portuguese standards, expensive), but I guess that’s part of the rhythm. We rotated between Sublime, Comporta Café, and Praia da Comporta– some days committing to loungers, other days just driving up, parking for free, and walking onto wide, empty stretches of sand to forage for seashells.

Most mornings started the same way: coffee, a slow settle into the day, the sun climbing overhead. By noon, we’d switch to a beer and drift— in and out of sleep, into the water, back to sandcastles and shell hunts.

We repeated that for days. One afternoon, we drove to Santiago do Cacém— wandered the castle, took in the sweeping views, and had one of those long, perfect lunches (bread, bean soup, wine) that stretch lazily into late afternoon.

The trip had finally softened into itself.

And then, on the way home, it unraveled again.

At the airport, United refused to let my husband board.

Despite having all the correct documentation– including an official USCIS extension letter– they simply said no. Go to the embassy.

Here’s the part that makes this more than just a bad travel story: the U.S. immigration system is currently so backlogged that more than 100,000 green card holders have received formal notices extending their status by up to 48 months while new cards are processed. My husband was one of them.

We had the letter. We had followed every instruction. The extension is legally valid— explicitly designed for situations like this, including international travel. And still, at the gate, none of that mattered.

If losing my phone was panic, this was something else entirely– the kind that makes you sit down mid-terminal and stare into the abyss for a minute.

We found a hotel— barely — in a Lisbon suddenly overrun with Taylor Swift fans, the city hosting the opening nights of her Eras Tour European leg. We booked four nights. We stayed nearly a month.

Eventually, we landed back at Martinhal Lisbon Oriente (where we had just come from) — which, in hindsight, was exactly where we needed to be. Family-friendly without feeling chaotic, apartment-style living that made the days feel manageable, and a built-in rhythm that gave structure to what could have easily felt like limbo.

We built a little life there, temporarily. Grocery runs. Kitchenette dinners. Work calls on a tiny emergency laptop with a Portuguese keyboard (I had left mine at home in an ambitious attempt to “unplug”-- all so crazy you have to laugh). We split shifts — parenting, then work — syncing New York hours from Lisbon.

On weekends, we tried to make it feel like travel again. Flea markets, long walks, small discoveries— the kind of slow, local wandering you don’t usually get on a shorter trip.

At the embassy, over a week later, we were told: you did nothing wrong. He should have been allowed on that plane.

We paid $600 for a temporary fix anyway. It lasted three weeks. Of course it did.

Insurance didn’t cover it. The extra time cost us thousands.

And still— there are worse places to be stuck.

We got to know the hotel staff. Became friends with the GM. Mornings meant sunshine, fresh orange juice, long swims, croissants, and a toddler who quickly became everyone’s favorite regular and nearly perfected her “bom dia.”

It wasn’t the trip we planned—but we did, eventually, make it home. And it ended up being something better: a reminder that the version of travel you imagine is almost never the one you get. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, the one you get is messier, longer, more expensive—and infinitely more memorable.

We got back on a plane six months later— this time to Scotland, my husband’s home — and everything was fine. A scare wasn’t going to keep us from going.

If anything, it reinforced what I already believe: travel makes us better— more tolerant, more empathetic, more aware of how much we actually share— in kindness, in chaos, and in how rarely things go to plan.

A Dish: Last week we made a couple pans of sfincione/ Sicilian-style focaccia while my in-laws were visiting from Scotland. I let the dough do a long rise and refrigerate overnight, and it really impacts the flavor and texture.

A Look: I recently sourced this awesome little red vintage silk embroidered jacket, and she came with me to Cannes last week/ aboard the new Orient Express Corinthian— the world’s largest sailing yacht. I love her.

A Trip: The new Orient Express Corinthian was an official partner of the Cannes Film Festival, and it was such an honor to be whisked away for a couple of days to celebrate her launch with my team.

With just 54 suites aboard— ranging from 500 to more than 2,000 square feet— the yacht feels both intimate and impossibly grand. There’s a fabulous oyster bar where you can sit as the sea laps by, The Wagon Bar (an Art Deco nod to the original Orient Express), and a library curated in partnership with Galignani, one of the oldest and most celebrated bookstores in Europe.

Every detail reflects the vision of Maxime d’Angeac, Creative Director and designer/architect behind both Corinthian and L’Orient Express— the legendary train currently being restored and reimagined ahead of its debut next year. She’s really something.

A Take: This past year, I’ve been lucky enough to score and uncover some really special vintage linens. One collection I came across had been lovingly cared for under the direction of an older Italian woman who had every piece— from sheets to tablecloths— air-dried, pressed, and perfectly starched.

Knowing I’d be back in Sicily this summer, I gravitated toward all the soft blues, hoping to turn a few into easy day dresses to wear by the sea. This simple tank dress ended up being my favorite.

Thanks for reading x

What Maxime has done is nothing short of extraordinary. When the trains were rediscovered about a decade ago—on the border of Belarus and Poland—it was actually a student researching trains for his dissertation who first spotted the unmistakable Orient Express blue and crest. Since then, they’ve been meticulously brought back to life, with a decade-long effort to restore, reinterpret, and modernize them for a new era of travel.

During the 1920s, these trains were essentially moving showcases of French decorative arts—each carriage layered with extraordinary craftsmanship and commissioned works. René Lalique created luminous glass wall panels—pressed and molded on silver leaf—featuring blackbirds weaving through grapevines, their forms catching and diffusing light with an almost cinematic softness. These weren’t just decorative elements; they were designed to create atmosphere, to animate the space as the train moved, shifting with the light throughout the journey.

The sleeping cars—known as the “Lx” cars, with “Lx” standing for luxe—were among the most prestigious of their time. Designed with remarkable ingenuity, each compartment transformed from a sitting room by day into a bedroom by night, some connecting to form suite-style cabins. French designer René Prou gave each one a distinct identity, using lacquer, rare woods, and stylized floral motifs to create richly layered, color-driven interiors. Even the new modern headboards are feats of artistry—crafted in intricate wood marquetry so delicate it reads almost like embroidery, each one requiring more than 100 hours of work by French artisans to complete. The cabin I toured felt intentional, intimate, and deeply transportive.

What struck me most is how much of that original philosophy remains intact in the reimagining today. This isn’t nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake—it’s a continuation of a design language where travel is immersive, cinematic, and deeply sensory. The new Orient Express doesn’t just reference its past; it honors it, down to the smallest detail, while quietly redefining what modern luxury travel can feel like.

A Dish: The dinner I made last week triggered some memories. When I was a waitress in Bergen County, New Jersey in the early 2000s, a cook named Carlos made me the same meal almost every shift: a grilled chicken breast with great Sicilian olive oil, oregano, and sea salt, alongside a heaping portion of broccoli rabe smothered in garlic and Calabrian chili flakes.

I wore all black—flared stretchy yoga pants (very of the moment), a black tank with a built-in bra, and a black James Perse or C&C California tee layered on top, and of course, a three-pocket waitress apron. Arcade Fire looped through my shifts while wealthy suburbanites played at being in Italy—stumbling through the pronunciation of regional dishes from Campania, but not really wanting to be corrected.

It was an early education in restraint and grace.

When people asked about my future—I was 20—I’d say I was applying for jobs in Manhattan, which was true. They’d give me that look: sure, hun… but I’d get comfortable here.

Behind the bar sat stacks of Mario Batali cookbooks—he was the guy at the time—filled with scribbled notes from the owner, a 38-year-old Italian American chef who had come up through Peter Luger Steak House. There were travel guides and La Cucina Italiana magazines tucked everywhere. I felt at home here.

My family owned an Italian coffee shop then—that’s how I got the job. My dad had come in to train the staff on the hulking, whistling espresso machine—the kind responsible for so much of Italy’s acqua della vita. He had rules. A proper espresso should never be served with lemon—it means the coffee is bitter. You’d never see that in an Italian bar. And when a shot is pulled correctly, a spoonful of sugar dropped on top should sit on the crema for a good five to eight seconds before slipping under—plop—a small performance before the sweetness.

We were all over-caffeinated—among other things. We moved fast. And when dinner service hit, the room would tighten with energy—thick, electric, a cloud of nerves and expectation. Nothing could have prepared me better for nearly 20 years in PR and client service.

North Jersey is already a kind of nerve bath, but this place? It was its own high.

One night, early in a dinner rush, I was serving salads and starters to a table of fairly drunk fifty-somethings when a drop of olive oil landed on a man’s pants—near his crotch. It was tiny, maybe a quarter the size of a dime, but he went off. His wife told me to “wipe it off”—myself.

I froze. Apologized. Said I’d grab sparkling water, thinking it might lift the stain.

When I got back to the kitchen, Joe—the owner and chef—clocked my face immediately. I told him I was fine. He didn’t buy it. He pressed. I gave him the quick version and kept moving.

But he followed me back out.

I could feel him behind me as I approached the table, ready to comp something, smooth it over, take it on the chin. Before I could say a word, Joe stepped in.

“I heard there was a spill.”

The man took it as an invitation—threw a few more choice words my way, laughing, assuming Joe was on his side.

Joe stood there in his whites, and I watched the shift happen—that familiar flicker from intensity to something sharper. Before the guy could land another shot, Joe cut him off:

“Get the fuck out of my restaurant. Now.”

Silence.

They stared at him like he was speaking another language. Then at each other.

He said it again. “Now.”

And he made sure they left.

The room paused—then clapped, then laughed—and just like that, we all went back to it.

A Take: I’ve fully leaned back into tangible/ physical picture frames over here— nothing beats them glimmering in the spring sunshine.

A Piece: I found this sweet little nonna-core blue vintage skirted chair last week—she's impeccably made, and I adore her.

A Look: With Sicily just weeks away, I’m looking forward to wearing this sweet little lace tube top I sewed from two vintage lace tablecloths.

A Place: Back home and continuing the Nonna-core thread—let’s take a moment to celebrate Fiore’s in Hoboken. This small, unassuming deli has been turning out handmade mozzarella and simple, specialty sandwiches since 1913. On Tuesdays and Saturdays, they serve their famous roast beef and mozzarella with gravy, but my go-to is the imported prosciutto with homemade mozzarella and spicy cherry peppers. Nothing else.

Happy almost May everyone x

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There’s something deeply calming about losing yourself in a creative project — where nothing else matters except what’s in front of you, and you get to watch something new blossom before your eyes. A toile tie shirt and bandana set, a vintage crochet tote, and a repurposed Frame cashmere sweater that a moth sadly found first, I reimagined a few sweet pieces for Matilda with our May/June trip to Sicily in mind.

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I sewed these the weekend we returned from Scotland in late January, and this weekend finished a few new pieces— including this summer set, this little vintage lace tube top, and this embroidered vintage duvet-cover I turned into a dress.

A Trip: It felt almost balmy during the nine days we spent settling into Edinburgh and Oban— temperatures somewhere between 40 and 47 degrees Fahrenheit. It was easy to wander and simply enjoy. The rain (and it does rain quite a bit) doesn’t really deter us. We travel well equipped, with Matilda’s stroller and rain cover always at the ready.

We love Edinburgh. It was my husband’s home for fourteen years, and after fourteen years of visiting, it feels a tiny bit like mine too. He’s taught me the shortcuts and wandering routes — the way the whole city connects, its pulse alive with the energy of Edinburgh University and the bustle of Princes Street, balanced by the residential rhythms of neighborhoods like Bruntsfield and Stockbridge.

We spent time catching up with family before heading west to visit my in-laws. This was Matilda’s fourth visit to Scotland in her two and a half years, and the familiarity she feels on that side of the Atlantic makes me so happy. With the intensity of America, I find comfort in knowing she’ll always have a second home that moves at a more intentional pace.

And the chat— the easy, constant communication woven so naturally into Scottish culture. It comes effortlessly for so many, and I just love being swept up in it.

A Look: I picked up this little handmade vintage quilted jacket a few weeks back, and I’m a big fan of the red piping and wooden toggles. I have a feeling she’ll be a strong spring staple once we get through this snow.

A Dish: You guys, I love black pudding. On a warm roll with a fried egg? Magic. It’s something I only have a few times a year (which makes it feel indulgent), and I like to remind myself that it comes with a few redeeming qualities.

Black pudding is surprisingly rich in iron (thanks to its blood content), which supports healthy red blood cells and energy levels. It’s also high in protein, making it really satisfying, and it contains zinc and potassium — nutrients that support immune function and muscle health. Traditional versions are relatively low in carbs, too.

It’s certainly not something I’d eat every day, but enjoyed occasionally, it feels less like a guilty pleasure and more like a deeply rooted, nutrient-dense tradition— hearty, savory, and very Scottish.

A Time: One afternoon when M was working, Matilda and I wandered over to one of our favorite spots in Edinburgh — the National Portrait Gallery. I’m always drawn to this portrait of Willa Muir, and as I’ve begun learning more about her, I understand why my instincts pointed me in her direction. She lived quite a life.

Willa Muir was a novelist, essayist, translator, and formidable intellectual at a time when women were rarely afforded that space. Born in Montrose in 1890, she spent much of her life between Scotland and continental Europe, translating the work of Franz Kafka into English alongside her husband, Edwin Muir— translations that helped introduce Kafka to the English-speaking world. Yet for years, her own ambitions were overshadowed by his reputation. Only later did her journals and autobiographical writing reveal the sharpness of her mind, her wit, and the frustration she felt at the constraints she faced— by marriage, society, and the expectations of that era.

There is something steady in her gaze that reminds me of so many Scottish women— intelligent, independent, incredibly strong. She wrote candidly about the tension between partnership and independence. I have deep respect for women who insisted on thinking and writing and translating (in her case) the world even when it asked them to be smaller. There are so many. She wrestled openly with what it meant to be a woman with a mind and a voice — and kept going anyway.

Thanks for reading x

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Last night we watched an old episode where Jennifer Lawrence expressed her disdain for New Year’s Eve (and ironically forgetting that the episode she was on was the NYE special). For her, it was about the pressure, the forced fun, everyone chasing a good time.

I used to fully agree with her, which was tricky considering I’m married to a Scottish person. Hogmanay (New Year’s Eve) in Scotland is a very big deal—arguably just as important as Christmas. It’s about family time, ample whisky, and traditions like first-footing: visiting neighbors’ and loved ones’ homes in the first hours of the new year, bringing gifts and drink to set the tone for a fresh start.

But over the last few years—especially since becoming a mom—I’ve grown to love it.

We’ve been spending the holiday with lovely friends, and because we all have little ones, we choose to celebrate the turn of the new year in Scotland… which conveniently happens at 7pm on the East Coast. We gather, chat, drink, and just enjoy each other’s company.

After Matilda fell asleep (and, as happens about 95% of the time, I drifted off too), I set my alarm for 11:45 so I could join my husband for a toast, a kiss, and some laughs with Andy Cohen and Anderson Cooper.

Casual. Not try-hard. Just lovely. That’s the kind of energy I want to channel into 2026.

A Dish: This morning I finished my last sesame braid. I had made a huge batch of ’s from her fabulous book Sicily, My Sweet. We kept plenty for ourselves, tucked away in a vintage Christmas tin perched on top of our fridge, and packed up gift bags for close friends and a few of our favorite local spots.

One of my favorite moments from this holiday season was Matilda asking if we could bring some to our favorite bodega around the corner. The woman who runs it has a young daughter whom Matilda has seen a few times at our local park, and they always exchange shy smiles—full of warmth and curiosity.

We tucked four cookies into small bags and had fun writing “Happy Holidays, love Matilda” on pieces of recycled cardstock. A few days later, when I ran in for eggs and juice, I realized I had one of the cookie bags with me, ready to gift.

When I paid and passed it across the counter, the proprietor looked so surprised that she just kept thanking me in Spanish, before coming around to give me the biggest hug.

I left completely welled up—full of Christmas spirit.

A Place: During this Christmas break, there was one rare day when Matilda had childcare and my husband and I were both off work. We spent it in the city on one of my favorite “tracks”: a seven-minute ferry ride across the water to Tribeca, followed by a walk up to Nolita and Elizabeth Street—where my family originally immigrated from Sicily. We popped into a few shops along the way, especially the restaurant supply stores on the Bowery, before stopping at Yonah Schimmel’s for a knish.

My dad recently reminded me that growing up in Queens, he would join his father on Christmas Eve mornings to pick up a tray of knishes for the antipasto table during the Feast of the Seven Fishes. The memory felt like such a sharp reminder of Italian American and New York City culture, which made for a natural transition to what we did next: a visit to my favorite small city museum, the Tenement Museum on Orchard Street.

I’ve been many times, but this Christmas my husband gifted me tickets to their immigrant women exhibit and tour, featuring the story of Jennie Levine and other working matriarchs of 97 Orchard Street in the early 1900s. Jennie Levine was a Jewish immigrant who arrived in New York in 1890 with her husband, Harris. They lived with their children in a cramped three-room tenement apartment and, like many immigrant families, turned their home into a place of work. Harris ran a small garment workshop out of the front room, while Jennie managed the household—cooking, cleaning, caring for children, and even giving birth in the apartment—under incredibly difficult conditions.

Her story, told through the Tenement Museum tour, illustrates the resilience of immigrant families and how home, work, and family life were deeply intertwined in turn-of-the-century New York. I love knowing that at the very same time, my own family was right around the corner on Elizabeth Street—cultures overlapping and colliding, just a few blocks apart. We appropriately finished the day at Milano’s Bar on East Houston, where my uncle Leonardo worked in the late 60s/ early 70s.

A Look: This vintage hand-knit sweater and deep green dress—my go-to holiday combo. The next photo is the same look, reinterpreted as conference bag lady in Cannes in early December. I stopped into Galeries Lafayette for tights during a break and kept my badge on, because nothing says “effortlessly local” quite like conference credentials.

A Trip: We leave for Scotland in a couple of weeks, and I’m really looking forward to being there in the quiet depths of winter. Have you been to Edinburgh? After visiting year after year, I love hearing new spots and whats resonating with locals and visitors alike.

A Take: Back in 2020, when Covid hit and the global travel industry nearly collapsed, we had to furlough half my team and reduce my own role to 50% as well. Like so many people at the time, I was desperate for a creative outlet beyond cooking (which has always been my default).

A vintage lover since youth, I suddenly had time to further curate my collection. I started a small Instagram shop to share my finds with local residents of Jersey City, NYC, and Brooklyn. It helped bring in some additional income, but more importantly, it created this wonderful little community of nostalgic people who loved vintage—and sourcing pieces with a story for their homes—as much as I did.

That little shop is actually what led me here. Over time, it’s morphed from a storefront into this Substack.

As the new year inspires reflection (and fresh energy), I’m starting to build some vintage collections again. If you’re ever keen on sourcing something special, feel free to follow along on Instagram at @aisforarticulate. I'm going to do my best to post over the next few months.

In that spirit— from a late 1800s Victorian Collingnon Deck Chair to an 1930s Art Nouveau mirror, and signed 1960s nude sketch, here are a few pieces I’ve really loved over the years.

A Piece: Years ago I sourced these little brass shoes for my daughters nursery, and recently learned they’re actually Victorian match holders from the late 19th century that used to be mounted next to a hearth. I will now be keeping them forever.

Thanks for reading and Happy New Year x

Lately, I’ve been daydreaming about our future home: wide, bright windows; light that fills the rooms; sun-warmed patches on the floor for a dog and cat; shelves lined with books and things that actually feel like us. A place that can hold the people and pieces of our lives, near and far.

So I’ve been spending an unreasonable amount of time on Trulia (NJ) and Rightmove (UK), scrolling through homes in transition—spaces outgrown and waiting for their next chapter. In Edinburgh, I’m always drawn to Georgian windows, fireplaces, creaky floors, and shared gardens with old stone walls where we could carve out a little plot. Our place hasn’t found us yet; we’re still in the “not yet” phase.

For now, we’re here in a home along the park, watching the days shift from light to dark. The floors creak, our baby first squeaked, and it’s a genuinely special spot.

While savoring this chapter, I still think about what’s ahead—so for now, here are five warming spaces that recently caught my eye:

A Thing: Speaking of homes, for a lucky few the word takes on a grander meaning: a family hotel with history in its bones. During a recent meeting with an interiors magazine editor, I was there with a longtime client — the fifth-generation owner of the Grand Hotel Excelsior Vittoria — sharing the story behind the salon’s extraordinary set of armchairs, positioned to catch the long sweep of Mediterranean light as it pours in over the Bay of Naples.

These early-20th-century pieces are the work of Ernesto Basile, the Sicilian architect who helped define Italy’s Liberty Style. Their carved crest rails, woven panels, and quietly architectural lines reflect Basile’s ability to fuse elegance with ease (refined yet entirely at home in a lived-in space).

Their provenance makes them even more compelling. Years ago, my client’s mother bid on the full collection at auction. She secured several, but not all; the Musée d’Orsay in Paris ultimately acquired the remaining pieces for its decorative arts collection.

The rest — the ones she did manage to bring home — now live here in Sorrento, scattered throughout the salon where sunlight and sea air do what museums cannot.

You can definitely admire their counterparts behind glass in Paris, of course — or you can settle into one here, beneath soaring windows, as I greatly prefer. :)

A Look: I’m loving the return of riding boots (although they’re always in style in my opinion). Here’s a pair of early 2000s Stuart Weitzmans that are seeing me through fall.

A Take: Cookie season is officially here, and I love that for all of us. Some of my favorites are these simple little biscottini with marmellata. We’re most prone to raspberry in this house. Not too sweet and Matilda loved helping prep the dough.

A Dish: When the chill sets in, Ribollita and homemade, warm Scottish rolls always do the trick.

A Thing: I still love my 1800s Globe Wernicke Filing Cabinets I repurposed as a dresser back in 2020.

A Place: We spent my birthday with an early bowling session at Chelsea Piers (so fun), then wandered down to the West Village where Tild fell asleep in my arms. She’s getting so big I know that window is closing, so I’m soaking up every ounce while I can. We also stopped at Anton’s, where their pasta lunch specials are always a favorite.

Thx for reading x

Once we hit April and start curving toward the right side of the circle, a different kind of fun begins— spring and summer wardrobes, long sunny days, afternoons at our family pool, my mom’s garden in bloom, and long bike rides to friends’ houses. Summer breaks were filled with freedom and fun.

Adulthood has, in many ways, mirrored that childhood rhythm. We do most of our traveling on the left side of the year (from fall through late spring), and then linger through languid summers and early fall in the city. It’s our time to recover, to breathe, and to brace for the intensity of New York’s perpetual “back to work” energy.

It’s not just a New York thing, though— I work with so many French and Italians that maybe the “rientro” mindset has seeped into me too. Since the first week of September, the month has felt like a bit of a battering— hence my lag here on Substack. I’ve officially curved back into the intense side of the year, but I’m also finding the pleasure in it again.

We’re planning travel, setting goals, celebrating birthdays, uncovering new experiences— and also, intentionally, planning nothing at all. Balance remains the pillar I keep trying to find my way back to.

A Trip: Speaking of places we’re planning to visit (or revisit) this year— we’re in the midst of plotting our annual return to Edinburgh and the West Coast of Scotland. It’s our chance to see family and bathe our souls in the freshness of ol’ Scotia: the best tap water in the world, crisp frosted mornings, and long wanders through the Royal Botanic Gardens— one of my favorite places on earth.

Letting my mind drift back to our home away from home always fills me with such a calm sense of content. Here are five photos that do the same.

A Place: What’s your favorite NYC spot for a meeting? Mine is Keens. I love how old-school it is— and after almost twenty years of working with travel and lifestyle editors, I’ve found they appreciate its staying power just as much as I do. There’s really nothing else like it left in Midtown.

For years, I worked in NoMad, and a couple of years ago (post Covid), we moved up to 37th Street. It’s a super easy commute from Jersey City, but I missed our old neighborhood, and the calm of Madison Square Park compared to Bryant Park (and that constant reminder that the chaos of Times Square was just a few blocks away).

Still, the move came with a small gift: Keens. Along with the Morgan Library, it quickly became a favorite local escape — perfect for a client lunch, a cozy dinner, or a martini and fries at the bar with a friend.

Keens is a special place— it’s been around since 1885, steeped in history and stories. In 1905, actress Lillie Langtry famously became the first woman allowed to dine there, breaking the restaurant’s men-only tradition. Somehow, you can still feel that history in the air — a rare blend of old New York grit and timeless charm. I will forever love the collected and historic pipes on the ceiling.

A Thing: When’s the last time I celebrated my favorite chair in the world, photographed here in Noto, Sicily? I love her.

A Look: It’s been almost six months since I started teaching myself to sew, and I’ve finally made some real progress. Thinking ahead to summer in Italy, I stitched together two pieces I plan to wear there next year — a sweet dress made from my grandmother’s antique cotton pillowcases (which, I later learned, were actually my great-grandmother’s from Sicily — thankfully my mom waited to tell me that until after I’d cut into them!), and a little top fashioned from two vintage lace placemats. Maybe it’s the promise of Sicilian sun or the quiet satisfaction of creating something by hand, but if it’s stitched from something with a story, I’m already wrapped in a little joy.

A Dish: I’m so glad it’s October and I can officially kick off warming pasta season. Let’s be honest — I’m always making pasta for Matilda (it’s my favorite way to get her to eat her veggies), but there’s something especially comforting about a Sunday sauce bubbling away all day.

This week we had two iterations: first, a somewhat classic pasta e ceci — a creamy chickpea pasta with pecorino and rosemary that’s so good it almost feels like mac and cheese. The second — maybe because I’m on a little sun-dried tomato kick — was an amatriciana-inspired sugo with sun-dried tomatoes, onions, fried oregano from my mom’s garden and pancetta. Both were solid, cozy hits.

An Experience: As swim season comes to a close here in Jersey and NYC, maybe some indoor pools are making their way onto your radar (they’re always on mine). If so, I highly recommend adding the Four Seasons Philadelphia to your list. I was there for work a couple of weeks ago and had the pleasure of indulging in a morning swim before meetings— and truly, there’s no other urban pool around here quite like it.

Thanks for reading x

I picked up a pristine 1958 Singer from a nonna in New Jersey who worked at an upholstery shop in Garfield in the early ’60s. The machine was in immaculate condition, and I’ve been practicing since June. While I still have everything to learn, I think I’ve managed to create my first three wearable pieces: a matching set for my daughter, a sweet little summer dress, and a shell top reimagined from hand-embroidered linens. They truly don’t make them like they used to. And since Matilda is half Scottish, those Westies were just begging to be transformed into this cute wee set.

Learning a new skill as an adult is humbling, to say the least. Any fellow creatives ever get such tunnel vision—so completely focused on the thing—that everything else fades into the background, and suddenly you’re in a full-blown rabbit hole? It’s both a blessing and a curse. But sewing has turned out to be surprisingly therapeutic for me, putting me into a meditative state much like cooking does. The more creative outlets I discover as I get older, the more convinced I am they’re the secret to staying healthy—body and mind. Art therapy, baby.

A Dish: I refuse to believe we’re on our last leg of summer, so I’m leaning into warm-weather salads. Here are two I’ve made and enjoyed in August. The first: an iteration of a caprese I made with fresh peaches, Jersey heirlooms, fresh mozzarella, Sicilian sea salt, and extra virgin olive oil I hauled home from Italy. She was a delight. The second, a favorite: a super briney tuna salad with red wine vinegar, olive oil, capers, cornichons, cherry tomatoes and herbs from my mom’s garden. Eaten poolside with crispy crackers will forever be my favorite way to enjoy.

A Look: I just converted this antique art deco beaded necklace into a bracelet. I love her.

A Place: Next year, we’ll spend a couple of golden weeks back in Southern Italy and Sicily, this time with my in-laws in tow. I’ve mapped it out far earlier than I usually do—but here’s my little secret: holding onto the vision of a place you love can be the lifeline that pulls you through the darker, drearier months.

My plan is simple: hit the local market days, stay seaside as long as possible, swim every day with my daughter, drink plenty of macchiati, and savor almond and pistachio granita until my heart is content. Here are five images from recent visits that feel quintessentially Sicilian and have me excited to dive into planning. There’s something about Sicily’s palette that soothes my nervous system—it’s as if, everywhere you turn, the sand is meeting the sea.

A Thing: I first came across Il Folklore Siciliano a few summers ago on Favignana. The cover stopped me in my tracks—an old man in the shade, a barefoot kiddo in the sun, bottles dangling overhead like benevolent charms.

Written by Giuseppe Cocchiara, one of Sicily’s most beloved folklorists, it’s a beautiful, almost cinematic portrait of the island’s traditions—equal parts history, superstition, love stories, and everyday magic. You get the sense Cocchiara wasn’t just documenting these customs; he was quietly keeping them alive.

Inside, you meet a Sicily where a sprig of basil on a windowsill isn’t just decoration—it’s an unspoken “I’m interested” to a local crush. Where the wrong compliment, given without touching wood or making the sign of the horns, risks drawing down the malocchio (the evil eye) and a string of bad luck. And where small acts—tying a red ribbon to a baby’s crib, whispering a prayer before kneading bread—are everyday shields against illness or misfortune.

It’s not a dry anthropology text—it’s the kind of book you want to read slowly, which perfectly matches life on Favignana. The way you’d listen to a grandparent telling stories at the kitchen table, pausing to sip coffee and let the details sink in. Here are a few I particularly loved:

Luck in Olive Oil: Spill a drop while pouring? In some Sicilian kitchens, that’s considered a blessing—proof your home will never want for food.

Basil & the Balcony: A pot of basil placed just so on a balcony could signal to a shy neighbor that the girl inside might be open to courtship.

The Prayer Against Envy: To ward off the malocchio, some women would murmur a short incantation into olive oil and water, watching for the oil to bead—if it spread, the curse had “taken,” and the prayer was repeated until it beaded again.

A Trip: You know what’s good for the soul of toddler parents? Uninterrupted time together. Last week, my husband and I snuck away for a one-night midweek staycation at The Greenwich Hotel—and it was just what we needed. He’d won the stay at a recent event, and thanks to my lovely parents being nearby to provide childcare, we were able to slip away for the evening.

We lingered over steak frites and martinis at The Odeon, then wandered over to Swifts for some live music. I read my book and the NYT style section. Took a swim in their dreamy indoor pool. Sipped drinks in the private courtyard where Jon Hamm was casually enjoying a spritz (and being very nice to the staff—love to see it). But most importantly, I had a real date with the guy I love so much. That kind of QT feels rare these days, so it was truly cherished.

The Greenwich is special—a place I frequent, though never for an overnight (until now, and what a treat). It’s an icon for a reason. With its perfect Tribeca location—an easy walk and quick ferry ride from our home in Jersey City—and ownership by Robert De Niro, it even feels a bit neighborly to this Jersey girl. Fun new fact I loved learning: the mirrored glass in the drawing room was salvaged from the original Flatiron Building.

Thanks for reading and hope everyone has a great week x

Yes, I was on the clock, but there was so much to love: the slow rhythm of train life, sinking into the cabin with a book; the romance of “dressing for the train”—the bar car with live music, the white-tablecloth dining car, the immaculately dressed staff. It was cinematic. And memorable. One of those experiences I’ll keep telling stories about.

Arriving in Venice in the golden light of late afternoon, stepping off the train directly onto a boat, and gliding down the Grand Canal. In all my years of visiting Italy, I’d always saved Venice—telling myself, I’ll go when I can really do it right. Sixteen years later, albeit only for a few hours and a bit sweaty, it was worth the wait. As I turned to my colleague and quietly said, “Questo è il mio primo tempo a Venezia,” she pulled off her sunglasses and gasped, “Ma no!!” I nearly welled up, catching the shimmer of the water beside us. I then went to Harry’s and bathed my emotional soul in Bellinis and far too much mantecato. That night we returned to the train at 10:30pm for live music and drinks, and as passengers fell asleep, the train made its way to Liguria and we woke up with views of the Italian Riviera before spending the day on the water. Two nights aboard, but packed with a slow approach to some of Italy’s most celebrated experiences. Not something I’d likely ever experience if it wasn’t for work— so I’m so grateful to have had the opportunity.

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A Place: I never knew much about Fortuny, but I’d heard whispers of the museum—how it draws in creatives from all over. After visiting, I get it. The place is pure magic, overflowing with inspiration. Textiles drape every surface, and every corner seems to call out: Thought my talent stopped at designing the Delphos dress? Think again—Photography? Sculpture? Painting? It felt like stepping into a dream—part fantasy art studio, part opium den—where wild, brilliant minds once poured themselves into their work like a form of therapy. Reminders that I was in the home of an artist, everywhere. Anyway, I loved it. I really did.

More about Mariano Fortuny: Mariano Fortuny was born in the late 1800s in Spain, a Venice-based artist, inventor, and designer whose work really defied categorization. A true Renaissance figure, Fortuny moved fluidly between painting, photography, textile design, and theatrical lighting. He is probably best known for creating the iconic Delphos gown—a pleated silk dress inspired by ancient Greek sculpture, revolutionary in its time for its fluidity and sensuality. His home and studio, now the Palazzo Fortuny museum I describe, remains a layered, dreamlike space where his many disciplines overlap—offering a rare glimpse into the mind of a creative who really saw no limits between art forms. If you’re going to Venice, I highly recommend visiting.

A Look: After spending two days aboard this luxurious train, I needed to ground myself a bit so decided to do what I love to do when I’m visiting any city: find a local flea market— so I walked from Orient Express La Minerva to Testaccio and then over to Porta Portese. I hadn’t been before. I was about halfway through the market when I decided it may have been a massive waste of time— I love a market— but this wasn’t bringing the magic for me— until I stumbled on this little corner. Sandwiched between cheap electronics and 1€ underwear, I found Federica, a seamstress who was repurposing heritage linens and selling some vintage house dresses. She made the trek worth it. I told her in my broken Italian that I had recently purchased a sewing machine, and she encouraged me to spend time on YouTube and if these styles fit, to use them as a guide for my own creations. I’m still figuring that all out— but I’m so glad I found her and scooped up these special pieces. The shorts! I love them. €40.

A Dish: There’ve been a few moments in my adult life when I’ve found myself alone in Rome. Last year, I think I wrote about a quick solo lunch at La Taverna dei Fori Imperiali—which was wonderful. This time, I ended up at Ristorante Fortunato, just beside the Pantheon and around the corner from my hotel, for a 9 p.m. dinner al fresco. I read a magazine cover to cover and devoured a giant bowl of amatriciana. Real nice.

A Thing: A week before leaving, I finally found the sewing machine I’d been quietly manifesting all year. My mom sews, and I’ve been wanting to start making clothes and accessories for Matilda—and to finally be able to fix or tailor some of my own pieces. I came across a 1958 seafoam green Singer and spent the weekend teaching myself how to thread her and do some simple patchwork. I have everything to learn, but I’m eager—and fully prepared to live on YouTube, thanks to Federica’s pointed advice.

The machine had belonged to an older Italian woman who’d kept it in pristine condition, with every little accoutrement neatly organized. Tucked inside was a small card showing she once worked at an upholstery shop in Garfield, NJ in the 1960s—complete with the old-school telephone number format. A tiny time capsule.

A Vibe: Speaking of thrifting— a moment to appreciate one of my all-time favorites: this 1940s gilded wooden birth of Venus.

A Vibe: Because Venus inspires a certain palette— here are a few shots of Rome while I was wandering its ancient streets, missing my husband and daughter, and distracting myself with its never-ending beauty.

Thanks for reading and have a great weekend x

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A Trip: I’d actually been to Liguria once before, back in my early twenties. I was staying in Arezzo for a month and decided to tack on a quick trip to Cinque Terre. This was pre-iPhones (well having one personally), no train WiFi—just printed guidebooks and that “let’s see what happens” kind of energy. My friend and I took a 3.5-hour train from Arezzo to La Spezia as our jumping-off point for the coast (we made it to Vernazza and Monterosso al Mare).

I remember La Spezia feeling a little rough around the edges. We were 22, broke, and staying in a tiny B&B we found last minute. I vividly remember the bus ride—some guys had loose needles sticking out of their pockets, and the whole thing felt...off. We didn’t really feel comfortable venturing out that night, so we ended up hunkering down in the restaurant of our B&B. Two bottles of local red wine later, we were asleep in front of an Italian music video channel playing La Roux on repeat. Very 2009.

The next day, we hiked, swam, and then caught the train back to Arezzo. The whole thing lasted maybe 20 hours—but it was the kind of impulsive, slightly chaotic (albeit worth it) trip you only take in your early twenties.

Fast-forward 15+ years, and this time around felt entirely different. Slower. More thoughtful. Camogli (and San Fruttuoso) in particular, really hit the mark. Portofino is beautiful, but a bit too polished for me—I tend to love the places just beyond the spotlight. When everyone was flocking to Como, we followed a quieter pull to Garda. Camogli felt like that kind of alternative—same incredible coastline, but with a soul that felt deeply Italian.

We stayed just above the main village, in a home with unreal views of the water. You could hike down to the beach (and hats off to anyone who does with a toddler), but with a two-year-old in tow, we quickly made peace with the nine-minute drive. And the food…wow. Liguria is famous for its focaccia, and we did our due diligence. The pizza-style focaccia at Revello in town was amazing, but the real standout was the impossibly thin, stuffed focaccia from Bar Nico—just steps from where we stayed. Filled with Taleggio and paired with a chilled glass of Vermentino? Pretty close to perfect.

A Dish: On the subject of food— we were happily leaning into being in pesto country. Eaten with the lapping sea beside us, this was my favorite iteration.

A Look: This vintage silk Etro men’s shirt was put to good use at the beach.

A Souvenir: Here are a few of the littles I carted home this trip:

• A personalized comb for Matilda from Buly

• Two vintage ribbon bracelets and loose beads I scooped from Madame Pauline Vintage

• Roberts Rosewater Tonic (a long-time Italian grocery store favorite)

• Venus day cream (I love the smell)

• Erbolario Verbena (one of my favorite scents, Hedera, has been discontinued, and needed something fresh smelling— this did the trick).

• Acqua di Parma hand cream

• Giglio di mare perfume oil

A Place: While my body and brain crave calm on vacation, I always end up laughing at myself—because no matter how relaxed I try to be, I’m a city person at heart. By the end of our time in Camogli, I found myself wishing for a couple more slow days by the sea. So, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to our last stop in Milan—it felt more like a layover before our early Saturday flight than anything else.

But as it turned out, Milan was a lovely way to close out the trip—and ended up sparking more inspiration than I’d expected. We stayed in Brera, a great corner of the city. It’s lively but still feels elegant and local, full of galleries, wine bars, and design shops tucked behind quiet courtyards. Matilda loved running around the Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera, in particular its gorgeous botanic gardens.

Knowing exactly the kind of thing that makes my ears perk up, my husband suggested we visit Villa Necchi Campiglio, and I’m so glad he did. It’s tucked away on a peaceful street in central Milan, and offers a fascinating glimpse into the lives of one of Milan’s wealthiest families in the 1930s. Built for the Necchi sisters, the home was incredibly ahead of its time—with Milan’s first private heated swimming pool, a tennis court, and even an elevator. The family regularly hosted royals and aristocrats, including Prince Heinrich of Hesse and Princess Maria Gabriella of Savoy.

Inside, everything is really beautifully preserved. The clean-lined modernist interiors, the marble bathrooms (which feel more like spa sanctuaries than something from the 1930s— I was obsessed), and the light-filled spaces are just stunning. One of the most memorable was the walk-in closet, redesigned after WWII by architect Tomaso Buzzi. It still holds original Hermès, Gucci, and Dior pieces—monogrammed scarves, structured handbags, tailored coats—a surprisingly intimate peek into the family's personal style.

Now open to the public thanks to FAI, the villa is a peaceful, thoughtfully curated window into Milanese history—and in my opinion, well worth a visit if you're in the city. Loved it.

I’ll need to do a separate little piece on itinerary specifics, but thanks for letting me wander back to this slice of Italy before Monday kicks into high gear. I hope anyone reading this has a great week x

It feels wonderful to be back in Italy with my husband and daughter—the last time we were here together, I was pregnant with Matilda. To see her soaking in the culture and adapting so naturally brings me a lot of joy. Traveling with a toddler in this part of the world is very special. It's not always perfect (nothing is when traveling with little ones), but the people and culture have a way of softening the edges and simplifying things.

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Yesterday, on a pre-nap walk, Matilda got a little fussy. When I asked what she needed, she firmly replied, “Juice.” We popped into a little café-bar, and I asked the woman behind the counter if they had any. “Ma certo,” she said—and within moments, she’d hand-squeezed two oranges into a glass. I slid two euro coins across the counter and that was that. Moments like these—staff handing over stickers or toys, always offering a high chair, always making room—are what make this corner of the world feel so welcoming. If we’re invited, she’s invited. I love that she’s being gently exposed to new spaces, voices, and cultures so early on.

A Trip: We flew into Milan and then took a private transfer north to Lake Garda — a two-hour drive—to visit the incredible Grand Hotel Fasano, which sits right on the edge of Italy’s largest lake. It’s a truly stunning property. There’s something about that lake glisten—it can easily convert even the most die-hard ocean lovers.

I had an unforgettable swim in its cool, shimmering waters, and Matilda made fast friends with the mallard ducks wandering the manicured lawns. The hotel, once a royal hunting lodge for the Habsburgs, is now run by the sixth generation of the same family. It boasts three restaurants, including one with a Michelin star. Dining there was such a treat. I loved two regional classics—Vitello Tonnato and Piccione—and the team kindly whipped up simple pastas for Matilda: pomodoro, bolognese, or just butter and Parmesan. I like to think she’s loyal to my cooking, but let’s just say she started to question her allegiances on this visit.

A Place: Il Vittoriale degli Italiani was an unforgettable stop just a few (very steep) steps from the Grand Hotel Fasano. Though the villa interiors were closed during our visit, we had the chance to explore the sprawling historic gardens—an eccentric, theatrical estate that once belonged to the poet, soldier, and provocateur Gabriele D’Annunzio. The grounds are filled with unexpected treasures: a stone amphitheater overlooking Lake Garda, a real warship embedded into the hillside, and fragrant citrus trees lining dramatic stairways. Tild got to experience her very first waterfall—a secret little cascade tucked into the greens of the garden path.

A Dish: Before we left, we celebrated two years of Matilda and I made her a cassata that took nearly as long. I started this tradition last year when I was planning her first birthday cake. I’ve always wanted to make a cassata but was too intimidated. I loved that I could control the sweetness and that ricotta is chock full of protein so it felt like a good decision for her first bite of birthday cake. This year I was a bit more confident with the homemade marzipan and even did a little hand-drawn M. We christened it in the park amongst some close friends and family.

A Thing: I’m an avid vintage hotel ashtray collector. I have nearly 30– from The Ritz Paris to Le Fouqets, to smaller hideaways across Italy, Spain, France and beyond. I started collecting them years ago when first exposed at an estate sale. I was at the home of this amazing couple that had clearly traveled the world in the 60s and 70s. She has STACKS. I took what I could that day nearly 10 years ago and it helped me build a wee collection of my own. Given my work with luxury hotels, it felt fitting, and I love stumbling upon some of my clients when sourcing. Speaking of finding one in the wild— I just scooped this one.

A Look: Scored a pair of vintage Italian leather fisherman sandals that I’ll be living in all summer

A Take: As promised, here are a few travel tips (some of which I had previously received from other travel industry mamas and veterans, and now have put to frequent practice):

• When at the airport/ boarding, if you hold status or are boarding groups 1-3, send your partner on first (if you’re traveling with one), to help get your bags settled overhead/ organized. You stay back with the kiddo and board last (I mean last). By the time you get on/ seated, you’re taking off (hopefully) in about 25 mins versus 45. Less time to keep the little one entertained.

• I breastfed Matilda up to 20 months, so this was our first international trip that she didn’t have that source of comfort. She is a full blown, very active toddler now and right up until the last minute I forgot about the piece with her ears popping at take off/ how breastfeeding solved that. We don’t typically give her lollipops but she was thrilled to see one and I gave this to her at takeoff so she had something to suck/ pop her ears.

• We don’t go crazy with packing for these kinds of trips. We check two pieces of luggage (one for me and one for Tild and my husband). Then a carry on backpack/ diaper bag with some activities and iPad. One carry on each for us. Less is more and less to forget/ misplace which I’m certainly prone to. Last year on our family trip to Portugal I strapped Matilda into the baby carrier and managed to leave my cell phone in the back of our car transfer. Mom brain is real and it’s exasperated when traveling. Thank goodness we were able to contact the car company and the driver brought it back to me. I also have a wonderful partner who always help my blood pressure drop in these situations and is genuinely kind/ supportive when something challenging plays out so we can tackle it together.

• She doesn’t use an iPad at home and we started bringing one along on her second trip to Scotland when she was 9 months old. It’s now a novelty so she gets excited to see it and play with it on the plane. We got her one of those cloth headsets that are clutch too.

• We packed a little purse/ box with coloring pages and crayons, but the biggest hit this trip has been the “no mess” water coloring book. You just refill the pen with water and once they’re colored and dried, all the color disappears so she can use it on repeat. She loves it.

• We always only pack enough pull ups/ diapers for our first two days and ensure a farmacy or local grocery store is easily located when we arrive. We haven’t traveled anywhere far too adventurous with her and know that in places like Scotland, Portugal, Italy, we can easily get our essentials. Diapers are sold in farmacies here in Italy so we popped by one when we got to lake Garda and simply asked for “pannolini”— size cinque please.

• We never pack shampoo or too many bath/ body products for the same reason— easily accessible once we get here and more affordable.

• We don’t obsess over nap time— I do recognize we’re lucky to have a baby that can nap on the go— which she’s always done. When we let her naturally adjust to a new time zone, she works it out just fine. Usually she sleeps on the plane over to UK/ Europe, we have a family nap when we get to our accommodation, but max it at 3 hours, then get up and moving. We try to always ensure she’s up by 5 and then pursue a half day of exploring. She’s always up later here, and while typical bedtime is 7:30-8, we’re cool with it being around 10:30 when we’re on the road, and then she sleeps till approx 8:30am.

• Something that has simplified this experience and made it really enjoyable for Tild has been breaking down the trip in digestible installments for her. For instance, a week before we flew we started saying “we’re going to go on an airplane soon, are you excited?” “Would you like to bring Elmo on the plane?” etc., this genuinely built up excitement and when the time came for us to leave, she was so excited to see it play out. We’ve kept doing this throughout the trip— “When we get off the airplane, we’re going to get in a car and we can play a game, etc.”

• We always incorporate a home/ apartment stay with a washer— it is absolutely needed (for us) when traveling with a toddler.

• Try not to obsess over your “list” or making every meal or experience picture perfect. I think that’s what I love about traveling with her— it’s not about us really anymore— it’s about creating a great experience together, even if the meal wasn’t “on your list” or you didn’t get that shot for Instagram. Your kid smiling, fed and having a good time? You’re winning.

• If your toddler is in her stranger danger phase (as ours is, selectively), we’ve been introducing new trusted people as our “friends” or friends of Mimi and Pop/ Granny and Grandad. “Mom’s friend is going to pick us up in the car and we’re going to drive to a new house! What movie should we watch?” “Do you want to go on a boat tomorrow and search for mermaids? So cool!” She feels enrolled in the experience and starts to know what to expect. We found this hugely helpful this trip.

Publishing this from Camogli/ Liguria so will be in touch with a separate post on this leg of the trip (we’re here another week).

Thanks for reading xx

350+ exclusive pieces from Missoni, Etro, Oscar de la Renta, Brandon Maxwell, Christopher John Rogers (and the list goes on), all channeling that breezy, effortless glam of coastal Italy. And in true Moda style—they didn’t stop at the clothes. Now, you can literally book the look.

For the first time ever, the collection comes with a matching travel experience at the hotel—think private sunset sails, champagne breakfasts, chef-led tastings, and all the slow, sparkling magic of Amalfi summer days.

I get way too excited about collaborations like this, but this one’s special. I really think the Moda team crushed the creative—it might just be my favorite shoot ever done on property. Nothing felt forced or overly touristy (which is always a risk in a place that’s become this iconic). They nailed it.

A Dish: It was my dad’s birthday this week, and while we’ll celebrate this holiday weekend with some proper cake, I wanted him to know I was thinking of him on his actual birthday too, so whipped up and sent him a quick batch of sfincione Palermitano. Sfincione is a traditional Sicilian type of bread— not too far off from the Sicilian “pizza” I grew up eating in NJ. The dough comes together very quickly, and it’s wise to top it with a healthy amount of Pecorino and Sicilian oregano. Here’s a recipe reference, although I’m terrible at following any so always just freestyle mine.

A Trip: As we get ready for what’s become our annual spring visit to Europe, I keep thinking about this time last year—when we spent a dreamy week in Comporta, Portugal. Matilda had just turned one and wasn’t yet walking, so she was still in that sweet, snuggly baby stage, right on the cusp of toddlerhood.

Comporta was incredibly kid-friendly. We rented a little house just five minutes from the beach and spent our mornings foraging for seashells, lingering over slow breakfasts in the charming town center, and soaking up warm, quiet days by the water before the full swing of summer hit.

It was my fifth trip to Portugal, but Matilda’s first time abroad beyond visits to family in the UK—and it was such an easy one. The flight from Jersey was quick and direct (under six hours), and the Portuguese are famously lovely with babies. Everywhere we went, people stopped to coo at her, offer a toy or treat, or caress her cheeks.

For any new parents feeling a little nervous about a first big trip to Europe with a little one, I can’t recommend Portugal enough. It’s not hard to feel more family-friendly than the U.S., but Portugal really delivers. Family lanes at the airport, helpful people, easygoing energy, and so much to enjoy together.

Oh—and don’t sleep on the grocery stores. Truly, a joy.

A Look: In prepping for Italy next month, here’s the little collage I’ve been using to prep my packing list. Stripes, jeans, light knitwear, and just enough white to feel the onset of summer.

A Thing: Taking a moment to appreciate this gorgeous suede Louis XVI chair I sourced a few years ago—equal parts elegance and attitude. This style was a favorite of Marie Antoinette, known for its neoclassical lines, fluted legs, and timeless silhouette. These chairs were the height of fashion in 18th-century France, often found in royal salons and château drawing rooms. I like to imagine this one has witnessed its fair share of whispered gossip and champagne toasts over the centuries.

A Take: It finally feels like spring today. I love that for all of us.

Thanks for reading and hope everyone has a great weekend x

I traveled with my family as a kid, but I truly caught the “bug” during my first trip to Sicily in 2006. It was my dad’s 50th birthday gift to himself—and to us—and I’ll always be grateful he brought my angsty teenage self along. Thanks, Dad. I’ll never forget that sunrise in Cefalù, even if at the time I groaned my way through it.

A year later, between classes downtown, I found myself daydreaming about a “what if?” future, sitting at McNally Jackson bookstore on Prince Street. I opened my MacBook (which weighed a hell of a lot more back then), nursed an Americano, and Googled: "travel public relations." That search led me to LDPR, an award-winning firm uptown from where I was sitting in Nolita. Ironically, that bookstore is steps away from where my family first lived when they immigrated to the U.S. from the Trapani region of Europe’s largest island.

I sent in my resume—expressing my interest in an internship and highlighting my (limited but determined) qualifications: tenacity, a goal, a general sense of NYC’s formidable “if it’s gonna happen, it’ll happen here” energy, a service background (I’d been waitressing in North Jersey since I was 15), and a heavy dose of universal good luck. I got the interview. I remember the outfit: a pinstriped, belted Calvin Klein shift dress, tight enough to restrict my 21-year-old strut down Madison Avenue. I carried a leather-bound portfolio with a few notes and, before heading in, sat downstairs at a luncheonette (remember those?), ordering scrambled eggs, wheat toast, and black coffee.

When I stepped into LDPR, I saw women moving with purpose, deadlines looming, a hum of energy filling the space. Media looked different then—print was still king, and messengers rushed in and out, gathering PR deliveries, magazine copies, and travel B-roll footage for morning news segments. In my interviewer’s office, a map of Scotland hung on the wall—home to the man who would eventually become my husband.

It was 2008, and the city was still in recovery from 9/11 and the recession. But these people were nice. Context: I had interviewed at Harper’s Bazaar the week before, where my stretchy pencil skirt from Rainbow on Broadway and (what I thought was upmarket) Anthropologie sale-rack cardigan did not impress. Shocking. The eye roll I got could have been felt across the Hudson. But travel? Travel was cool. It was the era of Bourdain. And after walking into LDPR, I remember thinking: I may have found my people.

Forgive the rambling, but I did land that internship—and I did find wonderful people. Now, more than 15 years later, this job has taken me around the world: from Tanzania to Jaipur, Montana to Marylebone, The Azores to The Amalfi Coast, The Ritz Paris to The Spanish Riviera, and to the depths of the Scottish Highlands. It’s taught me about human connection, about travel as a force for good, and it even led me to the love of my life.

It’s been a busy Q1, but I guess I just want to toast that 21-year-old. Turbulent years followed (as they tend to), but I don’t think she ever expected it’d be this good.

A Dish: It’s been a long, cold winter, and I don’t know about you, but my jeans definitely aren’t fitting the same. While I’m not one to subscribe to diet culture, I do like to feel comfortable as the weather warms up. So lately, I’ve been trying to make some lighter, feel-good meals that still taste amazing.

Last week, I stumbled on a fabulous recipe in Christiana Lindsay and Alfred Lepore’s 1968 edition of The Little Italian Cookbook—a simple green broth made with leek, spinach, and bone broth, paired with super simple chicken meatballs. My daughter couldn’t stop eating it, and honestly, neither could I. It was nourishing, healthy, and guilt-free.

Of course, I could never live without pasta a few nights a week. So today for lunch, I whipped up a briny bowl of Sicilian spaghetti—a bit of a riff on puttanesca using what I had on hand: cherry tomatoes, anchovies, garlic, shallot, fresh parsley, breadcrumbs, and dried spaghetti. I love how Sicilian cooking sometimes swaps grated cheese for breadcrumbs, and when mixed with chopped parsley, the topping takes on this sandy, seaweed-like look that feels so evocative of the island. Just looking at it gave me so much joy—and eating it was even better.

A Place: Our living room for a few weeks in Noto a couple of springs ago. It had so much character. Look at those walls. And I love that they’re asymetrical.

A Thing: I have a whole folder on my phone of covetable vintage Italian tapestries. Here’s one from Palermo that nearly brought me to tears.

A Take: I think I was first drawn to the work of Bettina Rheims because of her name—one she shares with both my aunt and grandmother. It’s not a name you hear often, and when I first came across it years ago, paired with her poignant photography, it immediately pulled me in.

If I’m remembering right, one of her books—Modern Lovers, I think—sat on one of my uncle’s coffee tables back in the ’90s. I’ve really enjoyed revisiting her work lately; it’s just as striking now as it was then.

A Look: I’ve been double deniming quite a bit— and this little vintage denim chore coat (one of two super soft, worn-in Eddie Bauer numbers I have), is currently heavy on rotation.

A Trip: On another work-related note, 2025 seems to be the year of the luxury train—and I’d like to think I played a very small part in that. My team has been hard at work leading up to the highly-anticipated launch of La Dolce Vita Orient Express, which made its inaugural departure from Rome this week. Adding to the excitement, Orient Express' first-ever hotel, La Minerva, will also be launching this month. Both are absolutely stunning.

Thanks for reading x

A Dish: I was perusing some vintage cookbooks last weekend and decided to make Timballo Abruzzese— basically a type of regional lasagne that’s made with homemade crispelle or crepes. I’ve gotten pretty good at making those over the years, as my dad had taught me a family recipe for manicotti when I was a teenager. I made this similarly— a simple batter of flour, egg, water and a touch of salt. For Christmas Eve’s passed, I’ve made a seafood iteration with a creamy shrimp sauce— which tastes like one giant shrimp ravioli. So when I came across this recipe for Timballo, I thought what the hell— let’s make this today. My daughter has been loving being in the kitchen with me (I might love it more), so it was fun prepping the batter, making the crispelle for all these layers— and adorning them with a homemade bolognese with peas, ricotta, and pecorino. I kind of freestyled this, so it’s likely not too traditional of a recipe (I think regionally the Abruzzese use pork ribs, not beef), but it turned out lovely, highly visual and delicious so we’ll definitely be making it again. Here’s a reference recipe if you want to give it a go too.

A Trip: I was pregnant with Matilda the last time we visited Sicily. I had just started my second trimester but the morning sickness was rough, and if I wasn’t in bed by 8, I might have mistaken the floor for the ceiling and vice versa. The vertigo was intense, and I was being teased by all the food I wanted to eat, but simply couldn’t. But a few months before that trip, we found ourselves spending nearly 5 weeks exploring the island— it was 2022, and it was magical. If anyone needs a sabbatical (my lovely company offers a month paid leave for anyone who’s been with them for 10 years), I highly recommend Sicily. Maybe “force” isn’t the right word—you just don’t have much of a choice. As an American from NJ who’s worked in Manhattan and lived in an urban environment for 15+ years, that frenetic energy and branded “ambition” (aka the tireless job of just trying to keep up with yourself), seeps into your bloodstream and ooooof it’s a hard one to shake. I need to retrain myself to walk when I’m in Europe. I kid you not, I try to count while I’m wandering— otherwise I’ll get the stares. One time I realized I was borderline running when I thought I was meandering around a village in Umbria (Gubbio, it’s lovely), and I heard an old woman say to her friend “‘ma che successo?” What happened? Nothing had—except I was unknowingly power-walking between my coffee and a salumeria, acting like I was on the run from some unseen fiend. Nope, I was just terrorizing the locals, trying to outrun my American tendencies. It’s hard. But Sicily made it a wee bit easier. Rushing to get my morning granita? Worried about finding a perfect spot to rest my weary legs? That was my problem, not theirs. I learned that lesson quickly. By week two, I was walking slower. My Italian (at least I tell myself this) was flowing a little smoother. I was even driving myself to the beach solo. My husband was working those days, so I simply existed on this island—the same one my ancestors once called home.

Those beach trips became a practice in relaxation. I’d stay for two whole hours (long for me), read my book, forage for shells, swim two or three times, then pack up and wander back to my little Euro hatchback. The beach attendant always looked at me with pity—“Ma sei tornata così presto?” You’re back so soon? Damn. I thought two hours was pretty good. Turns out I was still bad at relaxing like a Sicilian.

Sometimes, I imagined my great-grandparents watching me in and around Trapani, shaking their heads. Madonnnna, Dana, what are you doing here?! They moved mountains to leave this place. For them, America was the dream—as it is (was?) for so many. And here I was, trying to shed just enough of it so I could catch my breath after a decade-plus of pushing, pushing, pushing.

I did catch my breath. Sicily helped.

I listened to its rhythms—the lapping of the Tyrrhenian Sea, the clip-clop of horses in Palermo. I inhaled its sweetness—fresh figs from the back garden, homegrown oregano. But mostly, I let myself feel my heart rate level out, my breath deepen, my mind quiet.

And when I’m particularly stressed? I go back there.

And you know what? It works.

A Thing: Last weekend I did some vintage sourcing with my mom. It’s one of our favorite pastimes, and it’d been months since we went treasure hunting together. She found this great vintage chair, and I found this sweet little Paragon Rockingham tea set from the 1930s. I remember her serving me black tea with lemon as a little girl in one similar, so I’m putting this aside for Matilda.

A Take: I was thrifting not too long ago and found this copy of Architectural Digest. One of the interiors features was that of the official American ambassadors residence from 2000. Fun.

A Look: Given the trickery that March often plays on us, I’m spending far too much time on my weather app. Is it warm yet? Warm at 4 but freezing at 8? Given the inevitable swings, I’ve been breaking out some of my favorite spring sweaters— like this little vintage mohair number. Love Mohair. Makes me feel a little like the Easter bunny.

Thanks for reading x

A Dish: It got so damn cold this month, although we’re now on an upward swing. Last week I grabbed a box of pastina and whipped up an impromptu iteration of pasta e ceci with a tomato broth and ample pecorino. I served with bitter greens and chili and it was just right.

A Look: One of my long-time clients, the fabulous Chatham Bars Inn out on Cape Cod, has this framed antique Americana dress from 1876. It was bought by the owner on auction, and I just think it’s so cool.

A Take: Speaking of Cape Cod— which is such an iconic East Coast destination— might I recommend a visit in the winter? I was up here this month for work and it was pretty magical—quiet, peaceful— amazing light. I took a sunrise walk on the beach to forage some shells for Matilda, and chatted with a few seals who bobbed up to say hello.

A Thing: Tild recently discovered my vintage apron collection and identified her favorite — this little hand embroidered diner apron from the 1940s. She’s been loving wearing it as a dress— and I get it— it looks great babe.

So long February. I am so ready for Spring x

A Look: Given the arctic freeze-out that was happening in the city, I’m not gonna lie, it felt amazing to wear linen pants and cotton dresses for the 72 hours I was down there.

A Take: My late grandmother kept an herbalist on call. One of my earliest memories of her was arriving in a baby-blue T bird when I was just 6 years old. I hadn’t met her in person yet (she lived across the country in California), and due to a bad case of emphysema, hated to fly. She had driven to NJ in this vintage clunker with no radio— but smuggled my little cousin’s Playschool cassette player as a stand-in. You’ll remember the one— with the little red dangling plastic microphone. From where I sat in our family room, I could see her park and start walking up the driveway. “Who’s that lady?” I asked my dad. He sat up from watching basketball, peering out the window. “Fuck,” he said. “That’s your grandmother.” She carried a doctor’s style black leather handbag, and it was filled with herbs, teas, and supplements. I thought of her yesterday while I approached a pimento tree— my client here crushing some leaves in her hand and offering them to me. “Smell” she said— it’s all spice. Pimento leaves, also known as allspice leaves, have many potential health benefits, including pain relief, respiratory support, and stress management. Apparently the oils are also good for hair growth. Since Matilda is now fully weaned, I’ve noticed some hair thinning— so am going to make a little hair oil/ tea spray for my scalp. Will report back. After taking a good 1.5 hike through the jungle— I also learned of three teas popular amongst Jamaicans to cure a myriad of ailments. Here are the three I purchased and I’ll be bringing home:

• Cerasee: Made from the leaves of the bitter melon plant, which is cultivated in the Caribbean, Asia, and Africa. Some say cerasee tea can help with detoxification, cleansing, and lowering blood sugar levels. Be forewarned— this is super bitter but a little honey helps.

• Soursop: Soursop tea is made from the leaves of the soursop plant and is said to have many health benefits and antioxidants — from immunity boosts, digestion, and sleep— to blood pressure, inflammation, pain, and more.

• Neem: immunity boosts, cold and flu prevention, powerful anti-fungal and antiviral, increased vitamin C, oral health, and blood purification.

A Time: My husband often speaks about how sunny it is in NJ in the winter. Where he grew up in Scotland— the winters were long, dark, and very wet. So regardless of the chill, we really try to spend as much time as possible outside this time of year. Last week we took about a 45-minute walk up to Bread & Salt in Jersey City’s The Heights and pretended we were in Italy for the day. I got some of my favorite Sicilian sea salt, we spoon-fed Matilda some sweet ricotta from their homemade maritozzi, and sipped two macchiatos in the winter sun. Was lovely.

A Thing: Not too long ago I was at an estate sale and picked up this 1962 issue of Harper’s Bazaar. It’s in near-perfect condition, and I loved flipping through some of the original ads— including this one for Francois Crahey of Nina Ricci in Paris. Jules-François Crahay was a Belgian fashion designer who worked for the houses of Nina Ricci and Lanvin as the head designer from the early 1960s to mid 1980s. He won the Neiman Marcus Fashion Award in 1962, and was the only three-time winner of the French fashion award the Dé d'or or Golden Thimble. I just love this coat.

A Dish: I used to be far better at making homemade orecchiette. I started practicing years ago after picking up Katie Parla’s Food of the Italian South, who reminded me semolina flour and water was all I needed to get started. Matilda and I had a go of it again last week, and after preparing, quickly tossed them with a little homemade ragu of fried shallots, crushed San Marzano, chili, and Sicilian oregano. Long prep— but simple flavors that always pack a punch. I need to keep practicing as these need work (a little too big)— still tasted great though.

Thanks for reading—and fellow Jersey/ NYers, stay warm out there x

Crowds started filling that day to get a glimpse of Timmy— and we hung for a little while— appreciating the production in all its synchronization. I haven’t yet seen the film, but know as it ages, I’ll forever remember the spring we frequently stepped on its set.

A Thing: I was thinking about New Orleans this week following the heartbreaking turn of events. I was perusing some photos and taking a moment to appreciate one of my favorite spaces: the city’s very cool pharmaceutical museum. The medicinal soda fountain at the Pharmacy Museum in New Orleans offers a fascinating glimpse into 19th-century pharmacy practices. Combining medicine with refreshment, the soda fountain was once a popular way to mask the bitter taste of medications by blending them with flavored syrups and carbonated water. I just think it’s so pretty.

A Trip: I felt a little bad last week— we really intended to bring Matilda in to see the tree, but the crowds deterred us so we spent the day downtown instead. Fittingly stopping at Minetta Tavern (another iconic stop on McDougal Street that was part of the Complete Unknown set). It was just opening as we passed by— and we made mental note of the serendipity and popped in for some burgers. I hadn’t been in years— and it was just as wonderful as I remember.

A Look: It was a brisk one that day so I layered up in a lot of wool— a vintage 1990s wool jumper dress from the Gap, Frye Boots, a Theory cashmere polo, and navy Zady wool coat. Matilda was my boot twin and is also wearing 100% second hand (second-hand Janie and Jack fair isle, Juicy tights and HM boots). Her coat I got while thrifting in Edinburgh. 👍🏻

A Dish: It’s cold as hell in Jersey City, and we were craving something warming yesterday. Beef Stew felt right, so I grabbed 2lbs of chuck beef from Whole Foods, two hearty carrots, an onion, a fresh bundle of parsley, and then utilized what I had in the pantry/ fridge (tomato paste, pancetta, better than bouillon stock paste, Worcestershire sauce, good German grain mustard, a little Chianti) and went to town. Usually when I’m making a similar sauce/ stew (eg short ribs), I’ll bring it to a boil, simmer, and then throw it in the oven on low for 3 hours. But this time I just let it slowly bubble away on the stovetop until the meat fell apart. It was so good. A win.

A Take: I’ve seen a lot of commentary on Substack the past week challenging In and Out lists. For me, they’re very much still in. Here’s mine:

IN

• Serendipity

• Shopping strictly second hand

• Traveling someplace new because it speaks to your soul (not for socials)

• Heirloom jewelry

• Reading at the bar

• Vintage ceramics

• Bangs over Botox

• Empathy

• Collaging

• Subtitles

• Doing cool shit on your own timeline

• Acupuncture for self care

• Nightly tea

• Long walks

• Solo trips to the cinema

• Cooking for friends

• Finding the good in your hometown

OUT

• Bucket lists

• Rushing

• Trendy hit workouts

• Fear of being vulnerable

• Saying “we’ve always done it this way” or “I’ll just do it, it’s faster.”

• Celebrating burnout and trying to “do it all”

• Clique culture

• Keeping up with the Joneses

• Saying no to every social invite

• Cancelling someone because of their personal political leanings

• Being too shy to try

Happy 2025 all x

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The waft of my Dad’s Benson and Hedges, the tickle of mink on my cheeks. My great aunts were the stars of the show. They were more like grandmothers to me at the time— and they didn’t drive, having moved out to the suburbs from Queens some years before— so my dad would go pick them up before the party kicked off. We were always, always the hosts, and once I’d hear the car pull back in the driveway, I’d rush upstairs to the front door and greet them. Their arms full of presents and food— often a pot (which I still have), filled with an intense, maroon-hued sauce of tomato, sherry, and squid that would later be dolloped onto linguini. I’d nuzzle myself into their fur coats, which, without fail, made a special appearance during the holidays. They smelled of perfume, garlic, and cigarettes— and I loved them in a way that still expands my heart like a deep, fulfilling breath. I’d marvel at their outfits while they placed both coats in my arms, then lug them up the stairs, looking like some kind of awkward Christmas bear— simply lost in their sheer weight and length. Once we were in the kitchen I’d again, gleefully gawk at their jewelry— usually some special pieces for Christmas — gold bangles, jade and diamond earrings, a slim vintage Gucci bracelet watch. Bowls of chestnuts were always on display, with a little nutcracker that makes me feel festive just thinking of it. We’d make a family toast with a bottle of Asti Spumante, and even the kids got a tiny taste. We were a bigger crew then, and it was big, beautiful, loud and fun, just as it was this week.

A Dish: It’s always antipasto season at our house, but the holiday iteration is without fail more fun. For Christmas Eve, we always need fennel, (real stinky) chunky provolone, and of course, some homemade bread.

A Thing: A bar cart is never a bad idea, especially rolling one out between Christmas and New Year. I sourced this one years ago. It’s from the 1950s, solid oak, and came with a very useful little drawer to stash vintage cocktail tools, coasters, etc.

A Look: I’ve been layering a lot lately. This time with a Doen dress that makes me feel like an extra in the 1994 iteration of Little Women (best version IMO). It’s easy to feel like a lumberjack when it’s cold like this and dressing becomes so perfunctory, so a little feminine touch goes a long way.

A Place: We were back in Scotland last month but it already feels too far away, so here are 6 pictures that evoke a Scottish warmth— from vintage fisherman sweaters, Scottish breakfasts and stacked-to-the-brim bookshops, these all feel aesthetically appropriate at Christmastime.

A Take: I’m in the midst of some end-of-year purging, and organizing a bunch of treasures. I gifted so much vintage this year, which felt good. Here are a few favorites:

I hope everyone who celebrates is having a lovely holiday week. Thanks so much for reading x

A Place: I’m about to conduct a massive seasonal purge after some work is completed in our apartment, which made me break out the vintage decor books. I love everything about this vignette from the Grey Craig House in Pennsylvania designed by Stephen Weixler. The mask, the mantle, the bust, and layers of family photos. So good.

A Look: I got this gorgeous pair of pearl-embossed, velvet Bruno Magli heels last year and I just think they’re perfect for this time of year. Especially as a fancy touch to a casual pair of jeans. I plan to break them out for my agency’s holiday party this week.

A Take: Last week in a separate Substack note, I shared my affinity for gifting vintage. I just love the thoughtfulness of gifting something second-hand that was picked with purpose. I have bought a few of these over the years (while in Italy but often here), as people look to discard their souvenirs (crazy), and donate them to local thrifts. When sourcing, look for the hand-painted “made in Italy” stamp on the bottom. One of my favorites over the years is this sweet espresso/ coffee and biscuit tray from Umbria.

A Thing: Speaking of unique gifts with a similar theme— I was thrilled to receive this vintage illustrated Italian dictionary a few years back. It was a gift from myself, by the way.

A Trip: I adore a winter trip to Europe. There’s no denying the pull of the holiday markets, the mulled wine—and on the theme of warming— dishes that do just that. During a trip to Vienna some years ago, I had a plate of this fabulous goulash while wandering around the city’s celebrated Nashmarkt. I’d really like to go back. Look at that color!

A Dish: The juggle was real last week, so I went with a simple sugo and orecchiette one night. It comes together nice and quickly. This is the pasta I grew up on, and it’s now Matilda’s favorite too. First—sauté one onion in extra virgin olive oil with a touch of garlic if you like, cook that down and then add a nice thick can of crushed tomatoes (I like Scalfani because it’s more paste-like), and then fill that same can with water and add to your pan. They also make cute vessels for homemade candles as per below. Add sea salt and pepper, and let bubble away until you receive your desired consistency. I add some dried oregano and always top with Locatelli pecorino. This time I added a good dose of chili oil.

A Song: since I often finish this newsletter while heading into (or out of) the city, here’s what I’m currently listening to.

Thanks for reading x