It does not mean you are chosen.

I have more than a million people following me on Instagram. From the outside, I think it would be easy to assume that my inbox is full of invitations, opportunities, friendships, admiration, and yeses.

But there’s more to the story, I still get rejected.

Truthfully, every day.

I will write to a brand I genuinely admire and introduce myself, hoping to create something beautiful together. Sometimes the response is a polite no. And sometimes it is simply:

“Hello, no.”

Not even a full sentence.

And somehow, I still have to close my laptop, put on my lipstick, and continue with my day.

I see women with audiences similar to mine, sometimes even smaller, being invited into rooms I would have loved to enter. I see campaigns I would have adored being part of. Events I would have loved to attend. Opportunities going to someone else.

And yes, sometimes I wonder:

Why her?

Why not me?

But perhaps the deeper question is not why someone else was chosen.

Perhaps it is why I have spent so much of my life believing that being chosen was proof that I was worthy.

I have known rejection for much longer than I have known recognition.

Long before the followers, there was just me.

A girl who was not always chosen.
Friends who left.
People I loved who did not stay.
Boys who never liked me back.
Rooms where I felt like I was standing just outside the circle.
Moments when I quietly wondered what was wrong with me.

Why wasn’t I enough?

Why did everyone seem to find their person, their people, their place, while I was still searching for mine?

I think many women know this feeling.

The quiet ache of watching someone else receive what you had secretly hoped would be yours.

And social media has made that ache so much louder.

The illusion of being chosen

Social media makes this especially dangerous because we are constantly shown the chosen moments of other people’s lives.

You see the invitation.
The front row.
The beautiful hotel.
The gifted package.
The campaign.
The engagement.
The wedding.
The friends gathered around a table.
The person being photographed, celebrated, welcomed, adored.

And because you don’t see what happened before the photograph, you assume their life must be one long sequence of yeses.

It isn’t.

You don’t see the emails they never received a response to.
The brands that declined them.
The friendships that silently ended.
The casting calls they didn’t get.
The relationships that didn’t work.
The rooms they weren’t invited into.
The times they sat alone wondering why somebody else was chosen.

You are looking at someone’s highlight reel of acceptance and comparing it to your own behind-the-scenes of rejection.

We see their yeses while living inside our own no’s.

And then we wonder why our lives don’t look like theirs.

That is an impossible comparison.

And I want to say something, particularly to the girls who follow me:

Please don’t idolize people on the internet.

I say this as someone who lives on the internet.

Admire people.

Be inspired by them.

Let someone’s elegance inspire you to dress beautifully. Let someone’s discipline inspire you to work harder. Let someone’s creativity remind you of what is possible.

But don’t turn another human being into a fantasy.

Because behind every beautiful photograph is a person you know very little about.

She gets rejected too.
She has insecurities.
She has unanswered messages.
She has friendships that ended.
She has doors that remained closed.
She has sat on the edge of her bed and wondered whether she was enough.

She simply didn’t post that part.

A follower count cannot make you immune to being human.

And neither can beauty, money, success, marriage, or recognition.

There will always be something you don’t have.

There will always be someone who doesn’t choose you.

Rejection is not a verdict

Perhaps we spend too much of our lives trying to avoid it.

We think that if we become beautiful enough, successful enough, kind enough, interesting enough, we can finally arrive at a place where nobody can say no to us.

But that place does not exist.

Even the most admired people are rejected.
Even the most beautiful people are left.
Even the most successful people fail.
Even the most loved people experience loneliness.

Rejection is not an indication that something is wrong with you.

Sometimes it is simply the evidence that you are alive in a world where everyone has their own desires, preferences, limitations, fears, and free will.

A brand can say no.
A man can say no.
A friend can say no.
A room can say no.

And none of them has the authority to define your worth.

There is something deeply Christian about this

As an Orthodox Christian, I have had to rethink rejection through the lens of faith.

Because Christianity does not promise us a life where we are always chosen by people.

Quite the opposite.

Christ Himself was rejected.

He was misunderstood, abandoned, betrayed, mocked, and ultimately crucified.

The Son of God experienced the deepest form of human rejection.

So perhaps rejection is not proof that God has forgotten us but perhaps an opportunity to unite ourselves closer to Him, to the life he lived, the experiences he felt…

Perhaps sometimes it is simply part of being human in a world where we do not control other people’s hearts.

And there is something comforting in remembering that our worth was never supposed to come from being universally accepted.

Our worth comes from God.

Not from a brand email.
Not from an invitation.
Not from a man’s attention.
Not from a friendship.
Not from an algorithm.
Not from the number of people who want us in the room.

The world may say, You are not chosen.

but God says, You are My child and you are perfect.

Those two voices cannot carry the same weight.

We are God’s before we are anyone else’s.

And that has to be enough.

I think of Christ’s words:

“What is highly esteemed among men is an abomination in the sight of God.”

And also:

“For you were bought at a price.”

Our value was settled long before the world had the opportunity to vote on it.

Maybe the door closing is not the tragedy

I used to think that the goal was to become someone who could no longer be rejected.

To become beautiful enough.
Successful enough.
Interesting enough.
Accomplished enough.
Loved enough.
Popular enough.

But I don’t think such a person exists.

There will always be someone who doesn’t choose you.
There will always be a room you don’t enter.
There will always be someone who doesn’t understand you.
There will always be an opportunity that belongs to someone else.

And there will always be someone who looks at you and thinks, No.

The goal isn’t to build a life where nobody rejects you.

The goal is to build a life where rejection no longer determines how you see yourself.

That is freedom.

To hear no and still know who you are.
To be left out and still know you belong somewhere.
To be overlooked and still keep creating.
To be unloved by one person and still believe you are worthy of love.
To see someone else being chosen and genuinely believe that their yes does not require your no.

That last one has taken me a long time to learn.

So, if you feel rejected right now…

I hope you know that you are not behind.

You are not less beautiful because someone didn’t see it.
You are not less talented because someone chose another person.
You are not less lovable because someone couldn’t choose to love you.

And you are certainly not less worthy because an email began and ended with:

“Hello, no.”

Keep going.

Send the email.

Make the work.

Show up.

Pray.

Try again.

_{The christian walk is not about pursuing a perfect path, but pursuing the rocky path, perfectly, meaning you keep getting up after every trip and fall.}

And let God close the doors you cannot understand.

Because maybe the life meant for you was never going to be built entirely from doors that opened easily.

Maybe some of the closed ones are teaching you how to walk without needing everyone to invite you in.

And maybe, one day, you will look back and realize:

I wasn’t being rejected by life.
I was being redirected through it.

And if you are looking at someone online today thinking, She has everything. Everyone chooses her. I wish I had her life, remember this:

You are looking at one small window into a human life.

She has her unanswered emails too.
Her disappointments.
Her loneliness.
Her no’s.
Her prayers that haven’t been answered yet.
Her moments of wondering whether she is enough.

So admire people.

Be inspired by them.

But don’t put them on a pedestal.

There is only One who belongs there.

And He does not measure you by how many people chose you.

He already knows your worth.

I have always believed that elegance is not about dressing for a certain season or following every trend, it is about choosing pieces that actually reflect who you are.

Here are the pieces I keep coming back to this season, pieces that feel timeless, romantic, and easy to wear.

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The White Dress

_{Outfit details: White Dress / Hat / Shoes / Bag}

A summer wardrobe is never complete without a white dress.

There is something so timeless about white: it feels fresh and classic. Whether paired with sandals for a quiet afternoon with a straw bag or dressed up with a hat and heels, a white dress always feels like a beautiful choice.

(This dress is also available in burgundy!)

Black Linen Set

_{Outfit details: Shirt / Pants / Bag / Sunnies}

A black linen shirt and matching trousers are a staple in my summer wardrobe. The texture keeps it lights and breathable, while the color gives it a sense of refinement.

I love how a set like this can move between occasions:

Worn simply with sandals for a slow summer day, styled with gold jewelry and my Polene Cyme Bag, or with colored heels and a more structured bag such as a clutch for a more polished dinner look.

The Black Dress

_{Outfit details: Dress / Hat / Jacket / Shoes / Bag / Sunnies}

There is a reason the black dress has remained a symbol of elegance for generations.

It is simple, but never ordinary. In summer, I love a black dress in a lighter fabric: something that moves with you, feels effortless in the heat, and still keeps that timeless femininity.

I paired this Club L London dress with a beautiful silk/linen jacket from LilySilk, adding a soft layer of texture and a touch of understated luxury. I love the contrast between the flowing femininity of the dress and the relaxed structure of the jacket, a combination that feels polished but still natural.

The Blue Shirt Dress

_{Outfit details: Dress / Shoes / Hat}

Flowing blue dress, wide-brimmed hat, and the kind of beauty that never rushes…

Unlike the simplicity of black and the freshness of white, blue carries a softness, it feels romantic and almost nostalgic. it reminds me of summer skies, the sea, and those slow moments that a season memorable.

I love dresses that feel feminine without feeling overly complicated. This dress exactly does that: create a sense of elegance while still feeling effortless and natural (and it’s $50!!!).

Monochrome White Outfit

_{Outfit details: Top / Pants / Hat / Bag / Sunnies}

A monochrome white look is one of my favorite formulas this summer. A structured vest paired with trousers feels both refined and relaxed, while the white sunglasses add a touch of old-Hollywood glamour!

Linen Pants and Vest

_{Outfit details: Vest / Pants / Top (under the vest)}

Linen is the fabric of the summer: effortless, breathable, and naturally elegant. The relaxed texture of the linen softens the tailoring, creating the perfect balance between structure and ease that I always look for in warm-weather dressing.

Summer dressing, to me, has always been about finding beauty in simplicity, choosing pieces that feel effortless, timeless, and true to who you are.

I would love to know: what is your summer uniform this year? Are you reaching for linen, embracing color, or keeping things classic and neutral?

In New York, I notice what people choose to wear when there is no expectation to be seen.

Leggings moving quickly down sidewalks.
Oversized sweatshirts swallowing the body.
Hair pulled back in a hurried knot, as though even time has become inconvenient.
No makeup. No pause. No softness.

And a posture that seems to fold inward, as if the body is trying to take up less space in the world.

I notice it not with judgment, but with contrast.

Because I move differently through the same streets.

My clothes are pressed.
My hair is done.
There is lipstick, there is intention, there is care in the way I step outside.
Even on ordinary days.
I stand straight.

And I have begun to notice something simple, almost uncomfortable in its clarity:

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As always, I found myself captivated by her.

Not simply because she was beautiful.

Everyone knows she was beautiful.

But because her face was alive.

She laughed with her entire face.
She frowned.
She looked annoyed, amused, heartbroken, and joyful without saying a word.

_{Sophia Loren, Marriage Italian Style, 1964}

Every emotion passed across her face like a cloud across the Mediterranean sky.

And as I watched, I found myself thinking about something I had never quite put into words before.

The faces we used to see on screen seem to be disappearing.

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I remember finding it fascinating, but also chaotic. Everything felt louder, faster, and bigger than what I was used to.

I was a Parisian

_{22-year old me living in Paris!}

I grew up surrounded by beautiful architecture, cafés on every corner, long walks, and a slower rhythm of life.

Paris felt elegant. New York felt overwhelming.

At the time, I couldn’t imagine calling it home.
What I also couldn’t imagine was meeting my future husband.

For those who are new here, I’m Greek and Serbian, and family has always been at the center of my life. I grew up in a very traditional Balkan household where family isn’t just important, it’s everything. In our culture, it’s very common to stay at home until you’re engaged or married. Living with your family as an adult isn’t seen as unusual at all. In many ways, it’s expected. So while many people my age had already spent years living independently, I was still living with my family in Paris.

And honestly, I loved it.

I grew up in a house that was always full.

Full of conversations.
Full of food.
Full of people coming and going.
Full of life.

There was always someone in the kitchen.

Always someone dropping by unexpectedly.
Always a reason to gather around a table.

I never imagined living any other way.

Then I met Alessio.
An Italian-American from New York.

_{Our first date in Paris, August 2024}

What started as a long-distance relationship slowly turned into something much bigger.
Over the weeks, New York became more than a city I occasionally visited.
It became the place where the person I loved lived.

Eventually, Alessio flew to France, asked my parents for my hand in marriage, and we began planning our future together.
Not long after, I packed my life into suitcases and moved across the Atlantic.

Leaving Paris was much harder than I expected.

Of course I missed my family, but what surprised me was how much I missed the ordinary moments.

The morning coffee with my parents.
The noise in the house.
Hearing someone in the next room.
Family dinners.
The comfort of always having people around.

Suddenly it was just my husband and me.

And during the week, my husband was at work.
I would find myself alone in our apartment, thousands of miles away from everything I had ever known.

I think social media often makes moving abroad look glamorous.

The reality can be much lonelier.

No one really talks about what it feels like to leave behind not only your country, but your entire way of life.
Going from a lively Balkan household to a quiet apartment was an adjustment I wasn’t prepared for.

There were moments when I wondered if I would ever truly feel at home.

Moments when I missed Paris so much that hearing French on the street would make me emotional.

Moments when I wished I could simply walk into my parents’ house for dinner.

The first months were not always easy.

But little by little, things changed.

I started building routines.
I found favorite cafés.
I discovered neighborhoods I loved.
I became familiar with streets that once felt intimidating.

New York slowly stopped feeling like a city I was visiting and started feeling like a city I lived in.

Now, a year and a half later, I can honestly say something I never thought I would.

I really like New York.

In fact, after traveling all over the United States with my husband, I can confidently say that I can’t imagine living anywhere else in America.

There is something special about this city.

It’s imperfect.
It’s loud.
It’s chaotic.

But it’s also full of energy, ambition, opportunity, and people from every corner of the world.
The very things that once overwhelmed me are now some of the things I appreciate most.

And somehow, over time, it grew on me.

I still miss Paris.
I still miss my family.
I probably always will.
Part of my heart will always belong to the city where I was raised and the people who raised me.

But New York gave me something priceless: it gave me a life with the man I love.

And when I look back at the girl who once visited New York and confidently declared she would never move here, I can’t help but smile.

Life has a funny sense of humor.

The city I swore I would never live in became the place where I built my home.

Have you ever moved somewhere you thought you would hate?

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In extreme heat, elegance has historically looked less like exposure and more like protection:

flowing linen,
covered skin,
light layers moving with the wind.

And the more I travel, the more I realize something surprising:

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Not because I romanticize the past blindly, but because I still believe in things the modern world keeps trying to convince us no longer matter.

Elegance.
Mystery.
Femininity.
Beautiful manners.
Long dinners that turn into longer conversations.
Love that lasts.
Dressing well as a form of self-respect.
Creating a home that feels warm.
Having principles.
Living with intention instead of constantly chasing attention.

Social media often reduces people into fragments.

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