Over 500k people follow me on Instagram. Add another 1 million on Pinterest and 100k+ on TikTok and, well, that’s more than 1.6 million people who have some idea of who I am.

I’m proud of what I’ve built and honoured that so many people have any interest at all in my tiny little world. But when you’re a lifelong people pleaser, there’s something slightly terrifying about that many people forming an opinion of you.

Actually, let me be really honest. I’m always a little terrified. There is simply no way to make that many people happy every day.

So I had to figure out how to show up anyway. I am not a good actor and I am terrible at telling lies, so the only way I can show up online is as myself. I’ve known this from the first day I posted on my blog in 2009. I couldn’t create a character online. I could only be me.

Here’s the problem with me being me. There are people who aren’t going to like who YOU are. That’s just life. In the real world, if people don’t like you, they choose not to be a part of your life. Oh, how I wish it were that easy online. If I say something that offends you, leave. If you don’t like my haircut, walk away. If you think I dress like a nutcase, just click unfollow, my fine friend.

But there’s something even harder when it comes to these relationships online. It’s when people decide they love you. That’s the doozy. That’s what the people pleaser in me always worried about the most.

Growing up, I was the kid who was most hurt when my parents would say, “We’re not mad, we’re just disappointed.” Find me the nearest bridge and I’d jump. I could not stand disappointing anyone, ever.

Today, in 2026, I disappoint at least one person every single day in ways I could never have predicted or imagined in my wildest dreams. Trust me, I used to run everything through the “will this get me in trouble if I post this?” machine.

Every human is always changing. That’s the whole point of being human. We grow, we adapt, sometimes we falter, sometimes we absolutely f*ck up. The minute you share something that doesn’t fit the version of you someone fell in love with, the fall from grace can be spectacular and horrendous. Because how dare you not be the person someone thought you were?

People don’t just click unfollow. They leave essays as they go, detailing how you became an abhorrent creature in their mind over time.

I’ve been online now for 17 years, coming up on 18. I’ve shared so much with so many people. I haven’t shared everything, but everything I have shared has been real and it’s been me. So when I read those essays, they hurt.

They hurt because they are actually saying, “You are a piece of shit.” Not a character I’ve created. Me. Actually me.

There are times when those messages are absolutely valid and allow me to grow in my knowledge of the world and other people’s feelings. But far too many of them are spiteful, mean and somewhat ridiculous.

For years, I’d lie in bed at night and read DMs and emails received throughout the day. I set aside two to three hours every night because I wanted to respond to every person who took the time to write to me. Two years later, I started seeing a therapist.

She asked to see some examples of the DMs I was reading, so I brought in the last 40 messages from the night before, with all names redacted. She quietly scanned through them and said, “You’ve been doing this for two years without a therapist?”

I’ve had boyfriends lie next to me and comfort me as I cried talking to women dying of cancer, women who had lost children, and women who had found hope in getting dressed again. I’ve had therapists talk me through the right way to suggest help for women expressing suicidal thoughts, and others tell me the healthiest thing I can do is not read DMs at all.

But my tiny head kept screaming, “These are people who are actively choosing to be a part of your life. You need to be a part of theirs.”

As the numbers grew, the tone changed. The number of DMs changed too. I was averaging about 1,000 a day and answering them all, even if it was just with a heart emoji. Then the scale tipped massively: 2,500 a day, 3,100, then closer to 5,000.

I was trying so hard to keep up, but also trying so hard not to lose the plot. For every nice message, there seemed to be ten telling me what a shit human I was: how ugly I was, how fat I was, how stupid I was, my horrible voice, my ridiculous dance moves, how terrible my family was for being military. I haven’t said enough about politics; I should mind my own business about politics. I should speak for people less fortunate than me; I shouldn’t speak for people less fortunate than me. I need to acknowledge my privilege; I should step back into my privileged box.

The list goes on and on. I usually delete screenshots of these things but I found a few floating around on my phone:

Every single decision I made as me was offensive to someone, somewhere. That’s a hard pill to swallow.

I know everyone says, “You chose this and that means you have to deal with it.” I think that’s bullshit. I don’t think anyone chooses a profession expecting that one day they’ll be harassed.

But this is how I’ve reconciled it in my mind. This is how I am able to continue to show up as myself. It’s broken down into two parts.

First, I cannot please everyone all of the time. But I can be true to myself. So I aim to please three people and three people only. You’re expecting me, myself and I right now, aren’t you?

Nope. It’s actually me, my mom and my dad. Yup, still the people pleaser in a way. With those two, for as long as they’re still here with me, every single thing will pass through a filter of, “Would this make my mom and dad proud or disappointed in me?”

Take from that what you will, but it’s where I stand. It’s why there’s a lot I won’t talk about or share online. It’s also why you won’t see me standing nearly butt naked online because my dad looks at everything I write and share, and we weren’t, as they say, “a naked family” growing up. So don’t expect thong shots in the near future.

Second, I consider the people who are supportive, caring and patient with me the important number. That’s the group I’m speaking to. In my mind, it helps to think I’m not speaking to this enormous collective audience every day, but to a much smaller group who are actually here for me and what I share.

We live in a world of cancel culture. There are people waiting in the wings, patiently watching for me to cock it all up. God knows I will. I’m pretty sure I’ve already made mistakes in the hundreds over the past 17 years.

Most of us online are navigating this frenzy with the same mix of trepidation and curiosity. As far as I know, most of us aren’t trying to be saints. We’re just trying to find common ground with other people and, just maybe, offer up some good advice as we walk this rough terrain together.

My social media forecast has always been sunshine and rainbows with the occasional rain shower or full-on, once-in-a-lifetime hurricane. I guess I don’t do things in half measure. That’s life.

Today, I operate as close to the truth as I can. I am always truthful about what I share, but I cannot share everything. I still try to look at as many comments, DMs, and emails as I can, but I now have a kill switch. I’m active until it feels destructive. Sadly, in 2026, that doesn’t last very long.

For those of you who write to me on Instagram, I’m sorry that the sheer number of negative messages means I miss a lot of your positive ones. I’m trying to find a way through this without using AI or an assistant to filter them. They could never get it right.

I know I won’t always get it right. I’ll say things you disagree with, make choices you wouldn’t make, and probably disappoint you from time to time. If I hurt or offend you, I’m sorry. I genuinely mean that. What I can do is keep trying to be thoughtful, honest, and willing to learn.

I really wish I could be everything to everyone. I’m goofy, weird, awkward, tall, and single. I wear strange clothes sometimes and say stupid things. But I still want to be liked. I’m always trying to be better, do better, try harder, and please people as much as I can within healthy limits.

Ok, I have to end this on a positive note. So let’s end it with this…

My whole family called me the hedgehog as a youth because I was a hot mess with a head full of crazy hair. I grew up looking like Will Ferrell as Harry Caray:

That’s just my way of saying I don’t have rhino skin, but I’ve learned to take my fair share of criticism over the years and I can usually find a way out of it with laughter.

For most of my life, I’ve kept relationships off social media for exactly this reason: if nobody knows when something begins, you never have to tell them when it ends. Then last December, I broke my own rule.

Read more

Last time I sat down to write The Weekly Freak Out, I was waxing lyrical about the charms of southern storms, the afternoon rumblings of thunder, and big splashes of lightning. Then one damn storm had to go and ruin the romance.

Yup, we got struck by lightning.

One of our biggest waterfront trees took a hit like a champion and stayed standing. The strike took down all the giant limbs that shaded our house for decades and covered the land for decades before a house was even built. With one split second, it lost all its beautiful arms that used to swing swaths of Spanish moss in the coastal breeze. Now, only a stump remains, a reminder of how life can change at any moment, without any warning.

On the nights where a storm hasn’t been brewing in the distance, I’ve camped myself here, on the dock, with a book in hand. I’ve had so little time to read this summer and it has broken my spirit a little bit. Going from one book a week to no books in four months is soul destroying for me. Books are my escape, my weekly dalliance with another world, another life. A part of my brain feels deflated without it, so I’m making room.

In other, local news… and really, I’m asking for a friend—is it a thing now to dress up your ducks or geese? I saw this in my local hardware store, Grayco. I truly had to take a minute to consider the fact that I might have entered a world where people dress their neighborhood friends in flight.

Dear reader, you can take a deep breath. I googled the brand when I got home and realized this is a decorative goose. That isn’t just a mock goose modeling the clothing. People buy this goose, Giddy The Goose is her name. You can buy her outfits to correspond with the season. There was quite a feeling of relief, let me tell ya.

Speaking of other odd decisions, I want to run one past you here.

I’m thinking of doing something crazy. You know they say that when you’re thinking about getting pregnant, all you see are pregnant women?

Well for about a year now I’ve thought about the crazy idea of trading in my SUV for a convertible (type to be determined). I bought the used Audi SUV thinking it would be a great idea for moving people around and moving myself around with all “the things.” I’m not sure what I thought those “things” were going to be. I’ve barely used my trunk at all since I got it.

I’m also, for the first time in my life, in a place where it’s mostly sunny and warm year round. So, wouldn’t this be the ideal time to do something fun? It’s just me. Occasionally I’m driving a parent around with me or Maggy is riding shotgun. But that’s it.

So is it absolutely ridiculous to drive a fun car at this stage in my life? Or am I having a midlife crisis like Steve Martin in Father of The Bride?

While we’re on the topic of dreams and the future, my brother invited my family up to Blue Ridge, Georgia to spend the week atop a mountain in a mountain house that blew our minds when we walked through the front door. First just to note, I’m back on loving renting through Airbnb. This was an Airbnb rental and I’m telling you it was reasonably priced and not even the best one up there on the mountain for the price. Sadly, I won’t even bother linking this Airbnb as it’s booked up for the next two years apparently. Trust me, there are loads in the area and this is such a beautiful part of the world to visit. Highly recommend.

I also have to just throw out there that any time I get to spend with my brother, his beautiful wife, and their two children, is time I will always cherish.

So many of my nieces and nephews have grown up and moved away. And how proud I am of them all! But it’s been hard to navigate the distance and keep close relationships.

My little brother has worked so hard to make his two kids a part of my and my parents’ lives, and we are so thankful for that effort.

We also spoil them rotten. I mean, we go all out. When Mom and I find out we’re headed for a week with the kids, the shopping for presents and activities to do together starts immediately.

This is the joy of not having kids of my own. I get to spoil the next generation. I get to save my money and then splurge. I get to be the cool auntie, or at least try my hardest to be. My heart is so full after these weeks together. So very full.

Now I can’t leave you without an update on Maggy Moo. She’s adjusting fabulously to her new home. In fact, she’s a little too comfortable these days. The leather sofas are now hers and only hers. If you sit, ready yourself to be sat upon. The rugs have all become chew toys. We’re working on this.

She has also found her voice in the last week. Let me tell you, it’s loud and proud and oftentimes right in your face. If I go deaf earlier in life than expected, you’re looking at the reason!

Speaking of faces to love, family and amazing nieces. I have to tell you about one that makes me smile bigger than most things in my life ever. This is Brianna. She is my niece and goddaughter, the daughter of my older brother.

She is also a senior at the United States Naval Academy. As many of you know from my earlier writings, all three of my brothers went to the Naval Academy. To have the next generation follow in their footsteps has made us all prouder than we can ever express.

I saw my three brothers devote their lives to this country, proudly and with honor. Bri Bri has chosen to do the same and will, in two months’ time, have her fate set when she chooses how she will serve in the United States Navy.

My big job this year is to spoil the heck out of her! And I take that job very seriously. She’s also a size XS, six feet tall, and can wear absolutely anything perfectly when she’s not in uniform. So I’m going to have a lot of fun setting up a fall wardrobe gift box. She can wear civilian clothes this year out and about! I can’t not be a part of that, right?

I know you’re used to some good shopping bits in these posts. But today it felt more important to give a hearty life update and leave the shopping for another day. It just means I’ll have to do a post that’s nothing but. Watch this space. And, as always, thanks for being an extended part of this family and crazy life.

Previously on The Weekly Freak Out (But Make it Chic):

I’ve spoken numerous times about what I thought my life WOULD look like. The white picket fence. The husband. The two perfect children. The dogs. The Volvo in the driveway. Basically what we were told in the ‘90s was the dream family scenario. We were sold this vision, and I was hooked.

Fast forward to age 46 and not one of those visions came to fruition for me. I’m sure a lot of people would call that failure. I had a dream. It didn’t become a reality. End of story, roll the credits.

Only, the story is so much more than the picture I had in my mind. So much more involved, rich, full of twists and turns that could fill a hundred lifetimes but instead fit rather messily into mine. And this life, despite it not turning out the way I planned, has been a full one.

I’m surprised I didn’t end up there. I was desperate for this dream life. But somewhere in this “dream timeline,” I decided to let the universe take charge. I surrendered.

It was July 21st, 2004, at 1:31AM. I was 24 and had just exited a relationship that I thought could have been “the one” in London. I was drunk and had just come in from a dinner with work friends. I began to write.

I saved this page before I burnt my journals in 2024. It was earmarked on the corner. The journal entry reads:

Read more

The past nine months have been challenging to say the least. The loss of two golden retrievers that were my children, my soul dogs. Then my dad’s accident, followed by not one but two surgeries that have left me feeling like this has to be some sort of test.

Not a night has gone by that I haven’t cried myself to sleep missing a golden paw resting on my lap, feeling safe because my best friends were within arm’s reach at any given moment. I’ve not hidden this grief at all. I’ve wallowed in it. I miss my boys. So much.

I had spent months thinking about everything we had lost. I didn’t know that, within a few days, something was about to come into our lives that would change the entire feeling of our home. Let me take you back to the Fourth of July.

We ran into a friend that told us of a golden retriever that might need a home. He was an older gentleman pup and exactly what we were hoping for. His need for a new home came from sad circumstances. But we hoped to give a safe home to this four-legged friend in his time of mourning. As fate would have it, this was a golden I had met before. I hadn’t realized I had fallen in love with this fluffy buddy one day a few months ago on a walk downtown. The stars seemed to be aligning.

The next morning we called our vet to see if we could be of assistance and were both happy and saddened to hear this sweet pooch had already found a new home. For 12 hours we had visions of our halls once again being filled with golden paws. The call had us realizing we were lonelier than we really knew.

That morning, after the call, we decided the next morning, Monday, we would get up first thing and go to the local shelter to introduce ourselves and let them know we wanted to give a dog in need a home. 10am Monday morning. Mom and I are both in the car riding to the shelter. As we drove, we talked about how nice it would be to have another dog but also asked if we were really ready or just feeling lonely.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I said to my mom, “I know Brody and Boomer are hard at work somewhere plotting our next pal. There will be signs.”

So, in we walked.

Just as I rounded the corner, a little black nose poked through the reception gate. She was so fluffy I could barely make out her eyes. I ran my fingers through a tousled black and brown mane atop her head and she timidly sniffed then kissed my hand. Slowly her tail came out from between her legs and as I knelt down to say a more formal hello, she came closer and did a dance us dog owners are all too familiar with. The bum wiggle was in full motion.

I asked, “And who is this little lady?” thinking she belonged to one of the women working there.

“She was just dropped off five minutes ago, if you’re interested, she can be yours.”

First things first. We weren’t looking to bring home a dog today. We genuinely just wanted to go, introduce ourselves, ask about fostering and maybe come back in a few weeks when we were ready to action the plan. Full disclosure there was no plan. Who were we kidding?

Then I asked for her name.

“Bella.”

I nearly burst into tears right then and there.

When we were walking in, I said to myself, “There will be sign.” The boys will give me a sign. And I thought, “Maybe it will be that there is a dog in there with a name that starts with a B. That will be it and I’ll see the eyes and I’ll know.” Boomer and Brody would send a sign.

Ladies and gentlemen, exhibit A.

To make sure it was a right fit, they put us in a room with Bella for a meet and greet. First, I was in love and it seemed the feeling was mutual. She fell in love with both of us and Mom and I looked at each other and instantly knew what was about to happen.

Then we were told her story.

Bella was a six-month-old doodle. She originally was given as a present to an elderly woman with the idea that she would be good company. It resulted in Bella being surrendered to the shelter. She was immediately adopted and found a home with a family that already had a poodle in their household.

Bella was with them for exactly one month before being brought back and surrendered again. The other poodle did not like her. They did not get on together. We also know she is terrified of crates after living with this family.

She was surrendered five minutes before we walked in the door that morning.

It’s also at this moment in time that I have to remind myself that I’m signing up for this same package. I’m bringing a puppy into a household that hasn’t had one in 13 years. A lot has changed in that time.

Can we handle a puppy?

It’s almost as if Bella knew exactly what I was thinking. She splayed out across my lap, laid her head on my chest and looked up at me with those big brown eyes and I was ruined. We were going to make this puppy work.

In the span of just thirty minutes our lives changed. We signed the paperwork, paid the adoption fee and agreed to pick her up the next afternoon. On the ride home, we sat in silence for a few moments, taking in the gravity of the situation. We had said we were going in to introduce ourselves, to just look. We had left with the promise to pick up a puppy the next day.

The next morning I went in for surgery, removing a large portion of my skin on my back and shoulder. I was in at 8:30, home by 10:30 and at the shelter for 1pm for pickup. I couldn’t lift anything, including my left arm, for two weeks. This was all interesting timing.

I was so nervous on the way to pick her up, wondering if she’d remember us or care that we were coming to give her a new home. We walked into reception and Bella rushed the gate, tail wagging. Another sign. This was a right fit. She remembered me. She was excited.

We leashed her, led her out to my car and she jumped in the passenger seat without any delay. I slid into the passenger seat beside her, encouraging her into the back. She refused, shaking and looking confused. She literally wrapped her paws around my arm and nudged her head into the crook of my arm. She wasn’t budging. We were sharing the passenger seat home, it would seem.

As we drove, she started to feel more relaxed and eventually reached out and over to my mom on the other side of the car. She seemed to feel safe and I hoped she thought, “This is it, I’m headed to my forever home.”

The first day, Bella barely moved. She just cuddled. Contact was always required and my heart broke thinking what this little soul had been through, how many times she had been handed over and back again. It was love. But it was also clear it was going to be work.

We had also decided we weren’t big fans of the name Bella. No shame to Bellas of the world. It’s just not a right fit for us and didn’t feel like a right fit for her either. It didn’t feel like it matched her personality and she didn’t seem to answer to it. So, a change was made.

I wanted to call her Marmite, Marmie for short. The general consensus was that I needed to embrace being an American and leave my British words back in Blighty. Ha! So, I then suggested she was the color of a Toblerone chocolate bar. We could call her Toby for short. Again shot down.

Finally, a stab at a southern moment. Her brown hair was the same shade of the undercarriage of our Magnolia tree leaves.

Sweet Magnolia. Maggie for short. Shaggy Maggy.

It stuck. I tried Maggie and she turned to face me. Well, that was easy.

What wasn’t easy was trying to figure out why Maggie would randomly shriek out in pain, without anyone touching her and with no pattern we could spot. She was also incredibly lethargic, though three days into a new environment, I do believe she was still in shock with everything going on around her.

To be safe, we took her to the vets. Dear reader, she was in perfect health. There was no explanation for the shrieking, but the important part was that she wasn’t in pain. And we have some good news to report: after a week, the random shrieks disappeared completely from our Sweet Magnolia.

And so here we sit. It’s been a month. There have been ups, there have been downs. We’re learning a lot from this situation. And accepting there’s a lot we will never know as we’re coming into her life mid-puppy and have no idea what happened before us. It’s a VERY steep learning curve.

I won’t lie. There were a few moments where I wasn’t sure we could do this. The situation in this house is very different to the one it was the last time we had a puppy. And I wanted to wait to tell everyone about this new soul in our life because I wanted to make sure we were the best fit for her, could give her the best possible life she deserves.

Where we go from here is anyone’s guess. But I’m hoping for big adventures ahead together in this life, showing this little girl what long-term love looks like from people with enormous hearts and serious weak spots for those in need of a home.

We went in that day to rescue a dog in need. The reality of the situation is this.

She rescued me.

She saved ME. Not the other way around.

And I can’t wait to share what happens next.

P.S.

It was brought to my attention that darker dogs these days are so rarely adopted because they don’t look good on social media. It is a thought that hadn’t even crossed my mind until it was mentioned. The idea of not adopting a big eyed puppy in need because she doesn’t photograph well made me laugh. Maggie is a star in our hearts, hearts that needing healing as much as hers did, it would seem. She isn’t a pawn in a social media play and no dog should be, for the record.

Sure, she might be tough to photograph. We call her our little ninja because she’s tough to spot sometimes in broad daylight. But we love that about her. Just like the way she snuck into our hearts without us knowing we needed her right there. And guess what, she’s now a part of your world too!

My two golden boys were so loved by all of you. We felt that every day. And I know Maggie will receive the same. I’m so proud to present her to you as a new member of OUR family. And she is friendly! If you ever see us out and about, please come and say hello.

You’re sitting in a restaurant. You’re telling someone a story... a juicy one. After two seconds, their eyes dart to the door as it’s opening. Thirty seconds later, someone passes the table, their gaze immediately peels towards the stranger. They nod along as they shift their glance toward the table next to you. There’s no doubt they’ve maybe taken in 1/10th of what you’ve said. You sheepishly end with, “Anyway, that’s what happened.”

Has that ever happened to you? How did you feel?

I’m pretty sure you aren’t going to say great. Such neglect is a feeling you don’t forget or shake easily. And folks, it is neglect. It’s complete neglect, a total lack of respect.

Here’s the hard part: I genuinely believe most people do it without meaning to be insulting. Unless you’re a ruthless social climber. I’m throwing them under the bus, actually, right out in front of the bus.

Because attention is perhaps the easiest thing to give another human being, yet so few of us actually see that we’re disposing of it in every direction except toward the soul sitting opposite us. So why mention it?

I need to fess up. I used to be one of those people at the dinner table who couldn’t concentrate to save my life. So what changed? All it took was one dinner date with an older gentleman when I was 23.

Read more

One thing seems to always be true about South Carolina summers—where there is heat, there are storms. Big storms. This whole week we’ve had afternoon theater. Great big claps of thunder follow huge streaks of lightning across dark moody skies.

If it weren’t so hot out, I’d pop popcorn, sit outside on the wicker couch on the porch and sit and watch the action like a movie. Besides that being unsafe (or so I was told yesterday as I did try to actually do this and was yelled at by my mom and dad), it’s also a direct path to getting absolutely soaked. When the rains come here, they’re heavy. The water comes at you like bullets, direct hits to the skin that should be refreshing but feel like hot pellets hitting with malicious intent.

So, I sit inside. I am glued to the window with an iced coffee to hand. And some days I sit at my desk and write. About what? Well, everything. It’s a form of beautiful therapy and release. And I do firmly believe all of us are writers. So, if you’re sitting there thinking, “that’s not me, I disagree.” It’s like running. Everyone talks about the runners’ high. Once you start and find that rhythm with your fingers, it feels like you’re flying and the end result is therapeutic. At the moment, a lot of my writing is just trying to work out the kinks of relocation. It’s a broken record and with every word I type, I can feel the track mending.

For example…

I watched a movie last night about a Notting Hill bakery. It isn’t worth mentioning to recommend. It was pants. But, there was a lot of filming on Golborne Road and Portobello Road. As I watched these actors walk up and down two streets I walked down daily for years, I felt more disconnected than ever from my old life. I tried to remember a route I would take to a certain bakery to meet a friend every weekend and I couldn’t for the life of me remember the bus number. Silly things like that send me into a tailspin. Have I been away too long? Is it all slipping? It scares me. I ended up switching off the movie and crying myself to sleep like a silly idiot. Because that’s what I am these days when I remember the old life, the home I left.

But then I wake up to a view of the water. I mosey over to my mom and dad’s house and I give them a hug good morning and I instantly forget the hurt from the night before. That’s just how life is these days. A mixture of bittersweet moments that I know I’m not alone in feeling.

Let’s move on. This wasn’t meant to be a “woe is me” moment!

So, this week. I’ve been healing from a procedure which has meant an inordinate amount of time in front of the big screen while the tiny screen rests in my hand. Honestly, this screen business ain’t healthy. My new favorite part of the day is leaving all screens inside and walking the long dock with a book and reading for an hour. I’ll start every day this way if I can, weather permitting.

Some nights though, I am in need of a distraction that’s greater than a book. I need a movie of a tv show that will totally take me out of my current reality. And this week I’ve fallen into a lot of good films that I feel confident in recommending as “watches worth your time.”

The first is a rom com like the ones we used to cherish, before the world became a trash bin for terrible romantic comedies.

You have to watch Voicemails for Isabelle on Netflix.

Of course it’s wildly out of reach of what could actually happen for 101 reasons but none of them matter. For an hour and a half I was completely focused on a story that swept me away. It’s cheesy as hell. It will make you cry, almost immediately. But, it will also have you fist bumping the air with happiness.

My mom and I also settled in to watch a show that so many of my friends in London were watching—Wild Cherry. It’s just crossed the Atlantic and is now on Paramount+. And let me just tell you how thankful I am that I am not a teenager right now or raising teenagers. Moms, I take my hat off to you. This was a terrifying watch. It’s captivating but terrifying. So, I’m putting that warning out there before you switch it on.

Last, but certainly not least (and perhaps the strangest) is Dying for Sex. Now, this one needs a warning label. It is not suitable for watching with parents. Actually, and this is just going to earmark me as an incredible prude. It’s not suitable for watching with anyone. It’s awkward and uncomfortable at the best of times. But, it’s also one of the most beautiful endings to any show I’ve watched in a long time. The last episode left me in pieces. I felt like I had to pick my heart and jaw up off the floor. It’s so beautifully written and acted. I laughed, I cringed, I cried. It’s one that will make you fall even more in love with the female relationships you have in this world. It’s based on a true story and it’s one of the most honest and in your face depictions of death that I have come across. Truly, this is worth being uncomfortable for and it is absolutely designed to do that. Exactly that. Michelle Williams, this role… I just have no words.

I also treated myself to a very special facial this past week in Charleston. It was with Kristin at Ella Ora. She has a waiting list. It’s an intense one and I waited six months to get in. But my goodness when I tell you it’s worth the wait, I mean it. Everyone said it. My friend Lauren spoke about it like it was an awakening and I did wonder if it would be overhyped. My friends, it was not. This is a bespoke facial and it really goes places I’ve never had a facialist go before. It is full coverage for problems on the face, including nose hair waxing. I didn’t even know I had them. Had never seen them before (and apparently most of us don’t). The massage was better than anything I’d ever had in a 90 minute full work down. My face came out looking red and shiny like a freshly waxed and washed Corvette. And nearly one week later I swear I have a jawline that has never appeared so razor sharp before today.

I also got to snuggle Kristin’s dog. This is a first. This little pup is new to her life and wanted in on the action and I begged her to let him come in for a snuggle. He just lay there and cuddled me and I’m not gonna lie, I ended up tearing up more than once. It’s like he knew I missed my boys and needed this dog love.

I swear. Dogs. They know everything. They are actual angels. I will die on this hill.

Now, let me share the things that have been filling up my phone screen, in the form of shopping discoveries.

The best and only planner I use

We’ll start the most pressing—my planner! I buy The Simplified Planner 2026/2027 every year at this time because the first week in the book is the first week in August. It’s a mid year shuffle and I love it. Call me crazy but it feels like a fresh start right smack in the middle of chaos and sometimes you need that. This is also the only planner I’ve ever used in its entirety and I think that’s absolutely worth mentioning. I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on chic planners that would last three months and then be forgotten. This format, for whatever reason, is the game changer.

Correcting posture day and night

I’ve spoken about this before, but I’m coming back for another hit because I bought two more last month. Let me wax lyrical for a moment about The Power+ Bra. This is “apparently” the bra that Taylor Swift wore while training for the Eras Tour to correct her posture. I bought one six months ago and have worn it during workouts or on days I don’t need to look fancy. It fits like a sports bra.

I saw somewhere online that people were wearing these to sleep in because they were helping with posture while sleeping. I have always been a crazy curl sleeper and I can see that affecting my shoulders as of late. I am rounded when I wake up. So, I bought two of these specifically for sleeping. They aren’t cheap. They take some getting used to for sleep as usually I sleep with no bra on. But, I am seeing a difference. I have less upper back pain in the morning and my posture is working towards correction. Again, they aren’t cheap, but I think they are absolutely worth every penny. I haven’t found anything else that works as efficiently.

Put the extensions away, pick up a Halo!

Full disclosure, I have never had extensions. Plenty of my friends do and their hair looks amazing. But, because of my brain surgery, I have to be really careful about putting stress on my head. It’s as annoying as not being able to wear my hair in a pony tail for longer than an hour at a time without serious repercussions. So extensions are never going to be an option for me.

A couple of months ago, however, a company called Luxy asked if they could send me their Halo hair piece. I was skeptical but also aware that this is a problem area for so many of us. They were promising great results so I said I’d love to try one, just to test.

It is human hair. It’s actually in halo formation and it can either be clipped in or simply placed with a thin wire around your crown. I didn’t think I’d get the color right in a thousand years. But, ladies, when I put this on, I couldn’t tell where my hair ended and the extensions began. All I knew was that I instantly had the hair of my dreams.

Sadly, because it’s so much hair, I don’t think I’d be able to wear them for long. But, they are truly lightweight for most and such an impressive product. Hence me presenting them here. They earned a mention.

Messiah And Eve handwash

I went on a rampage the other day on stories, speaking about hand wash. Well, more specifically, speaking about the power of a good hand wash in your bathrooms. I am someone who believes in spending money on an opportunity to feel luxurious whenever one can. Every time you use the loo, there’s an opportunity for luxury, if you really think about it. That beautiful smell of a luxury hand soap wafting up from the sink can change the course of a day. I have always and will always spend money on good hand wash. When I lived in London this was always a bottle from Messiah and Eve. When I left, I packed half a dozen bottles to bring home to America with me. It was my little taste of home, a reminder of the old life cheekily dotted throughout my day.

Full disclosure, I also know the beautiful founder of Messiah and Eve. Last month she sent me a message to let me know that their products were coming to America! Cue Eddie Murphy. Wink, Wink. Their products have dropped on Nordstrom. So you know every bathroom in my house and my parents’ house now has this hand wash sitting by the sink.

Trust me on this. Invest in a hand soap / wash that you love. It’s a little change that will feel like a big luxury moment every time you wash your hands.

Barefaced bits

Two more luxury bits in beauty that feel luxurious and are what I call my “lazy beauty” but won’t cost the moon. Both are from the brand Barefaced.

First are the polishing pads. These are lazy beauty because I used to buy glycolic acid and cotton pads and soak the pads. Now, I just buy the presoaked and perfectly sized pads from Barefaced. And, guys, I’m not using these on my face. This is my secret weapon to oh so soft skin all year long. I run them up and down my arms and legs at least twice a week. Your skin will be smooth as silk. The only caveat has to do with self tanner. If you’ve used self tanner, don’t use these mid week after the application. It will strip your tan early. On the flip side, it’s good to use a day or two before you apply self tan and will help extend the life of that golden glow on your skin.

Another lazy beauty bit—the Everyday Eye Hero. These are reusable medical grade silicone patches that I apply on top of my eye serum at night for about 20 minutes while I’m doing everything else to get ready for bed. They help with the absorption of the product and also assist in reducing puffiness of the eye area (something my recent life has given me a big problem with).

The Bermuda Triangle of blushes

If my handbag could applaud a new product, this would be it. The packaging is absolutely brilliant. It should win an award. A flip-out-lay-flat triangle formation featuring a longwear blush duo has got me screaming. Of course this is from LYS beauty, the Higher Standard blush duo (I love the color classy), and I’m alarmingly late to discovering this brilliant makeup brand but we got here in the end. But I love this color combo for summer and it’s definitely worth mentioning here as I’ve already recommended it to half a dozen friends who agree it’s a brilliant buy. As a side note for anyone wondering why you need a cream and a powder blush, this is all about stretching out the wear. You put on the cream and seal it with the powder and you have blush that doesn’t budge all day.

While I wish I had more time to write today, I am unfortunately under a time constraint after another beautiful southern storm swung through last night leaving quite the path of destruction.

I’m putting on coveralls, snake boots and lots of bug spray and I’m headed out with my dad to chainsaw and remove it all. If someone had told me this would be my life this time two years ago I would have laughed out loud and in their face. But, that’s the magnificent part of living. You absolutely have no idea what’s just around the corner.

Have a great week, everyone!

Previously on The Weekly Freak Out (But Make it Chic):

Nope, I’m not ok. So, let’s do a health check in: mental and physical.

(Warning: There is a mildly graphic photo shared herewith.)

Read more

Buying jeans is an exercise in optimism, delusion, and increasingly reckless spending. I convince myself that a new $300 pair will change my life or at least give me an ass resembling Cindy Crawford’s in that famous Pepsi commercial. I have an entire rail of denim proving otherwise: sold on the dream, while my rear end delivers the reality. Because let’s be honest, most jeans are not designed for women over a size 6.

Sure there are a few pairs of “designer jeans” that have been worth the money. Trust me, I talk about and wear them often. But every single season for the past ten years I’ve found at least one pair of jeans for under $50 that has become my favorite. The majority of them seem to be from one place: Old Navy. (And no, this is not an ad!)

We are trained to believe that denim can’t be perfect unless the price tag has three digits on it. Ladies, put down your American Expresses. You’ll only need cash here today.

The pair of jeans I’m sharing here will fit almost every woman. And no, these aren’t some magical pair from The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. This is real and absolutely worth shouting about. Running from a women’s size 00-30 and in three inseam lengths, they are designed for WOMEN!

I know you’re going to call me crazy for recommending a “Low Rise” jean. I can feel my fellow ‘90s teenagers recoiling with fear. Don’t worry, no neon pink VS thongs needed. Old Navy just means “lower rise.” Marketing department, let’s talk. You need to be careful with certain words around the 40+ marketplace.

They also have the perfect denim rinse, aged to perfection, plus they’re soft and lightweight. That’s starting to sound like I’m auditioning for QVC, but these details are important. They are comfortable. That’s something you need to know.

I ordered the color “Solstice” from the website and they are definitely darker in person than on the model. And they are so much better for it!

This is just a good old fashioned shopping addict feeling the need to order every pair of jeans she can get her hands on in an effort to help the world at large. It’s a tough business, but someone’s got to do it!

Now, at the time of writing this, they are fully stocked up. They will not be for long. These are too good to stick around (and they’re currently on sale). Run. Seriously. No lag time here. Go!

You might also enjoy:

My mother is going to kill me for putting this photo on blast.

Read more

Full disclosure, I had a real come to Jesus moment with myself about an unexpected emotion last Friday. Let’s just go ahead and give that moment a name: jealousy. I was reading about Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce tying the knot and I instantly rolled my eyes at the pomp and circumstance around the whole thing, the media circus. I stopped for a moment to think about my sudden change of heart. Why was I, a Taylor Swift fan and hopeless romantic, not over the moon about the wedding of the century?

Then it smacked me in the face. I’m jealous.

I’m not jealous of their media attention, because my god how terrible it must be to have to rent out one of the largest private venues in the world to make sure you have the security and privacy needed on your big day. She spends her life in venues, so does her husband. Why go back there to celebrate a day that I had always imagined for her in her beautiful Rhode Island home?

But, I am not Taylor Swift. So why am I imagining her special day? It’s her day and for all we know she has always dreamt of getting married in one of the venues that helped give her the career she has today. This is her day, her decision. If she got married in a McDonald’s parking lot, that’s her choice, her dream.

Second, and probably more likely, I do believe there was no other way to make sure she and all of her guests were safe. That’s the world we live in. Isn’t it? It’s depressing to zoom out and realize that’s the case, but it is what it is.

So it had to be The Garden.

Now with the venue judginess out of the way, I’m ready to admit that the cause of my jealousy is their ability to shove everyone else’s opinions aside. It’s the way they continue to showcase exactly who they are and who they are to each other, seemingly without a care in the world about what anyone has to say about it. They geek out over each other. They geek out over their careers, their families, their friends, and the secret little world they have built that none of us have ever seen and likely never will.

I am jealous that I don’t have that. I’m jealous I haven’t found that. Because how beautiful is that sort of love? When two people can be themselves, publicly and privately, and feel secure doing so, just showing up as who they really are! When two people can support each other through career successes and not feel intimidated or threatened when one supersedes the other.

As I write this, the jealousy is melting. It’s all coming back to me, why I love them as a couple, why I love that young people are seeing this cheesy romance take place with a spotlight on it. It feels real. It feels like “high school” and it feels like hope. Hell, it gives this 46 year old woman hope. I hope women at 16, 26, and 36 feel the same. Love can be out there. But it also doesn’t need to be. That’s one thing I’ve loved about Taylor Swift from the start. It hasn’t seemed like she has needed a man. She’s been happy single, happy in relationships. Now, she’s hopefully happy in marriage.

I think if more people sat down to examine their emotions on this topic they would find that it’s often times very hard to see two people so in love. We throw stones, calling it a PR stunt or claiming it’s problematic and showy. In reality, it’s just a love affair with a magnifying glass on it. That glass is showcasing someone else’s happiness in bright lights while also perhaps spotlighting something missing in our own lives.

If that happens to be you, let me remind you of two things I had to remind myself. No relationship in the world is as perfect as social media presents. Everyone fights. Everyone has problems. No one wants to share those for the world to see.

But also, every love story is one worth celebrating. In a world where we are fed bad news every day all day, surely a beautiful story of love is one we should be embracing, not trying to tear apart before it’s even had time to fully flourish.

To Mr. and Mrs. Taylor Swift (who knows… maybe he’s taking her name?), I wish you all the love in the world for the future. And I know I am far from alone in that sentiment.

P.S. Don’t get me wrong. I’m certain they have carefully crafted exactly what they share with the outside world, keeping their romance and life in general, mainly to themselves. But there is something incredibly sexy and honorable about doing that in 2026, when folks are foaming at the mouth for any and every morsel of personal details. They are in control of the narrative, and damn it, that’s enviable.

Previously on Le Freak Chic:

Let me be absolutely not the first person to tell you that you need to take a cruise to Alaska. It’s taken me a while to write this here and I’ve debated whether or not you want a full run down of the event or tips from the cruise itself, lessons learned etc (if so drop in the comments and let me know). It can be pretty easily summed up in one sentence, if push came to shove, however. Alaska will change you. I have traveled all over the world. For the 22 years I lived abroad, I was in a different country at least twice a month and I am so proud to say I covered a lot of ground on this big beautiful planet. But no place surprised me more than Alaska. I sort of always knew I’d love it, but could have never predicted that every single morning on that cruise would feel like Christmas morning. So much so, in fact, that mom and I have talked about making it an annual trip and trying to convince other members of our family to join in.

I will say that while on the cruise, mom asked me if I had ever read The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah and I gave her a blank stare. “Ok, obviously not, but you should,” was her answer.

I went straight on to Amazon and ordered it so it would be waiting for me at home. Mom and I both read it immediately when we got home. We, almost in tandem, held our breath, cried, picked our jaws up off the floor and both said, “We miss Alaska” several times while reading. If you know nothing about this book, know that it is a rollercoaster ride of storytelling that bobs through the Alaskan wilderness. It so beautifully captures the magnificence of this great frontier state while also weaving a wild story that will keep you reading. I know I’m late to the game on this beautiful novel. But if I am, I know there are others. I promise you. This is an incredible read!

Speaking of Alaska, it ruined my skin. Ok, Alaska and Alaskans, this one is on me, not you. I had no idea the frigid and biting air would be there, let alone be so cold that it would literally steal all the moisture left in my skin. I drank water like it was going out of style to try and keep up, but I couldn’t. I was defeated and my skin was deflated. Mom and I both looked ten years older than when we arrived by the time we got off the ship. When I came home, I went into emergency mode and scoured the cupboards for something that would give me quick repair. You know by now I get sent a few freebies here and there, and the trio that saved my skin were all samples and all bits and bobs I’ve repurchased to keep in an emergency kit for severely dehydrated skin. They were not cheap. I’m being transparent about that right now. But I have another trip planned that will require harsh conditions for skin, and it’s worth it to me to spend the money to have something that will work in case of emergency. And yes, they are emergency only with those price tags. Also, I have the world’s most sensitive skin, and none of these irritated it at all. They were soothing from start to finish.

While we’re on the topic of skincare, I’ll tell you about something that’s a little more friendly for the credit card and that you can find in your local drugstore. This is RoC’s RoC Derm Correxion Firming Serum Stick. Annoyingly my neck is a bit blurred in the background there. I am trying to find an image for a before and after but I realized I don’t have a lot of pictures where my neck is in clear view. My hair is almost always in the way. But, I will fill you in. I’ve always had lines around my neck. They’ve never really bothered me at all. But, my neck has started to age, just as I was warned it would and I’m someone who doesn’t preplan. I fix after. And this is the after fix. My neck has gone back in time to my 20s. I kid you not. I made my mom buy this too! I am not sure if it’s something that lasts forever but while using it my neck has actually boarded a time machine to the ’90s. It’s insane. So yes, absolutely worthy of a random shout out here in the weekly recap of discoveries.

While we’re on discoveries, I did mention that I’m not drinking anywhere near as much as I used to. Basically NOT drinking. There is the odd martini or glass of wine every couple of months, but that’s it. I still, however, love to bring a housewarming gift when visiting friends, and I’ve found a new way to bring the cocktails to the party… in candle form and from a local source!

Rewined Candles is out of Charleston, South Carolina and if they had an investment op, I’d be buying into it because they’re already going to be taking all of my money for gifts. And I know they’re going to grow astronomically over the next couple of years.

For most of my friends, I know their tipple. Some sip on Chardonnay, others like filthy martinis. There are the espresso martini drinkers and the champagne poppers. Well, match the preference to the person. Rewined has it covered. My personal favourites right now are Dirty Martini, Champagne and Espresso Martini. But next on my list are Cosmopolitan, French 75 and the Paloma. You CANNOT go wrong with these as gifts.

And now, on the personal side of things.

Read more

We’re sitting around a table at the Electric in Notting Hill, London. It’s a hot day in the middle of summer, and I’m sitting across from a girl I met on Instagram. I don’t remember how we connected, but I remember how easy it felt—like sitting with a sister. I wish I knew who introduced us so I could thank them.

Katie and I were both bloggers back then, around 2011 or 2012. She wrote The 12ish Style, and I wrote Fashion Foie Gras. Most of the details are fuzzy, but one moment from that time is crystal clear because it changed everything.

Katie herself has been a gift in my life. But what she eventually slid across the table that day is what really shifted things.

I had just come back from shooting a summer catalogue in the south of France. It was brutally hot—well into the 90s—and I was wearing mostly dresses and skirts.

After the first day, I went back to my hotel room and cried as I sat in a cold bath. My thighs were covered in blisters and blood. The heat, humidity, and constant movement in a pencil skirt had left them painfully chafed. It went on like that for three days. Every morning, I coated my inner thighs in baby powder, hoping it would last longer than an hour and get me through the day.

As I relayed this horror story to Katie, she smiled and slid something across the table. It looked like a deodorant stick and was called Thigh Rescue. She told me, with complete confidence, that my days of summer thigh pain were over.

I smiled politely. I already loved this person and dreaded having to report that her product didn’t work because I was certain nothing on Earth could save me from this particular pain. Fast-forward 24 hours. I woke up, chose my favourite maxi dress, threw one leg onto the bathroom sink, and applied Thigh Rescue to my inner thighs.

When I put my leg down, I felt a smooth glide between them. That sentence is verging on soft porn, but the reality felt nearly as euphoric. I stepped outside feeling nothing but the silky glide of flesh against flesh. I remember arriving home that night and texting Katie: “You are going to be a billionaire, and you are going to do it by changing the lives of women everywhere for the better.”

Nearly 15 years later, Katie Sturino, founder of Megababe, remains a cherished friend. She is also the patron saint of my summer beauty cabinet. Yesterday, she launched a new product called COLDIES.

Once again, we were at breakfast, and Katie was passing me a product that she claimed would change the way women deal with summer heat. Sure enough, she was right.

It made me realise that, although I wanted to tell you about COLDIES, I had never gathered all the Megababe products that have become summer staples for me into one place. So, that’s what this is. It’s as casual as Katie passing me that first stick of Thigh Rescue across the table. It’s one girlfriend telling another: this is the shit, and you need to know about it.

Thigh Rescue

This is the original, the product that started it all for me. It creates a smooth barrier between areas that rub, preventing the friction that causes chafing. You can use it on your thighs, feet, shoulders, or anywhere else your skin rubs together.

Trust me, get the mini for your handbag and your travels too.

COLDIES

These are the newest arrivals, and I predict they’ll be gone by the weekend. Yes, they are that good. Unlike most cooling products, COLDIES don’t need to be frozen, refrigerated, or soaked. They feel cool straight out of the box and absorb body heat for up to 30 minutes. Once they warm up, you simply remove them and let them reset before using them again.

The bra inserts sit beneath your boobs and stay in place inside your bra without adhesive. The neck collar rests around your neck and is lightweight enough to wear easily. For hot flashes, humid commutes, outdoor events, or simply existing in the summer, these are genius.

Bust Dust

Boob sweat in the summer? Now is not the time to be bashful. No one can see you nodding as you read this. Bust Dust is a talc-free powder that absorbs sweat and helps keep your bra and clothes dry. The pump directs the powder exactly where you need it without covering your entire bathroom in dust.

Once again, grab the mini for your handbag too.

Magic Powder

Think of this as full-body sweat and odour protection. It goes on as a silky lotion but dries like a powder, absorbing moisture without creating the mess of a traditional loose powder. The built-in applicator also means you don’t have to rub it in with your hands. Use it anywhere that becomes hot, sweaty, or uncomfortable while you are existing, commuting, dancing, or sitting on a plastic chair in August.

Blister & Heel Rescue

I now have one of these in every handbag because I am also the person who develops a blister at the worst possible moment.

It works like Thigh Rescue but has a slightly grippier texture designed specifically for the places where shoes rub. Swipe it onto your heels, toes, or anywhere else likely to cause trouble before the blister appears. Bring this to Disney. That is all.

Fun Gal Stuff

This is another new product, and once again, Katie is addressing something that affects many women but that very few people discuss. Fungal rashes can develop anywhere moisture collects, including underneath your boobs and within skin folds. Fun Gal Stuff is a clinically proven antifungal cream containing 1% clotrimazole, along with colloidal oatmeal to soothe the skin.

No one else needs to know. But you should know that there is an actual treatment rather than blindly throwing the entire contents of your medicine cabinet at the problem.

Cucumber Mint Shower Sheets

I keep these on hand throughout the year, but they are particularly useful for camping, festivals, long flights, and any situation in which an actual shower is unavailable.

They are oversized, individually wrapped body wipes that remove sweat and grime without leaving your skin feeling sticky. They are also made from biodegradable and compostable plant-based fibres. One sheet is genuinely large enough for your whole body.

I know that’s a lot to take in at once, but it is hot out there, folks. There is no better time for a big-sister conversation about the tools you need to survive the sweaty days ahead.

FYI I do make a small commission (at no cost to you) if you purchase any of these products through the links in this post. But again, this post is not sponsored! I’m just genuinely so in love with Megababe.

Links to my Megababe favourites

So stay cool, stay hydrated, and check on your parents. Big love from the sweaty South.

P.S. Katie, thank you for being the big sister to us all with these genius products. I remain convinced that you are building the next Spanx: helping women while rightly becoming a business legend in the process.

You may also enjoy:

I was a brunette for 45 years. Healthy, long, glossy shades of chestnut. To be honest, I naively thought I’d always be a brunette. Then, at 44, my hair changed. And I kid you not, it was overnight. One morning I woke up and the hair that was once a magnificent mane was now a tangled, dry, frizzy mess of string. And that string had a new color all on its own. Grey had come to say hello. What was a strand or two in the first years of my 40s was now a full blown attack on the top of my head. They were invading. And ladies, I’m not afraid to admit that I panicked.

I absolutely celebrate that honor or aging. I appreciate that we are grateful for every additional day we get here on this earth. But, I’m also vain. There, I said it! Although I doubt you’re that surprised.

So, I went to a hairdresser. Actually, I went to see my mom’s lady here in Beaufort and we talked about a solution. She said, “Have you ever been blonde? We could use highlights to blend and hide the greys.” I not only said let’s do it, I looked up a picture and said, “Let’s really commit to this, take me here.” I shared a picture of what we now call a “bronde.” And the rest is history.

Full disclosure, I walked out of the salon and bawled my eyes out. I didn’t recognize who I was in the mirror. I was honestly surprised each morning when I woke up to brush my teeth. I called the hairdresser and said I wanted to go back to brunette.

Then, after some advice from my mom and the hairdresser, because I am clearly in need of guidance here, I lived in it for a week to see how I felt. After three days, I decided I had always been a blonde and that was how it should stay. Only, the texture and condition of my hair did not improve; it got worse…

My Hair Recovery Routine That’s Actually Working

Now, I have a regimen, a workout I do every other morning in an effort to save this head of hair. And it seems to be working. The styling reps are showing some results and I feel confident enough now to share what I’m doing at this stage of repair.

Strap in, we’re touring my hair hall of fame. And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the great Abbey Yung here—the internet’s hair guru and definitely worth a follow. She has influenced about 30% of this edit and has, in my opinion, truly helped me save my bleached and battered locks over the past year.

I’m walking you through AM to PM, not a step to be missed.

In the shower:

I double-cleanse with shampoo. I start with the Pantene Sheer Volume and then use the Dove Intensive Repair. I also flip my hair upside down to make sure I am shampooing my whole scalp, not just the top. If I have learned anything over the past year, it’s that scalp health is the most important element here and you want that to be a clean and healthy place for your hair to thrive!

I then deep condition every single wash. I have thrown out the flimsy conditioners. My hair craves hydration. So I reach for one of two deep conditioners. I mix high and low here because I can’t afford high all the time! On most days it’s Dove Intensive 10-in-1 Repair Mask. On “feeling luxe” days, it’s Coco and Eve Repairing and Restoring Mask.

Out of the Shower:

I use an old but clean t-shirt to wrap my hair. I was given this as a trick of the trade years ago behind the scenes at fashion week. A stylist doing my hair washed it and wrapped it in a white Hanes t-shirt. I asked if they were out of towels and he said, “Baby girl, trust me, ditch the towels and use a t-shirt instead. Your hair will thank you.” Doing this will help fight frizz, prevent breakage in the hair, but also help your hair to retain moisture. You do not need an expensive hair towel. Wash an old t-shirt, or seven and keep them in your bathroom.

I leave my hair wrapped up while I brush my teeth, put on my skincare and make some coffee.

Leave-in conditioners, lotions, and potions:

Let it please be known that I never used to use anything in my hair. I would shower every morning, blow dry and go. That was the routine. Occasionally there would be curling in there. But there was never any heat protection. And I’m sitting here wondering why my hair is in bad shape. Clue in, Emily!

I now know the importance of heat protection. I have also learned that the heat and humidity in the southern states of America require you to work a little harder with the products.

Once a week, I use Living Proof’s Triple Bond Complex. This is a hair strengthener. It’s what my hair needs to get back to the place it once was. I’m repairing here. I’m treating, not fast fixing. Saying that, I did see a huge difference after the first use in the softness of my hair. Think less straw and more grass. From stiff and brittle to smooth and flexible. Does that make sense?

I leave that on for ten minutes and then go in with my leave-in conditioner and heat protection. I currently have three that I use, on rotation. I was basically roadtesting all of these products and probably tried 15 leave ins. These three are my ride or dies.

First, the Pantene Miracle Rescue 10-in-1. When I travel, this is what comes with me. I would say I use it the most. It’s the most budget friendly.

Second, the Color Wow Money Mist. This is a bit more expensive but also a great product if you’re going for a really sleek blow dry (I pair this with the Color Wow Volume Mousse when I’m doing a big bouncy blowout).

If I’m having a day when the hair feels very dry, I’ll reach for Bumble and bumble’s Invisible Oil. This is formulated for very dry hair. It works. But I find that when my hair is in better condition, this can feel too much at times. So it’s my go to on the straw hair days!

Let’s get heat involved:

I try to let my hair airdry to about 70%. That’s if I have the time, and I’ll be honest, that doesn’t happen as often as I’d like. Some days, I have to go straight in fifteen minutes after the shower. I’m not proud of that fact, but this is the reality.

I used to use a Dyson to blow dry my hair. That has been replaced. Sorry, D. We had to break up. I found something in the lightweight category.

I found the L’Ange HaloRing Hair Dryer and I have my own momma to thank for that. I come from a family of shoulder problems and as I’ve gotten older, it’s become a real problem. Damn those years of being a butterflier. Doing my hair is a process and it’s getting harder by the year. But I will say that discovering this hairdryer has made things a lot easier. It’s light as air, powerful as hell and has ionic technology to boot. Basically I’m throwing my full weight behind this bad boy. Well worth every penny.

After the hair is completely dry, I go in with the Shark Styling System. This thing has replaced three tools in my hair arsenal—hot brush, curling iron and flat iron. And it has replaced them because it is in fact better at all three jobs. And yes, I do think it’s better than its competitor.

I will occasionally use a curling iron and I use an old cheapy. This one is less than $20 and works better than any I’ve owned, and some of those have been over $200. I think the new expensive ones are bullshit and a waste of your money. Just be careful with how long you’re holding an iron to your hair and you’ll be fine. Save your money!

At the moment, in the heat and humidity of South Carolina, I’m using a frizz fighting anti-humidity hairspray. I’ve tried about a dozen in the last two months and I’ve landed on the SexyHair Big Weather Proof Frizz Control Finishing Spray. It’s lightweight, but has hold. It’s easy to brush through but won’t disappear. And most importantly, it keeps frizz away!

The night time routine:

Every single night, without fail, I’m using the Champo Growth Serum. Now, ladies, I do believe this is the best of the bunch. Truly, this has made such a difference. I feel like my hair has doubled in amount. I am now on my third bottle and have ordered three more for fear of running out. I tell everyone that will listen that they need to buy and use this and I have no plans on stopping. I am truly impressed and say, with hand on heart, that if you’re on a hair growth journey, this is THE SHIT!

I also use a little comb from a company called Squigs to massage in the product while I apply it. Also a great detangler comb. This is optional, obviously. Your fingers work just fine! The important part here is to incorporate some scalp massage as part of the treatment.

I will also (once or twice a week at the moment) use heatless curl wraps. I am, again, still trialling these. Top of the charts right now is the L’Ange Curling Rods because they are designed to wrap and tie in place. That means they stay in place and are actually comfortable to sleep in—two things I have found very challenging with overnight heatless curlers!

The morning after, I simply remove the rods, spray with the hairspray mentioned above and brush through before running out of the house to start the day. Easy peasy.

Ok, that’s a wrap. Which reminds me, I am also looking into wraps. But that’s a topic for another time! Hope this was helpful. Any questions, I’m in the comments for this one!

You may also enjoy:

“I knew we were losing a dog today, I never even thought about the pain of losing our vet family.”

Those were the words I said as I choked back tears on the drive home from putting Brody to sleep last week.

Just a half hour previous to that moment, I stood in a room, holding my sweet dog as every member of our vet practice came in to kiss my best friend goodbye.

For the first time in our lives, we are now a dog free home. And that, well, that has been hard enough in itself. But an unexpected additional pain came about in realizing we would no longer be going in for regular visits to see people who were not just the medical professionals looking after our dogs. They had become something more, much more.

If you are a pet owner, finding the right vet to walk alongside you through the life of your pet is paramount. I’m not sure I fully understood that before this past year.

I want to take you through Brody’s last afternoon. In my heart, I believe this is the experience every single pet owner deserves and should expect from their veterinary practice. It was, perhaps, the most beautiful goodbye I’ve ever witnessed.

We walked into the practice ruined people. We had cried the whole ride in and immediately broke down as the girls met us at the car to help get Brody into the room. His tail wagged as he saw his people. He was in a place he loved, a place where he knew he was loved.

“Someone go get Brody’s cake from the fridge!”

I wasn’t sure I had heard that right. As we got situated in the room, in walked one of Brody’s favorite girls, Stephanie, with a cake stand and a note taped to the glass topper which read, “Save for Brody.”

Earlier the previous day we had called to make THE appointment. The appointment no one ever wants to make for their dog. The office had a birthday party that afternoon and after hearing tomorrow would be Brody’s last day here with us all, they saved him a piece of chocolate cake! Chocolate cake, people. They wanted his last taste on this earth to be something he was never allowed to have safely before (because of course chocolate is toxic to dogs).

Inside of one minute, Brody’s last moments went from being cloaked in sadness to a room full of celebration. I don’t know how they did that, but I know it takes a mighty special group of people.

And my friends, you know a golden retriever is on his last paws when he is offered a plate full of cake and finds it hard to take more than one bite. Through it all, his tail wagged. Anyone looking in would have thought we were celebrating a birthday, not a last day.

We tried our best to keep things upbeat, but we all knew what was coming, and we all knew that we were there to say goodbye.

One by one, every single vet tech who had ever treated Brody came in to say goodbye, and this part was so hard to watch but also so incredibly beautiful.

My dog sat front and center, like a proud lion, holding strength for every single woman that came to bury her face in his fur and say a final goodbye. All wept openly, as if it were their own dog they were guiding through to the other side, and that both broke me and healed me in ways I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to accurately put into words. As each of Brody’s friends came into the room, his tail wagged with not just recognition but pure love.

Some offered directions for the other side: “Look out for my dad. He has all the cookies.” “My puppy is there waiting for you at the Rainbow Bridge. He’ll show you the way.”

Some stepped in to kiss him, tousle his crimped, soft, feathered ears one last time, and hug us as they expressed their condolences.

If we could have bottled the love in that room, in that half hour, I swear we could use it to change the course of the world. It was felt in every corner. It lifted us up from a very dark place that was sure to get darker as the deed was done.

There are so many things I wish I had done differently on that day, on a personal level. So very many things. But the one thing we couldn’t have gotten more right was in choosing this team of people who sat there with us not just in this moment but in every moment leading up to this one.

Our vets, both Mark and Kirsten, have seen us through so much with these dogs over 13 years. And in the final months, for both of our dogs, they, alongside every one of their vet techs, became something else. They weren’t just medical professionals, they were therapists.

They held our hands as we made difficult decisions. They were sources of knowledge and empathy as we tried to navigate the care of our sick and dying pups. They understood our devotion to these two, but also understood that we wished to put their comfort ahead of our selfishness in keeping them with us. We wanted them to have the best life and then we wanted to give them a dignified exit when the time was right. Our vets, this team, helped us navigate that path with honor and care.

But over the years, they’ve given us so much more than just the standard medical care expected of a vet. Our dogs have met Santa Claus because of our vets. Yup, they organized special pet portraits with Santa for the holiday season.

The veterinary practice was also their home away from home. If ever we needed to travel and no one could stay home to look after these two, they were always boarded there. And you know you’ve found the right people to look after your dogs when they don’t even turn around to say goodbye. Once they spotted their favorite travel mom walking out the front door, they would be off like rockets, tails wagging and a spring in their step. Linda was truly their mom away from mom.

This was their second home, a place they were excited to visit and full of people they couldn’t wait to cuddle. That was a first for us. But it has now set the bar.

Before we left our dear Brody, we hugged everyone goodbye and that is when our friends said, “We will miss you. Please feel free to drop by anytime.”

That’s when the other shoe dropped. On this day we weren’t just saying goodbye to our beloved dog, we were also saying goodbye to a whole family. It never occurred to me that we would have no reason to visit, no dog to bring in for treatment or boarding.

As we walked out the door, having said our goodbyes and made promises to return, a paw was placed in our hands to hold space in our lives where another had once been. Ashley, the client care specialist, had given us each a keychain, a paw filled with a locket of Brody’s hair—a piece of him to have forever. I’m not sure what one is supposed to say in moments like this, when someone presents something so special and straight from the heart. I can’t remember what I did say, in fact. But I do know it wasn’t anywhere near what I would have liked to convey in gratitude for their thinking to do this for us.

And that, my dear friends, is how you know you’ve found a vet who is worthy of caring for the loves of your life.

Without thinking, I said, “We have never been a dog free home and will never be a dog free home. You will see us again soon, I promise. You are our family.”

This was not something we had discussed, but it was a statement that felt as natural as anything else and rooted in truth. We are a family that has dogs. Our family is made whole because of these four-legged friends. They heal us in ways we can never fully understand or translate to others. We just know our home is a home because they are a part of it.

So yes, dogs will come back into this picture. I am convinced Brody and Boomer are behind the scenes now plotting and scheming to send us two pups that are just right. I hope my sweet boys know that they can never be replaced, never replicated or bettered. They were my soul dogs, my best friends.

Let’s see what happens next. But one thing we know for sure is where we will take them when the time comes.

Thank you, Animal Medical Center of The Lowcountry. And a very special thank you to Mark, Kirsten, Stephanie, Linda, Ashley, Sumor, Renee, Mackenzie, and Rachel. Our dogs’ lives were richer, fuller, and longer because of your love and care, and so were ours.

Recently on Le Freak Chic:

I need to start this with an apology. June hasn’t had the best start, as you’ve already read. It has felt like a bit of a deluge. My dad falling out of the ceiling, a sinus surgery that was a lot more painful than I was anticipating, and the death of a best friend, which transformed the sinus surgery into the most painful experience of my life. That’s been June so far. And we’re only half way through this month. Enough already, universe.

Here’s the hard part of all of this. I am a party of one. I’m also a party of one that has had a pretty easy going life thus far. I’ve rolled with some punches, but very few things have managed to knock me down. So, I’ve always been able to “show up” online. I’ve never asked for a break in the action. Not once in the 17 years I’ve been doing this. And I’m not asking for one now either. But, I feel it’s only appropriate to share what’s going through my head at the moment.

I have found it very hard to sit down at a computer for long stints over the past 10 days. There was a guilt that came with it. I was spending time here, when I should be spending time there. But, there was another thought running through my head that seemed to unravel me more.

I am a positive person 95% of the time. And I try with all that I am to bring that positivity to the table for others. If I’m being brutally honest here, I was not radiating positivity. It was quite the opposite and I didn’t want that anywhere near you. So, I stepped away from the keyboard for a few days. I had hoped to find the silver lining in all of this and would come back revealing that all the pain was worth it.

And then Thursday happened. And I wish Thursday hadn’t happened. Although I knew it was coming.

Read more

It’s been a while since I “scream cried.” You know those moments when you’re crying so hard you can barely breathe but somehow find the inner spirit to roar while you’re doing it? The moment is fleeting, but it’s also life-altering. For me, these moments usually coincide with a song that plays in exactly the moment it needs to, like the universe knew what you needed right then and right there. Today, that song presented itself, and my tear-stained, crinkled face roared like a lion as I screamed in the solitude of my car on the way home from the hospital in Beaufort, South Carolina. Because it has been a week, let me tell you.

I was going 50 over the new bridge (that’s what we call it only because it’s newer than the other bridge, not because it’s actually new), and The Killers had come on the radio. Specifically, “All These Things That I’ve Done.” It’s a song you can easily sing along to on any given day, but it has a lot of twists and turns that move through the entirety of the production.

Then you get to 1:08, and the song shifts in a way I still forget, even after listening to it a thousand and one times.

Brandon Flowers starts to sing, almost chant, “I got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

As a chorus, with what sounds like a room full of emotional friends, he repeats this line ten times. With each repetition, the strength of the lyric grows and the weight of its meaning intensifies.

And in this moment, a song gives me a reminder I need.

None of us are meant to carry the weight that is sometimes placed by the ton upon our shoulders. We are all compassionate souls who can fight only so much before the battle gets the best of us.

And today, when this song filled every available space around me in my vehicle, Brandon Flowers caused me to scream cry in a way I didn’t know was physically possible. I screamed so loudly and so intensely alongside this room of imaginary people that I felt my throat pop.

At a time when I needed it most, music saved me from shutting down and shutting out, as it always does.

So, if you need a good scream cry today, get in your car and put The Killers’ “All These Things That I’ve Done” on full volume. I promise it brings a miracle aftereffect that you never saw coming.

Recently on Le Freak Chic:

On Monday night at 3AM, Mom and I returned from our trip to Alaska. We’d been gone a whole week and were exhausted when we finally pulled into the house in the wee hours.

At 7:30am I was stirred from a very deep sleep as I heard water running. I was still on West Coast time or I would usually be up at this time. I knew I hadn’t left anything running. As I got up and explored further, I discovered water was leaking down the side of the bathroom door. Nothing heavy or drastic, but enough that it would require attention. I thought it might have something to do with the roof as we had heavy rains the night before. It stopped shortly after the discovery. I put down a pan and went back to bed, thinking I would hear if it got any worse. It was too early to do anything about it, anyway.

I didn’t go back to sleep in the end, too paranoid that the leak would intensify. Nothing changed.

Fast forward a few hours. My mother left the house to meet girlfriends for a lunch, about fifteen minutes away, and I texted my dad with a video of the water situation in the guest house.

Next thing I knew, he was standing outside my door with a 22-foot ladder to have a closer look inside, up in the attic. I answered the door in pajamas, hair a mess, teeth not yet brushed. Not embarrassed at all. It’s my dad, for heaven’s sake. No need for looking nice here.

I can now say with confidence that I will never ever get out of bed without putting a bra on immediately. And maybe also running a hairbrush through my hair and a toothbrush over the chompers.

I joke, but it’s a deflection. I literally feel sick to my stomach writing what I’m about to.

My dad has always looked after every part of our homes, for my entire life. He is a jack of all trades and a master of many. He’s also someone who never calls for help. If he doesn’t know how to fix it, he’ll figure out a way. But, he does not call in professional help. It’s the principle for him. I have always respected him for being this way. But, in recent years I’ve also tried to lean on the idea that it’s time to ask for help, to call in the people who have to climb the ladders to mend the broken bits.

Dad lugs in the ladder and sets it up to venture up into the attic, 12 feet above the first floor. I ask if I can spot the ladder and he says he’s fine and that I should go get some work done. Note to self and to anyone who has a dad that likes to work with ladders. Never listen to them! Always support them, even when they tell you to walk away, to do something else, or act annoyed by the suggestion they need any help at all. NEVER WALK AWAY.

I sat on my bed, on my phone, answering emails. He yelled down that he was right, “it was the AC unit, not the roof.” A screwdriver was requested. I said I didn’t have a flathead, only a Phillips-head. I went back into my room to grab something and glanced back through the bathroom to the bunk room (the house has a Jack and Jill bathroom).

He put one foot on the ladder below him and what I saw next I wish with all my might that I could put out of my head. Instead it plays on repeat. I’m hoping that dumping it here will excise it from my actual memory, letting my brain know I’ve written it down somewhere so I don’t have to keep playing it again and again and feeling the feeling of absolutely insane fear and regret in every part of who I am, past, present, and future.

The ladder clattered to the floor with a bang. That was fast. What happened next happened in slow motion. I’m convinced of it. The world slowed down to prove a point, to signify that what was about to happen next would be something I will never unsee.

He was, in this moment, being played by a pinball wizard, scoring all the big points as he went. The first was the door, and this was the hardest. The thud of that moment is now a permanent part of my life’s soundtrack. The entire left side of his body wrapped around the door’s edge before being bounced onto the next obstacle, the bunk bed stairs. He hit those with his shoulder and head. And then came the tile bathroom floor and the toilet sitting next to the wall.

So much noise and then just silence. As soon as the ladder fell, I was on my feet, immediately rushing to my dad’s limp body. I thought my dad was dead. I didn’t understand how his body would have survived that fall, those blows.

He came to immediately, told me he was fine and rolled over onto his side. That’s when I saw the blood and I immediately knew he was anything but fine. He was in shock. I told him I was dialing 911 and he asked me not to. Again, notes for us all, never listen to the strong man in your house when they are hurt. Make the call.

I saw the blood and I was trying to figure out where it was coming from all while not wanting to move my dad for fear he had broken his back or his neck. He seemed to be able to move his upper body without hesitation, but his legs lay there motionless.

As the 911 call was answered, I discovered the source of the blood. At first I thought he had torn some part of his arm. There was blood streaming down the side of the toilet as he held onto it for support to stay on his side, where he seemed most comfortable. And then, as I lifted his shirt, I knew I had made the right call not to try to get him to the hospital myself. I saw my dad’s actual ribs.

My poor father had hit the top of the door with such force that he had torn open the entire left side of his chest.

Instead of freaking out or passing out, I had a clarity for the situation that makes me rethink so much. I immediately remembered my dad had been on blood thinners from a heart operation just a few months before. I grabbed the nearest clean towel and applied pressure to stop the bleeding.

On the call to 911, I was asked the question I hadn’t yet asked my dad, concerning the blood thinners. He announced he had stopped taking them just three weeks before and the lovely lady on 911 told me that had almost definitely saved his life. She followed that with, “the first responders are at the gate and they can’t get in.” We had been on the call for less than five minutes.

I said I would run out to let them in the gate. She told me I couldn’t leave Dad or he might bleed out. At this point I knew he needed that team in here. So, I made a decision that could have been the wrong one.

Read more

I can still see myself at 7 years old, sitting in my bedroom in 1987, staring out the window. With my elbow propped on the window ledge and my jaw resting on the palm of my hand, I watched as huge chunks of snow fell to the ground outside my childhood home. In that moment, in my own little mind, I crafted stories. I had no knowledge of the world, only a dream of what it might be, what it could be.

I sat there for hours, before anyone else in the house had stirred to start the day. In those hours I created a whole world, one filled with snow fairies and tall castles crafted from shards of ice. The characters all had heroic storylines, overcoming impossible obstacles in a world working against them. And the snow? Well, the snow was the backbone of it all. Each flurry that fell moved me further and further into a world unknown to anyone but me.

I did this all the time. It wasn’t just the snowy days. I was lost in spring florals, summer thunderstorms, and autumnal color shifts. My entertainment was found there. My imagination thrived there.

I haven’t thought of that window for so many years. And then this week, it all came flooding back in the most beautiful and clear way.

This past week, I’ve turned off the TV. I’ve put the phone face down on my bed. I’ve hidden away the headphones. And I can’t even tell you where I left my laptop.

For the past five days, I’ve been in Alaska. I can’t believe I’m even writing that. Seven year old me would be screaming, “we’re in Alaska?!” What I wanted to write there was actually, “For the past five days, I’ve time travelled.” In my heart, I’ve lived my life like it was 1987, before the days of social media, before streaming entertainment and constant digital communication with the whole world all the time. Back to that window. That’s how it’s felt.

I’ve been sailing the Inside Passage here in Alaska, and the window of my childhood bedroom has been replaced by one with a view that changes constantly. It’s magical. It’s what I think I enjoy the most about the concept of seeing the world from a boat or a ship. The world, from your bedroom window, is constantly changing. And this week, I sat before mine as often as I was allowed and watched the world around me in awe.

But more than that, I felt a piece of me return that I have been missing for some time. In choosing to watch the world around me, rather than the screen constantly under my nose, I awoke a sleeping giant: my fantastical storyteller.

As I have watched glaciers, icebergs, seaplanes, tall snowy mountains, waterfalls, coastal homes and more pass before me, I felt the stories come back. I felt my brain swell with excitement at the idea of creating again, writing again, sharing again. Building a world out of the physical world around me, right here in the here and now.

That is the gift of travel. That is the rush of discovery, the reward for curiosity. And this week, my front row seat with the natural world has reminded me of just how important it is to venture out, to explore, to find the places and things you’ve only ever read about in books and see them with your own two eyes! In real life.

The irony here is that I make a living by you looking at a screen, whether it’s your phone or your computer. But right now, in this moment, I’m telling you to sever ties. If it has to be with me, then so be it. Find your window, find your adventure. Make that time. Get lost in the world around you that exists off these silly screens.

The reward is more than I can ever put into words. It is a power that cannot be communicated here. I can only promise you that it’s felt in the moment. It’s a buzz that runs through you like a runner’s high. It’s feeling alive, living life in full volume again in a world that has had the sound turned down by technology.

You may also like:

I was scrolling through some photos this evening and came across a picture I did not take. Well, I need to rephrase that. I didn’t know I was taking it. But I instantly remembered the moment. Do you believe in “God winks”? Because this was one. Replace God with whatever you believe in: the Universe, magic, timing, etc.

In this moment, I was sitting at a traffic light trying to plug in my phone, and I must have accidentally snapped a picture. Why do I remember the moment? Well, I was about to turn down one of my favorite streets in Beaufort. I’d just ended a call with a friend in London and was sitting there, sort of lost in thought, moments before I realized my phone was about to run out of battery. Hence, me plugging it in.

But right then, I felt really content. I don’t get those moments a lot. Not a lot at all. My manager will tell you that. Which is probably why finding proof of one felt so strange.

Last month, I told her I was constantly in a race with myself. That the only person I needed to “beat,” month over month, was myself. I wasn’t looking anywhere else for the competition. I was the competition. I think she got a new understanding of just how wildly driven I am to succeed in life, and I’m not sure she was ready for me to sound like a “never satisfied psychopath,” but I did.

It’s all just to say that I’m always trying to move forward. That’s my idea of living. So to be just “content” in a moment is a rarity.

In that moment, there was Spanish moss blowing in the wind to my left. There was a view of the sun reflecting off the water to my right. My favorite Van Morrison song had just come on the radio, “Into the Mystic,” and I was enjoying a sea breeze with open car windows. I was truly happy. It didn’t require much at all, really, except for space to notice it. And that’s what I think so many of us miss in our day-to-day lives. We zoom right past these moments. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.

So when this picture came up on my phone, I smiled again at the memory and the reminder to slow the heck down.

And that’s all I really wanted to say to you today. There is not much else, because I don’t want there to be anything else.

I hope you find a reason today to slow down and smile. I hope you find a slice of the day that can just be you enjoying the fact that you’re alive and here witnessing everything around you, wherever that may be.

I truly believe there is magic everywhere. We just have to be curious enough to notice it, and open enough to expect it.

Until next time, my friend…

Previously on The Weekly Freak Out: