Picture Carrie Bradshaw biting the edge of her plastic biro, or One Day’s Emma Morley in Netflix’s 2024 adaptation of the book. (So good, but hurts so bad. Iykyk.)

Or I feel like a 2013 Tumblr hipster baddie at a coffee shop.

I did write a lot in coffee shops while abroad last year, mostly in Germany, but I get too overwhelmed trying to focus while also paying attention to everything going on around me. Looking at people’s outfits. Eavesdropping on conversations. Occasionally glancing at the enticing pastries on display and asking myself whether I should get one.

But it’s a process that I love.

I love, love, love writing.

It’s one of the greatest joys in my life. It affords me liberty. Authentic and creative freedom.

Mental freedom.

Because, like it or not, we are constantly being told what to think.

It’s a struggle focusing at work sometimes because I have to focus on someone else’s Scheiße. I can’t think about what I want to think about because I have work orders to do.

And then there’s everything else: the media, politics, school, our parents, every social system we participate in.

Shop. Buy. Do. Sex. Change.

The movies. The advertisements. The algorithm.

Am I going too anarchist here?

The point is, I love writing. And it feels good.

I still have so much to learn. Sometimes I think I’m all over the place. I am incredibly stubborn and dislike, very much, being told what to do. That’s probably why I have all of these reflections in the first place.

I suppose writing is one of the few places where nobody gets to tell me what to think.

I get asked all the time—by marketing and branding professionals, by the fake brand partnerships that occasionally make their way into my inbox, and mostly by myself—what my personal brand is.

Because I’m posting consistently on TikTok and getting a few views here and there, and I write this Substack, it should all be in pursuit of something.

Right?

What am I trying to build?

I’m trying to be as focused as possible and establish, at least on here, a clear voice.

And I think I’m beginning to understand what that voice is.

I believe, amongst many other things, that the beauty I admire, surround myself with every day, and continuously learn from is for everyone.

Everyone is deserving of beauty.

And that’s what I want to share.

Obviously, beauty isn’t just “nice things.” It isn’t an excessively calculated living room or a beautiful dress or a perfectly arranged bouquet, although I happen to love all three.

Beauty is all around us.

It is a mentality. A way of living, rather.

The preservation of beauty doesn’t just deal with the restoration of old tapestries, the organization of historical artwork, or the care of grand estates.

It’s meaningful introspection.

It’s awareness.

It urges us to question, to zoom out, and to live with fervor.

That’s definitely why I spend so much time thinking about the why behind everything.

After all, nothing exists without context.

Like my mother says, nothing is ever a coincidence.

I suppose this is also why I’ve never been entirely sure what to call any of my creative endeavors.

I know I want to create. I know I want to write. I know I want to share my thoughts.

But sometimes I worry that without a perfectly articulated end goal, I’ll meander. That I’ll stray too far from whatever it is I’m supposed to be building.

And yet, perhaps the need to label everything is part of the problem.

At the end of the day, what I like is to write and share my thoughts.

Why should you read them?

I don’t always know.

Sometimes what I write is inspiring. Other times it’s sad. Or I was sad when I wrote it.

I don’t know how much of my emotional life should bleed into this publication.

If I establish a clear topic to regularly write about here, then perhaps no matter what I’m feeling, my output won’t be affected.

And maybe that’s what consistency requires.

But I’m not convinced.

Because perhaps feelings—more importantly, reflections on those feelings—are what make writing worth reading in the first place.

I started The Sartorial Self partly because I wanted to talk about emotional well-being. I’m no expert. I don’t have a degree in psychology or a five-step formula for becoming the best version of yourself.

What I have going for me, perhaps, is that I’m just a regular human.

I experience things, just as you do.

The difference is that I’ve decided to stop for a moment and ask myself what they mean.

Then I write about it.

Maybe that is enough.

I’ve written a lot about beauty recently.

Beauty is easily dismissed as superficial: facial symmetry, an excessively calculated living room, a “basic” outfit.

But beauty is a multidimensional concept.

It goes deeper than what first meets the eye. It asks something of us. It prompts its spectator to accept a new truth—or remain exactly as they were.

Beauty changes us.

Beauty changes the way we think.

It strikes something within us that the mind might not otherwise reach.

It changes the way we see ourselves because it reminds us that we exist within a much grander context than we may have previously imagined. It opens our eyes to the infinite possibilities available to us—to live, to create, to adorn our lives with meaning.

And it changes the way we act.

Because sometimes beauty is an awakening to a perspective we were previously blind to; and if you really want to think for yourself you must constantly defy the parameters of the known in order to wade into the unknown.

Think of a splendid Impressionist painting.

You stand in front of it and something stirs. Perhaps it’s melancholy. Perhaps longing. Perhaps joy. You begin to recognize a feeling that you thought belonged exclusively to you.

And then you realize that the person who painted this understood something about that feeling hundreds of years ago.

You are not unique in your experiences.

And, strangely enough, that is one of the most beautiful things about being human.

That realization is beauty in action.

There is the beauty of pain and remembering.

The strange tenderness of losing someone—or something—you loved. The ache of being far away from someone. The little things that bring them back to you when you least expect it.

There is beauty in friendship.

In being deeply regarded, understood, and loved by another person. In the particular language two people develop simply by knowing each other for long enough.

There is beauty in a shared meal. Like the picnics I’d have with my dear friends in London, or sitting across from my boyfriend at dinner. Despite spending lots of time with one another, there is something special about sitting at a restaurant together. You put the phone away. You look at each other. You talk. You share.

For a little while, you are entirely there.

And perhaps that is what I mean when I talk about beauty.

Not simply beautiful things, but attention.

The decision to notice.

To care.

To look a little longer.

To ask why something moves you.

To let it change you.

Maybe that is why I love writing so much.

Because writing requires the same thing.

You have to stop.

You have to notice.

You have to look at something—an emotion, a memory, a painting, a flower, a person, a meal—and ask yourself:

Why does this matter to me?

And maybe the answer doesn’t have to be profound.

Maybe it just has to be honest.

Because a beautiful life, I’m beginning to think, isn’t necessarily a life filled with beautiful things.

It is a life in which you have learned how to see them.

Until next time.

Karime

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately.

Beauty has a reputation for being superficial. It is often dismissed as frivolous, decorative, or reserved for those with the means to indulge in it. But I have found the opposite to be true. When pursued intentionally, beauty asks something of you. It becomes less about consumption and more about cultivation.

Living beautifully has very little to do with owning beautiful things.

It has everything to do with becoming the sort of person who notices them. Presence and intention are required.

For the past few months I’ve been working in a luxury furniture showroom, surrounded daily by extraordinary craftsmanship. Pieces that take months to produce. Woods selected with impossible precision. Fabrics that have been woven rather than manufactured. Objects that exist because someone cared enough to obsess over every detail.

What has surprised me most isn’t the furniture itself.

It’s the people.

The designers who can immediately distinguish quality from imitation. The clients who understand the value of craftsmanship. The conversations about proportion, balance, materials, and longevity. It is an environment where beauty is taken seriously—not as vanity, but as something worth preserving.

Being there every day has changed my eye.

It has also changed my standards.

Ironically, this has been one of the hardest jobs I’ve ever had.

From the outside, it is easy to romanticize beautiful work. Elegant showrooms, exquisite furniture, polished presentations and magnificent design. But beauty rarely arrives effortlessly. Behind every finished room is an endless series of decisions, revisions, setbacks, and conversations no one ever sees. Design is a very long game.

Last week reminded me of that.

Sometimes the pursuit of excellence asks more of you than you expected to give. It asks for patience when you’re tired, composure when things become difficult, humility when you’re corrected, and resilience when circumstances become heavier than anticipated.

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Last week my boss quit and told me on his very last day. I have to take on a lot of his responsibilities now and make sure the work I produce is high quality. I have to. There is no other choice.

Beautiful things carry invisible labor.

Perhaps that is why they endure.

The more time I spend in this world, the less interested I become in luxury for luxury’s sake. What captivates me now is intention. The discipline behind craftsmanship. The quiet decision to do something well even when no one is watching. The amount of time required for completion—a duration for which most people are not willing to wait for (the lead time for any piece of custom furniture is 10 weeks, and it usually goes well over that).

That, to me, is beauty.

Not perfection.

Not excess.

But care.

Which is why I still believe beauty belongs to everyone.

Not because everyone can afford an heirloom dining table or an eighteenth-century cabinet, but because everyone can choose to live with intention. You can arrange flowers from the grocery store as though they belong in a gallery. You can mend your clothes instead of replacing them. You can set the table for an ordinary Tuesday dinner. You can write thoughtfully. Speak kindly. Make your bed. Read good books. Notice the light pouring through your window at six in the evening and live with presence.

Beauty has never belonged exclusively to wealth. It belongs to attention.

And perhaps that is what Borsoi meant all along.

The things we choose to surround ourselves with eventually become the people we become. They have the power to motivate and effect change within ourselves. They can make us better.

xx,

Karime

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Forage and press flowers and leaves.

It was an unassuming sentence. At the time, I felt heavy. Work had drained me, and I felt emotionally depleted despite it only being morning.

After a long day at work, I almost didn’t go.

But I did.

I foraged and snipped both flowers and leaves on my walk home—even taking a little detour—and pressed them into heavy books when I got home. One was a cookbook, another a Michael Dweck photography book, and the last a book on the Annenberg Impressionist Collection, exhibited at the Met in the ‘90s.

That is one of my favorite books. The collection is immense. It is gloriously filled with works by Degas, Cézanne, Manet, Monet, and many others whose names I have yet to commit to memory, but whose paintings are no less talented or enlightening.

I know I’m sidetracking here, but I bought the book in New York City from one of those street vendors with a massive, wonderfully eclectic collection of books spread across a plastic folding table, ready to be packed away at day’s end. It was near a park—I don’t remember which one—but close to FIT. That day I had accompanied my sister Nicole on a tour. We had a lovely time and even found some of our most-worn pieces in a second-hand boutique next door to the FIT building.

When I bought the book, its pages smelled faintly of smoke—questionable provenance, to say the least. There were actually two vendors selling copies. One wanted around six or seven dollars, while the other wanted fourteen. The latter won. The first insisted it wasn’t worth that much; he was trying to be kind. But it didn’t matter—I would have gladly paid twenty. Before buying it, I stood at the makeshift stand reading through its pages for several long minutes. It completely captivated me. I left that stand, book clutched to my chest, beaming.

For a while after purchasing it, I would sit and study the paintings and their creators, researching them and writing about them. I think of this book often, and it is always ennobling to encounter, in person, a painting I first came to know through its pages. Such was the case when I stood before The Orange Trees (1878) by Gustave Caillebotte at the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston last year.

So this is a special book, to say the least.

That little moment of decisive intention was surprisingly powerful. It marked the beginning of the turnaround of my week, most of which I had spent languid and sad.

The flowers and leaves, cozy now between sheets of tracing paper, recipes, modern photography, and great Impressionist art, will lie dormant for a fortnight. After that, they will be ready to scan into Adobe and begin a new life as textile patterns.

But it wasn’t pressing flowers that changed my week.

It was keeping a promise to myself.

It was this I realized on Friday, when I sent a voice message to Nicole telling her how much better I felt. Not because anything extraordinary had happened, but because all week long I had been taking intentional, aligned action, however small those actions may have seemed.

Beauty rarely arrives all at once.

And the truth is, my life isn’t about having all of my dreams today. Like my last fortune cookie (given to me by Scott, my boss, who is gluten-free and knows I love them) said:

The future comes one day at a time.

What’s important is the awareness that ushers in intention in the first place.

Every day.

All the time.

In each act, whether small or big.

Aligned action generates true magic in life. It creates meaning. And the more consistently we practice it, the more power we have: the power to keep going, the power to create, the power to shape our own lives.

I am beginning to realize that beauty is the accumulation of intentional acts.

I am living this.

Maybe beauty isn’t something we find. Maybe it’s something we practice.

Until next week.

Xx,

Karime

Ok. I’m eating. I grabbed the Crunchy Elvis from The Granola Bar. I was starving. I meant to write down the following line: “I’m burning up with a fever in the hospital. Blah, blah, blah.” This was true last Thursday (though by the time you read this, it is not last Thursday but the one before).

I was very sick that week. The second week of June. Not that the date matters—I’m a little OCD about these things sometimes—but it helps me place the time and remember what was happening.

So, I got sick that Wednesday (of the second week of June, if you’re following along) and was in the hospital with a fever that simply would not budge on Thursday. I hardly ever get sick.

True to the nature of emergency rooms—waiting rooms, check-ins, endless waiting—I spent hours there. I’m not joking. I arrived just after five p.m. (only because the urgent care near my house closed at that time, and I hadn’t gone earlier because I had convinced myself I would feel better on my own) and left close to ten.

I had brought two books with me. I made a respectable dent in one of them. No journal, though—a rare occurrence, considering I rarely leave the house without one. But compromises had to be made. Two books and a journal, a heavy one at that, would have simply been too much for my shaking body.

So there I sat in the hospital room, long after the reading had ended; after the flu, Covid, and strep tests; after the chest X-rays and silly fashion iPhone games. I sat there in my own sweat, thinking about that line:

“I’m at the hospital burning up from a fever...”

I kept hearing it.

That’s how most of this—my writing—comes about, by the way. I hear it first. I don’t know if that is an obvious thing to say, but some ideas arrive more clearly than others. I feel them more strongly in my heart and know, almost instinctively, that they are words I want to put down.

Those thoughts are the lifeblood of my writing.

So, let me get on with it.

The loud thought really just wanted, like every creative thought, to be put to paper—or screen, in this case (so unromantic). It wanted to come to life.

Basically, I really wanted to write.

And though I was sick, I managed to do a surprising amount that weekend. What I did not do, however, was write.

Or draw.

And if you’re anything like me, you’ll understand this peculiar tendency: I will do many things except the things that matter most to me. I will fight, quite literally, to avoid the very things that bring me joy, peace, serenity of mind, and wisdom.

Procrastination on another level.

But after my not-so-mysterious illness (which turned out to be an impressive accumulation of stress and emotional baggage), I realized something:

Even if I move forward only an inch each day—or only a few times a week—I must create.

There is nothing that imbues my life with more meaning.

The truth is, I stayed away from the things I love out of fear and laziness. Yet the more I do them, the more I want to do them. It becomes a cycle that, once established through habit and routine, sustains itself.

And besides, I have wanted to live a life where creation takes centre stage for as long as I can remember.

I have always been fascinated by people who create for a living. Mesmerized by painters exhibiting their work, by writers tucked away in cafés, by illustrators, filmmakers, and entrepreneurs building something entirely their own.

Spellbinding.

I am, like many people, very hard on myself.

I know I am young, but I am slowly learning this lesson, step by step, day by day: I cannot be angry with myself for not doing all the things I love all the time. Even the things we love require practice. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

More than anything, what matters is the establishment of new habits—the gradual rewiring of the mind until those things become our new normal.

To do that, I must first become aware. Then observe. Then recognize what is no longer serving me—in this case, spending my time on things that are not my dreams. Then I must take aligned action to change.

And then comes the hardest part: consistency.

Repeatedly acting in accordance with my authentic wishes so that my days, my time, and ultimately my life begin to resemble what I wish for them to be.

Easier said—and read—than done.

But infinitely more fulfilling.

So this past week, I made a greater effort to do the creative things that fuel me and nurture my soul.

I was serious about my artistic projects—which sounds terribly vague, but in their infancy there is not much to share yet—and chipped away at them each day.

The more I worked on them, the more seriously I thought about them. And the more seriously I thought about them, the more I worked.

Because I made myself.

Because I know I have to.

Not literally, of course—I don’t have to do anything. But I do for me. I do if I wish to move towards my dreams and give meaning to my life.

If there is one thing I know, it is that there is nothing that guides us through this world more faithfully than our dreams.

They call to us for a reason.

Because we are meant to bring them to life and, through that process, receive fulfillment in return.

Everything is an exchange of energy—that’s the First Law of Thermodynamics.

You know, the one that states that energy is neither created nor destroyed, but continually transformed through every process, movement, and interaction.

Besides my little artistic project—which is actually much more than that—I have also been nurturing my soul and intrinsic calling by making flower arrangements.

Oh yes.

I love flowers.

Who doesn’t?

Last weekend I went to the farmers market, the highlight of my week.

Saturday mornings are the time I look forward to all week long. That is not an exaggeration.

So I bought some outrageously overpriced flowers and then spent the rest of the weekend foraging local blooms and foliage, creating arrangements even more beautiful than the ones I had purchased.

I have not been the same since.

I shall never leave the house without hedge clippers again.

Flowers as a source of inspiration are nothing new. A quick glance through history illustrates the hold their beauty has had on the great creatives of the past.

Claude Monet and his water lilies. Vincent van Gogh and his irises. Sandro Botticelli and his Primavera. Emily Dickinson and her famous observation that flowers are the poetry of nature.

The list is endless.

For months, I have been reading The 5 AM Club by Robin Sharma. It is overflowing with memorable lines, but one in particular stayed with me:

“Flowers are very important to anyone serious about creating magic in their work and private lives.”

Reading that felt like a eureka moment.

It gave language to something I had always felt but struggled to articulate—the kind of truth you can sense in your soul long before you have the words for it.

So yes, everyone loves flowers.

They are a powerful species.

I am eternally grateful for their beauty, grace, and quiet generosity. We have much to learn from them.

Through flowers—and through the creation of my arrangements—I am happy.

Collecting them on my walks, snipping stems and placing them in my canvas tote, carrying them home while feeling like I have wandered out of the English countryside—it all invites presence.

Gratitude.

Awareness.

When I gather and arrange flowers, everything else ceases to exist.

It is genuine peace.

The act of bringing something from outside into my home and giving it new life, colour, and scent feels like a sanctuary in itself.

The process of creation does.

I could not be more grateful.

Adorning tables and windowsills, making people (mostly me) smile—it is a priceless experience for which I fear the English language lacks sufficiently descriptive words.

It is a feeling.

A state of being.

And a magical one at that.

For me, it happens to be flowers.

But I urge you to create anything at all and lose yourself in it.

Let it be your therapy.

Create more than you consume and you will not merely survive—you will thrive amidst a world of excess and incessant distraction.

Create something for yourself.

Give yourself something to hold onto. Something steady.

After all, absolutely anything, when done intentionally and with awareness, becomes a ritual.

A ritual for presence.

A ritual for gratitude.

A ritual for peace of mind.

When I am in the zone and writing clearly, when I am present and honest with myself, when I dress exactly how I wish to feel, when I gather beautiful flowers and transform them into something new—it is priceless.

There is nothing more precious than creating.

We are young and in need of birthing things into existence.

So build a business. Make a film. Cook your favourite recipes. Host people.

The opportunities for creation are endless.

Creation is the secret to life.

So you are more than welcome, lovely reader, to come along as I chronicle the birth of the projects that form the pillars of my happiness here on The Sartorial Self.

Just know that it involves copious amounts of flowers—fresh and illustrated—lots of writing, and a very large cup of ginger, lemon, and honey tea. ☕🌷

It’s always a pleasure,

Karime

Hello, dear reader.

How are you? I hope you’re well.

We are coasting right into summer and, like every other year, it feels like an unassuming surprise that it’s already June. Thankfully so. I can still recall the biting cold of winter, so to say I am grateful for the scorching sun on my skin would be an understatement. I’ve already got a rather respectable tan going.

Needless to say, just as the weather has shifted, so has life. Most of us have entered a new season altogether: one filled with work, internships, celebrations, beach days, ice cream runs, and long evenings spent outdoors. Shorts, dresses, flip-flops, and summer blooms become the backdrop to our daily lives. Alongside all of that beauty, of course, comes the inevitable stress of keeping up with it all.

Which is precisely why being present feels so important.

As our days lengthen and our energy rises, so much is happening all at once. I find myself constantly reminding myself to take it all in—to notice, to appreciate, to be here for it.

Even amidst the busyness, I write today to remind both you and myself to enjoy every bit of it. Observe yourself. Observe your surroundings. Live your life.

And in the joyful chaos that summer inevitably brings, hold tightly to your goals and dreams.

By now, it hardly serves us to debate whether dreaming big is cringe. I am here to tell you a truth: cherish your dreams. Covet them. Hold them close to your heart and allow them to guide your life.

Your dreams want to come to life through you, so let them.

Be unafraid of being cringe—that is only a label, after all.

Do whatever fuels your delusion. Consume content that reinforces your belief in yourself. Follow creators who inspire you. Listen to affirmations. Enjoy the motivational tarot reading. Repeat the thoughts that remind you: I can and I will.

Because repetition matters.

Repetition is how new beliefs are formed. It is how confidence is built. It is how we slowly become the person we wish to be.

Surround yourself with people who love and value you exactly as you are.

Say yes to new opportunities. Never stop learning. Cultivate your innate curiosity about the world, about people, about anything that sparks your interest. Curiosity will take you farther than you think.

In a world filled with trials, uncertainty, and overwhelming emotions, make room for joy. Save space for it.

Because faith—believing in something greater for yourself—is one of the most powerful forces in existence. It borders on magic.

And from that magic, you can create a beautiful and fulfilling life.

If I’m being completely honest, the past two weeks have been emotionally challenging for me. There were many feelings piling up and very little space to express or release them. Between being busy and perpetually short on time (what even is time, really?), I found myself frustrated and creatively blocked.

I went on holiday, which was wonderful, though unexpectedly stressful for my body at first. Returning to work afterward felt difficult. The idea of trading my time for work and money suddenly felt particularly heavy. I understand that this is how much of the world operates, but it is not entirely aligned with the life I envision for myself—even if my current work is meaningful and fulfilling.

And so I struggled.

But I have made a conscious choice for this Substack to be a place of inspiration.

Not because life is always beautiful, but because it isn’t.

We all experience difficult seasons. We all encounter emotional troughs. Yet why should those moments determine the trajectory of our lives or the fate of our dreams?

They shouldn’t.

And the best part is that they don’t have to.

You can return to yourself. You can recover. You can choose to move forward whenever you are ready.

Now, how does any of this connect to dressing?

Well.

Flow with the season and become even more yourself.

What do you actually want to wear?

Long gone should be the days of dressing for fear, safety, or approval.

Just as hardships seem smaller in the presence of faith, confidence in dress comes from self-trust. You can wear patterns that clash, colours that supposedly don’t go together, or silhouettes deemed outdated—and none of it matters if you wear them with conviction, if you feel good, and if the outfit genuinely pleases you.

In fact, dressing authentically often earns more compliments than dressing conventionally.

Allow me to provide evidence.

Last week, I wore striped jeans—groundbreaking, I know—and paired them with a floral top. As I’ve shared before, I do love a touch of maximalism (always chic, naturally), but I found myself questioning the outfit despite it being an instinctive combination. I wondered whether it was too much.

Regardless, I wore it.

It made me happy. I felt fantastic.

And believe me when I say the compliments came pouring in. Strangers stopped me while I was out getting lunch. A lovely shopkeeper commented on it. Friends and family approved. Even my sister—the owner of the jeans—gave her blessing, which I admittedly had not been entirely sure about.

Above is the outfit… I know, groundbreaking. Lol.

Perhaps simple psychology explains it.

When you wear something you genuinely love, you feel happier. When you are happy, you become more open, kind, and confident. That energy radiates outward, and people respond to it.

A small reminder that you often attract what you embody.

So this summer, dream boldly. Dress authentically. Follow your curiosity. Protect your joy.

And, most importantly,

always feed your delulu.

Xx,

Karime

Wow. A blank page can feel so intimidating sometimes.

This morning, I’m not entirely sure how to articulate what I’m feeling. I’m not even sure whether these thoughts belong in this piece at all. I feel tired. Irritated, even, that I woke up early to write. And yet, clearly, some part of me wanted to.

I haven’t written — or published — in three weeks. And if I’m being especially critical of myself, I haven’t written anything I truly loved in four. There is every possibility that I’ll edit this entire paragraph out later. But perhaps there is something honest in leaving it here.

Outside, the sky is dark and heavy with clouds, and lately the word hate has quietly entered my vocabulary. I’m tired of feeling as though I must constantly be positive, endlessly composed, endlessly grateful. Though at the same time, I know there is little beauty in becoming permanently cynical, hardened, or bitter toward the world.

I think much of this frustration stems from emotional uncertainty. Not knowing how to interpret certain feelings. Not knowing whether I made the right decision, whether what I’ve been told is true, whether my instincts are leading me somewhere meaningful or simply somewhere unfamiliar.

And so, like so many things in life, I arrive at the same conclusion: I must trust.

Because that is the strange thing about life. When we become tangled in work, stress, and the constant swell of emotion, we begin to lose our sense of direction. We question where we are, whether it is the right place to be, whether we are doing enough, whether those around us can truly be trusted. It becomes an exhausting mental negotiation with ourselves.

Eventually, the only thing left to do is return inward. To listen carefully to the heart. The heart always knows before the mind catches up. The answers rarely arrive loudly, but they do exist within us. And even when the place you find yourself in feels uncertain or frightening, reconnecting with yourself — remembering who you are, what you value, and the kind of life you hope to create — offers both the clarity and strength required to continue forward.

Because that, too, is life. Continuing along your path even when you feel exhausted. Even when things feel unclear. Even when you are carrying more than you know how to name.

Consider this a reminder from me to you — and perhaps even more so from me to myself — that it is okay to feel uncertain. About your emotions. About your direction. About the season of life you currently find yourself in. These moments of uncertainty are not failures; they are part of the shaping.

Funnily enough, I’ve been deeply inspired by irises lately. I’ve been photographing them, sketching them, even wearing them. They remind me of childhood — purple was my favourite colour growing up. Irises symbolize faith, hope, courage, wisdom, and admiration. And I like to think that sometimes, even subconsciously, life offers us these small and tender signs. Quiet reassurances from the universe that we are exactly where we need to be. That we are doing better than we think. That somehow, despite everything, all will be well.

Toodaloo,

Karime

Good evening, dear reader.
It seems we find each other here once again. I hope the day was as beautiful wherever you are as it has been where I write from.

Spring has been teasing us with the warmth of summer, and there is nothing more gratifying for the soul than sitting in the sun, letting its rays sink deep into your being. The sun is wonderful—life-giving, steady, essential. It feels, at times, like a quiet return to source. A reminder. Life itself is made possible by this massive, radiant star. It is beautiful. It is marvelous.

It’s funny how everything in this world—and perhaps the universe at large—mirrors itself: as above, so below; as below, so above.

Just as the sun gives life to the planet, and our parents gave life to us, we, too, give life to something of our own—our dreams. We are, at our core, creators.

And yet, creativity is so often confined to a narrow definition. Many dismiss it entirely, believing that because they are not painters, good drawers or established architects they are not creative beings. But this could not be further from the truth.

We are creators of our thoughts, our beliefs, our words, our actions—and, in turn, our reality. Each of these elements shapes the life we live.

Today, I write to shed light on the quiet joy of creation. Because to make anything at all is an act of significance. It invites a kind of childlike wonder back into the soul.

That is to say: engage in creation in any form. It need not be extraordinary—though, of course, we often wish it to be.

Recently, I found myself indulging in this kind of simple, amusing joy while making a birthday card.

I’ve always loved making cards. I used to create them for everyone in my family—birthdays, holidays, any occasion. In high school, I spent hours painting and making collages. It was, in many ways, a form of therapy.

Lately, my focus has been on bringing this column—and a few other dreams—to life. But there is something irreplaceable about hands-on creation.

When I first set out to make this particular card, I hesitated. I delayed it. As we grow older, fear, doubt, and hesitation seem to arrive more readily. It becomes all the more important to follow our hearts, rather than our fears. Still, I found myself intimidated—unsure if I had the skill to bring the vision I held so clearly in my mind to life.

When I finally began, I changed course almost immediately. I didn’t like the first version—and that, of course, is part of the process. But once I found a direction that felt right and allowed myself to move forward, it became incredibly enjoyable.

In the end, the card brought both me and its recipient genuine joy. And as I worked, I kept repeating a simple phrase to myself: imperfections are beautiful. It helped me release the need for perfection and embrace the process as it was.

In many ways, this same spirit of creation comes alive in how we dress.

Every outfit tells a story—even if it is as simple as “I felt light today,” or “I needed comfort.” Whether we realize it or not, our thoughts, emotions, and inner states shape what we choose to wear.

When I feel cold, I reach for a thick turtleneck and wool trousers. When I feel soft, I gravitate toward flowy, delicate pieces. When I feel unwell, sweatpants are the answer.

Regardless of mood, weather, or wardrobe, you become a curator in these moments. There is something to be appreciated—celebrated, even—in this daily ritual.

If your mornings feel rushed, consider choosing your outfit the night before. Give yourself the time to try things on, to play, to add a detail or two. The more intention you bring to the process, the better you will feel in what you wear.

These reflections were recently reaffirmed as I listened to “Real Things” by Hippie Sabotage. A line that stayed with me: “Life’s been easy, now that I’ve been making shit. All I gotta do is just keep making shit.”

While the lyrics speak to their creative work in music, the sentiment feels universal.

At its core, creation offers something simple yet powerful: a sense of ease. A release from stress. A quiet kind of joy thanks to the release of dopamine. It sharpens problem-solving and invites new perspectives. Like a muscle, the more we use it, the stronger—and more natural—it becomes.

A gentle reminder of what creation can look like:

• Preparing a meal or baking

• Arranging flowers

• Cleaning and organizing your space—creating clarity and calm

• Mixing a cocktail

• Writing, studying, completing assignments

• Hosting a gathering

• Reading—imagining, interpreting, experiencing

• Building a spreadsheet, a plan, a system

• Communicating—through texts, voice notes, letters

• Styling your hair or doing your makeup

• Creating routines, shaping your days

The list goes on, endlessly—because we are always creating. Spaces, moments, experiences, thoughts, actions… entire lives.

Which is why intention matters.

Despite what the world may suggest, everything you do carries weight. Everything you do does matter. It all contributes. It all counts.

You matter.

As always, it is a pleasure.

Xx,
Karime

Good morning, beautiful reader. There is something so special about meeting you here—I think I am happiest in these moments.

I’ll admit, it can feel a touch unnerving to begin a new piece after one that felt particularly strong—especially when met with such thoughtful, generous feedback. The messages I received truly meant the world to me; they made my day—my entire week. If you ever feel moved to share a thought, a feeling, or a moment of inspiration, please don’t hesitate. You can always leave a comment or reach out to me personally.

I am endlessly grateful to each of you who takes the time to read, to click through, to linger here for even a few minutes. It does not go unnoticed. Writing is something that brings me immense joy, and to have it received so warmly feels incredibly special. Thank you for breathing life into this space and for being part of it.

Lately, I’ve come to realize that one of the most essential elements of a truly meaningful piece—one that feels as fulfilling to share as it is to read—is time.

While I am naturally inclined toward ambition and had set out to publish twice a week, I am learning to honor the rhythm of this column—and of life itself. Once a week, whether on Wednesday or Sunday, feels not only more sustainable but more intentional. There are other responsibilities that call for my time and energy, and I want to write in a way that respects that balance. After all, consistency is what endures—and quality, always, over quantity.

If anything, let this serve as your midweek reminder to soften your inner voice. To be a little less harsh, a little less critical with yourself. We are all carrying more than we often acknowledge. And still—you wake up, you move forward, you continue toward your goals. That alone is something worth recognizing.

You have come so far—farther than you may give yourself credit for. Let this be your reminder to feel gratitude for the person who has carried you here.

Xx,
Karime

Hello, lovely reader. In the most positive way possible—what a week I’ve had. It feels like the beginning of a new era, one that arrived right on time with the onset of spring. Funny how our lives mirror the seasons—and how, instinctively, we begin to dress for them. A shedding, a soft unveiling. I love life.

I have so much to share with you, and this is my warm-up. It only takes a few moments to drop into that flow state—that divinely guided rhythm of writing. It comes when I am present, at peace, and speaking from the heart. I felt it while writing my last piece. Can they be called articles? Are they too short? Perhaps that doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that this flow state isn’t reserved for writing alone. It’s something we can access more broadly—something we can live within. Those moments of being fully “locked in,” present and connected, are what make it possible. Writing is just one expression of it. Dressing is another. Creating a life is perhaps the most complete form of it.

What happens when you align so deeply that your inner world begins to mirror your outer one—when your life, like a well-composed outfit, feels intentional, effortless, and entirely your own?

That is what trust—whether in God, the Universe, or something unnamed—and following your heart can do.

And let me tell you, it is happening for me.

This week, I interviewed for a new job—and I got it. It feels perfect. The location, the work, the people, the pay. I am over the moon with excitement and, more importantly, gratitude.

I hesitated to share this. It’s human to question vulnerability, to wonder if we’re revealing too much. But I believe in the power of storytelling as a form of inspiration. Sharing my experiences is the most authentic offering I have for you, dear reader. And, of course, I deeply enjoy writing—so it works out beautifully.

Because that’s exactly it: when you live in alignment with your passions—when you listen to your heart, as cliché as it may sound—you begin to move differently through the world. Your heart is your most intelligent compass. And when you follow it, things have a way of working out. Seamlessly. Like slipping into something that fits just right. Just like this column.

The truth is, we often get in our own way.

We think. Constantly. We’ve been taught to prioritize reason above all else. And while our minds are brilliant tools, they tend to overreach. Overthinking becomes the default. We begin to live analytically, fearfully—guided by survival rather than intuition—and in doing so, we lose that instinctual sense of taste. Not just in dress, but in life.

But the answers we seek have always been there.

Your intuition—your higher self, your inner knowing—already understands. We always know. We just don’t always listen. Sometimes we defer to others: parents, friends, trends, expectations. It takes real strength to quiet that noise and choose yourself—to develop a point of view that isn’t borrowed, but lived.

But when you do, something shifts. Truly.

What once felt impossible begins to take shape in your reality, coloring it in new, unexpected ways. It requires patience—but the reward is undeniable.

For me, that patience lasted about four and a half months.

I returned to the U.S. in early November after spending nine months in Europe. Logically, the next step was clear: find a job. But the truth? I didn’t want just any job. I didn’t want to work unless it aligned with what I love—art, design, creation.

And so I was honest. With myself, with God, with the Universe.

If there is one thing you take from this piece, let it be this: be honest with yourself. Things shift when you are. The power of honesty is immense—and, much like personal style, it cannot be faked.

I reached out to several places. Nothing worked out. Because it wasn’t meant to. And strangely, I was okay with that. I was happy.

Instead, I focused on something far more luxurious: time.

Time—the freedom so much of the world rarely experiences. We’re taught to trade it for money, to measure it in productivity. But for a while, I was free to shape my days entirely. And despite being unemployed, I lacked nothing.

So I followed my curiosities. Writing (hi), reading, design. I returned to cooking. I spent time with people I love. It was deeply nourishing—truly, a gift.

And, naturally, I began to observe more. To notice. To refine my eye.

In that space, I began to organize my thoughts and slowly, not forcefully, integrate new routines. All the while trusting—really trusting—that things would unfold as they should. Of course, there were moments of doubt. That’s human. Those close to me witnessed it.

But the key is not to stay there.

Feel your emotions. Acknowledge them. Ask yourself where they come from. External pressure? Fatigue? When you observe rather than judge, emotions soften. They pass. And you return to your natural state—one of peace, of trust, of calm.

Isn’t that what we’re all seeking, in one way or another?

So above all else, I am grateful.

The Universe has its own timing. When we relinquish control over what we cannot dictate and instead remain present, grounded, and open, things begin to align—often in ways far better than we could have imagined. Because the truth is, we can’t fully imagine the best possible outcome. Much like design, the most beautiful results often come from what we allow, not what we force.

Something that has helped me immensely is identifying what I call heart anchors.

These are the things that deeply inspire you—the ones that tether you back to your passions. For me, it’s flowers, patterns, textiles, color. Many of these exist in nature—zebra, peacock, antelope—and all of them inform my love of design.

They are, quite literally, my visual language.

When I encounter them—blooming flowers on a walk, a beautifully composed design magazine spread, a new fashion collection via Instagram—I am reminded of what moves me. Even without having everything figured out, these anchors bring me back to trust. To excitement. To possibility.

They sharpen my eye. They refine my taste. They remind me that inspiration is everywhere, if you’re paying attention.

I spoke with a friend today who is currently interviewing for jobs. Like many seniors, he’s navigating that in-between space. His parents reassured him that it’s okay not to have everything lined up immediately. His sister didn’t—and she found something great in time. They would rather he wait for something aligned than rush into something…mid.

And there are countless examples like this.

Perhaps, collectively, we are learning to slow down. To resist the pressure to rush, to perform, to secure status or approval as quickly as possible. More and more, people are choosing fulfillment over urgency.

Maybe we’re remembering how to live authentically.

And interestingly, the same applies to getting dressed.

Style isn’t about accumulation—it’s about composition. It’s about intention. About expressing a feeling before it ever becomes an outfit.

When I am in that natural flow state—when I’m aligned and present—things come and go effortlessly. I’m not chasing consumption. Materials find me, and I transform them. I play. I create. I elevate them into something expressive, something that communicates.

That is the sartorial self.

If we were to meet in person, I would tell you all of this exactly the same way. Because this is how I live—and I’ve come to realize there is nothing more meaningful than sharing your wins, your lessons, your perspective for the benefit of others.

That is why I started writing.

To share. To connect. To inspire—even if just one person—to live more authentically, to trust their own taste, and to have a little more fun while doing it.

In life, and in dress.

Toodaloo!

Xx,
Karime

This morning I am writing to you barefoot on my back porch, sun on my face, the last traces of Connecticut snow finally melted away.

Spring, it seems, has arrived.

Despite inhabiting a seasonal country for most of my life, the shift from one season to the next never ceases to amaze me. The power the climate holds over the mood—it’s exhilarating.

It is morning as I write this. I’ve just returned from walking my dog and swinging on the tree swing in the front yard. It has been a most magical morning.

And now that the weather permits more time outdoors, that is exactly what I plan to do. The warmth—coupled with the extra exercise of long walks and hikes—does wonders for the mind and soul. It is no surprise, then, that science confirms what we instinctively feel: nature calms the nervous system. Cortisol lowers, the fight-or-flight response softens. Time in nature offers a sensorial respite from the constant overstimulation of urban life.

Connecticut-based artist Ira Barkoff once said, “The landscape represents nature and contemplating nature is being in touch with God.”

Whether you believe in God, the Universe, the Creator, the Fountain—or simply energy (I tend to believe they are all the same)—Barkoff is right. That creative essence is present in nature. That is what we connect to. That is where the calming effect comes from. And that divine energy exists within us too, for if it did not, we would not be able to recognize it, to be regenerated and inspired by it.

Last week, I had the pleasure of seeing Barkoff’s beautiful work in person. Contemplative landscapes sure to stir anyone who stands before them.

This painting inspired me the most. Barkoff beautifully illustrates the calming vastness of a verdant mountain landscape without attempting a literal interpretation of what he saw before him. The power of nature transcends the need for realism. Instead, Barkoff captures the feeling of awe he experienced and translates it onto the canvas. He communicates his “…inner spirit in the painting – to transcend the physical to reach the spiritual.” The outdoors facilitates this very transcendence.

Barkoff has also noted, “My most successful pictures are… the ones where the state of my consciousness allowed me to translate my feelings—my deepest inner feelings—to the canvas.”

If nature can inspire artwork like this, allow it to imbue your life with beauty as well—even if that beauty consists simply of living in the moment. That, dear reader, is more valuable than we often realize.

So go outside. Walk a local trail. Grab some friends—or go alone. If you’re home, take your dog with you. Sit in the sun with your face turned toward the sun like a lounging cat. Take advantage of it.

Renew and replenish, for spring is upon us—nature’s new year.

Today I’m sharing a few material items that have recently caught my eye and, frankly, taken up a bit too much space in my mind. You know the type: the pieces you keep returning to, imagining yourself wearing them, styling them, living in them.

There is truly no better time than spring for a sense of renewal. Over the past few days the season has cheekily peeked its head out in greeting, offering us those deceptively warm afternoons that make you believe winter has finally retreated—only to follow them with another snowfall. Such is the temperament of the East Coast.

Still, spring is undeniably on its way.

And just as everything rooted in the earth begins its quiet refresh, our wardrobes tend to follow suit. The snow melts, the greenery reappears—lush and newly hydrated—and suddenly we begin craving lighter textures, brighter colors, and the subtle thrill of dressing again.

Now, I should say: I am not a big shopper. I genuinely believe I already have everything I need, which is why I briefly hesitated before writing this post at all. But in the end, I decided it would be fun—and it has been.

Many of the pieces here have actually lived on my personal wishlist for years. I’m serious. When you don’t buy things immediately—when you resist impulse—you often forget about them entirely. But the items that remain in your mind over time are usually the ones truly worth considering.

Most of my wardrobe purchases are extremely intentional. I tend to meditate on them for quite a while, trying to detach emotion from the decision. That said, I do have a very fashionable sister from whom I occasionally pinch a sweater or a pair of jeans—sometimes more than occasionally.

What I mean to say is that I try not to equate personal value with the things I own.

We are often encouraged to believe that possessing certain objects will somehow elevate us—that they will grant us value or completion. But our value as individuals exists entirely separate from material things.

Of course, clothing made from beautiful fabrics or thoughtfully designed furniture can be wonderful to own. If you have the opportunity to enjoy such things, I will always encourage it. But they are not what make us who we are. They do not make us whole.

Those deeper aspects of ourselves are constructed through reflection and through the choices we make: how we think, how we speak, and how we behave—both in private and with others. These are the true components of our character.

These are thoughts I often return to. In the end, the goal is simply balance, as it is with most things in a coherent life—never judgment.

So, without further ado, here is my spring wishlist. My curating skills are certainly still developing, but these are honest picks. Everything here is something I genuinely love.

To start off I’ve got a lovely pair of designer ballet pumps as well as some other variations (in style, print and price of course).

Though a classic, the ballet flat has seen a powerful resurgence in popularity over the last few seasons. I’ve always loved them for their simplicity as well as their effortless femininity. There is nothing more timeless than a cherry-red pair.

Today’s item strays not too far from the classic though it is sure to spruce-up any outfit rather tastefully.

I give thee:

I adore these. They are sensual. The heel is of a modest but cute height and most of all I love the contrasting red bottoms. I don’t mean the red-bottoms that signify brand and status as Louboutin has come to be known, I just sincerely appreciate the colour contrast here. I really like the animal pattern because it is subdued enough to be extremely elegant; it’s not too bright (am I just a sucker for expensive shit? Yes).

Now, these are obviously very pricey so I have found many other options. Throughout my search, my main points of focus were heel height: demure; as well as a chic pattern—not too bright or numerous in its motifs because that tends to give a trendier, less sophisticated look.

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The more intentional you are from the inside out, the more coherent your life becomes. Not perfect. Just aligned.

And if we claim to live from the heart, our wardrobes should follow suit.

We live in a world where everything is available at breakneck speed and suspiciously low prices. Accessibility is intoxicating. It is also quietly corrosive. Because the truth remains: anything worthwhile takes time. We are sold shortcuts—diets, creams, injections, pills—promising immediate transformation. But the things that endure? They are built slowly. Season by season. Fiber by fiber.

Which brings me to what I’m actually talking about: fabric.

At the center of the term fast fashion—a phrase you most definitely know—lies a tangle of environmental and ethical concerns. But today I’m narrowing in on one thread: synthetic fabrics. The materials from which many fast fashion pieces—and, let’s be honest, many luxury ones too—are made.

Polyester is the poster child. But it’s not alone. Rayon, viscose, spandex, lycra, nylon—semi-synthetics that have quietly infiltrated our workout sets, sundresses, lingerie. These fabrics are derived from petrochemicals. Many researchers raise concerns about their potential role as endocrine disruptors, particularly for women, whose hormonal systems are exquisitely sensitive. At the very least, they trap heat, restrict breathability, and shed microplastics. At worst, they are an experiment we are wearing daily.

We tend to associate synthetics with the likes of Shein, Temu, H&M, and Zara—cheap, trend-driven, disposable. And yes, that association is fair. But luxury is not exempt.

Last summer at Lovers Lane Vintage in London’s Portobello Market, I tried on everything from 1990s Roberto Cavalli to Chanel pieces once worn by Lily-Rose Depp. Dreamy silhouettes. Iconic prints. And so many scratchy synthetic linings hiding beneath the fantasy. I remember telling my sister: no purely synthetic dress should cost £1,800. That is well over $2,000. Real luxury should be—is—real fabric. Real wealth is health.

When I voiced this to the sales associate, she laughed and said I must have a fear of open flames—suggesting I simply avoid fire. Then she added, more thoughtfully, that perhaps what the customer is paying for is the design, the vision of a celebrated creative director.

But still.

Why does a $2,000 vest from Johanna Ortiz come in 100% recycled polyester? Why is a brand allowed to cloak itself in the word “eco” simply because the plastic is recycled? Why did that heartbreakingly adorable faux coat from By Malene Birger last fall cost $1,100 and contain not a single natural fiber?

The irony writes itself.

We have been trained to equate price with value and branding with virtue. But just because a dress is designer does not mean it deserves four figures. That is marketing. And marketing is very good at its job.

Luxury, as it is currently packaged, often functions as social differentiation. A way to signal distance from the masses. But true value does not sparkle under fluorescent store lighting. It is quieter. It lives in your habits, your discipline, your moral fiber (pun intended). The caliber of person you are—your etiquette, your integrity, your restraint—is not something you can buy off a rack. It accumulates over seasons. Just like a life well-lived.

Recently my sister and I were discussing Debute, the brainchild of English sister-socialites Lola Bute and Jazzy de Lisser. The pieces are undeniably adorable. We both know it. But the majority are 100% polyester—and the ones that aren’t, cover only the midriff in silk. My sister said she would gladly pay full price if the dresses were made of silk or cotton. I felt the same scrolling through Valentine’s options from Diane von Furstenberg. Though to their credit, there are silk and wool pieces—at appropriately painful prices.

The point is not despair. The point is discernment.

There are natural, conscious, and relatively affordable options. 100% cotton underwear from Pact. Silk skirts from Quince. Linen from almost anywhere, if you read the label carefully. All of Brandy Melville’s classic tees? Cotton. Secondhand shopping? A treasure trove of well-made natural fibers that have already proven their longevity.

Real fabric still exists. It is simply overshadowed by convenience.

So here is the only thing I ask of you: read the tag. In-store, it’s stitched inside the garment. Online, it’s under “composition” or “materials.” Train your eye. Train your discernment.

In the end, the brand does not matter nearly as much as the material. Keep your health in mind. Keep your future in mind.

Wear what you are made of.

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Every February, the world blushes on cue. We’re approaching a very important date for all those in love—or so the calendar insists. Chocolates and bouquets I can appreciate. The insidious flood of polyester pinks and reds splashed across social media and department stores? Less so. Besides, I’ve always believed the true season of love is spring. Everything is new, birds sing without obligation, and the earth quietly stages its own Valentine’s Day.

Marketing aside, the truth of this holiday—deeply buried but still beating—offers a gentler reminder: compassion, gratitude, and kindness. Not only toward lovers, but toward friends, family, and yes, ourselves.

Western society, particularly in America, tends to distrust the individual. To look inward is often framed as indulgent, even selfish. But caring for one’s own wellbeing and peace is not a moral failure. It is essential—arguably more so than our endless concern for others.

Which is why I wanted to pause here, with you, dear reader, and speak about kindness. This quiet force acts as a salve for the world’s scrapes and bruises. And it works just as powerfully when applied inward.

I learned kindness in fragments, from different people, in different ways. My stepmother, I’ll never forget, taught my sister and me to be like a princess: graceful, and kind to everyone—no exceptions. That was always her rule. Even as a child, I understood the gravity of it. People are so often excluded, mocked, or ignored for being different. She knew that simple kindness could soften even the sharpest edges. I never wanted to make anyone feel small; cruelty was never in my nature.

My mother taught me that Jesus came not for romance, but to demonstrate compassion—to show humanity the highest form of love. Not the cinematic kind, but unconditional love. Compassion asks us to move beyond our own comfort, beyond two-dimensional self-interest. It’s easy to fall into rhythm with others, easy to ignore. Compassion insists that we extend ourselves anyway.

We all recognize what kindness looks like in practice: holding a door, expressing gratitude, withholding judgment, offering a smile. Listening—truly listening—to our friends. Noticing the small details that shape the lives of those we love.

But kindness does not end there. Extend it beyond familiarity. Practice it with strangers, and even in solitude. Speak of others only as you would wish to be spoken of in your absence.

Understanding and compassion require the same open-mindedness I return to again and again in my writing. And the truth is, it doesn’t demand much—only an instantaneous choice. One we are free to make at any moment. Carry that awareness with you. The world is in need of genuine kindness.

Recently, The Ways of a Gentleman shared a quote by Dale Carnegie that lingered with me as I wrote:

A writer and a teacher of courses in self-improvement, salesmanship, corporate training, public speaking, and interpersonal skills; Carnegie understood kindness not as softness, but as a practical tool for influence and connection. In his various books, he argued that we change others not through criticism, but through empathy, sincere appreciation, and generosity of spirit.

Which brings us to the harder question: if kindness is grace and compassion, what does it look like when turned toward ourselves?

Often, we are our own harshest critics. Standards and goals are natural, but patience with ourselves is not. Rest matters just as much as ambition. Pausing to acknowledge how far you’ve come—to appreciate the quiet improvements you’ve made—changes everything. Because kindness, at its core, is love. Self-love.

Think of being sick in bed, a cold weighing heavy, and someone brings you soup, ginger ale, tissues. That warmth—the sense of being cared for—is exactly what kindness and self-love offer the heart.

Listening to your body. Eating well. Sleeping enough. Creating space to move forward intact. Identifying what harms you—patterns, people, environments—and choosing differently. That is self-love. And because no one knows you like you do, no one can love you like you can.

The rituals of self-kindness look different for everyone, but the outcome is universal. When you are patient and generous with yourself, the world appears brighter. Kinder. Because the way we experience ourselves is the way we experience life.

Suddenly, there is room—for joy, for authenticity, for becoming. This permission to simply be is where fulfillment begins. Growth follows ease. And life, when met with gentleness, responds in kind.

Remember: the goal is to live authentically. To choose joy, curiosity, gratitude, and success by following what excites you. Nothing is foolish. Nothing is out of reach.

I know I’m not alone in feeling this year’s momentum. It is, after all, the Year of the Horse—and horses do not stop. So don’t stop either. Not the good habits. Not the rest. Not the self-love. Not the kindness.

And—happy Valentine’s Day.

Xx, Karime

Thanks to our collective allegiance to the Gregorian calendar, most of us carry fewer obligations on Sundays. Which is precisely what makes it such a delicious day of leisure. (Though, to be fair, I am also deeply partial to slow Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays—lol.) There is, of course, Shabbat as well. Regardless, Sunday is a day that often grants us the rare luxury of choice: how we spend our time is, at least for a few hours, entirely up to us.

Today, I’m here to encourage you—through the screen—to read. Which, technically, you’re already doing. Reading! One of life’s greatest pleasures. A precise arrangement of tiny symbols and characters, assembled by some erudite mind, suddenly imbued with meaning. Isn’t that marvelous? Isn’t that amusing? Nothing quite compares to the feeling of sinking into a good book: on your bedroom floor, splayed out in the grass when the weather so permits, curled up on the sofa before a crackling fire, or stretched across the backseat during a long car ride.

I, for one, adore it. There are days when all I want to do is read. Read read read. Rising only to eat or drink, then returning—obediently, happily—to my chair, to the endless intrigue of the next page.

Of course, most of us cannot spend entire days reading. There are things to be done, errands to run, ambitions to tend to—unless, perhaps, you read for a living (in which case, if anyone knows of anything, please do let me know). Still, we can all benefit from what reading offers us: mentally, emotionally, and—dare I say—physically?

Reading is a practice. An art. A skill that requires time and, more importantly, attention. Attention is the fundamental muscle of deep reading—of comprehension, immersion, presence. And in a world saturated with screens, flashes, and endless scrolls, that muscle has weakened. Films and songs are faster than their twentieth-century counterparts. Every track has a sped-up version floating around Spotify, SoundCloud, or TikTok. Reels are watched at 2x speed. Entire television series are available for immediate consumption, no patience required. Even books—my beloved physical objects—are now only a PDF or Kindle click away (though I still prefer a trip to the library).

You get the point. The advantages of our technological and industrial advances are numerous and, in many ways, glorious. But they have also quietly eroded our capacity for sustained attention. And attention, our attention, is power. It fuels industries. It shapes culture. It moves the world. And it is something we can reclaim.

Push yourself to rebuild this skill through reading. Listening to a podcast is wonderful—but concentration, true focus, stimulates the mind differently. More deeply.

And what greater pleasure than focusing on something you genuinely enjoy? Something that regulates your breathing, makes you laugh, grounds you in the present. Something that piques your interest as facile as does food. Read whatever calls to you—history, fashion, how hot dogs are made, political news, mystery novels. Truly, have at it.

It’s about venturing outward mentally. Though, amusingly, self-help and fitness texts may send you outward physically as well—motivation and inspiration being curious side effects of reading.

A fellow Substacker, Julian de Medeiros, writes beautifully and prolifically on the act of reading itself, often sharing the perspectives of great writers, artists, philosophers, and academics. He cites Proust’s reflections on reading—Proust on Why We Read—which resonated deeply with me and mirrors the kind of self-reflection I aim for here. Another favorite is Orwell on Reading; naturally, someone capable of conjuring Animal Farm and 1984 was an avid, disciplined reader from whom we can still learn so much.

To read is to relax. To untangle oneself from the relentless churn of the mind and the noise of the outside world. It soothes not only the mind but the eyes. It allows us to turn inward, reflecting, as Proust said. A gentle ritual that prepares us, quietly and effortlessly, for the week ahead.

And because we do live in a deeply aesthetic world, allow me to offer some visual corroboration: a few of the most fashionable people of our time (does that sound dramatic? Whatever—you know what I mean) engaging in the art of reading.

This one was funny:

Famous, fashionable, attractive readers. Don’t you suddenly want to be just like them?

No—no, that’s not what I’m saying. This isn’t Vogue.

Speaking of fashion and all things glittering, I do have a few sartorial reads for ya. While the likes of Vogue and Tatler offer an endless archive of interviews and essays, you’re not here for the obvious recommendations. Anyone could give you those.

If you’re after fashion-adjacent fiction with elite sensibilities, look no further than the brilliant—and very English—Plum Sykes. Her novels are worlds of curated perfection, transporting readers from the Cotswolds to 1980s Oxford to the glitz of New York City. She writes with cadenced wit and humor, effortlessly ushering you into the inner circles of fashion’s who’s who—their parties, scandals, favorite boutiques, and extravagant travel destinations. Last fall, I devoured Wives Like Us. I hadn’t been that delighted—or amused—by a book in a longgg time.

Sykes, whose decades-long editorial career includes a tenure as contributing editor at Vogue, is the reason I began writing on Substack. She launched P.S. by Plum Sykes in early 2024, and I’ve read every single post.

A few other fashion-forward reads currently on my radar:

• The Battle of Versailles by Robin Givhan

• Ugly: The Aesthetics of Everything

• Little Black Dress by André Leon Talley

• Coolness by Michael Köckritz (with Alain Delon on the cover—say no more)

I already have my books lined up for this month (the theme is art history), so these will have to wait.

Briefly returning to attention—if you truly don’t have the time or patience (both understandable) for longer texts, though I do recommend building toward them, there is always the chic alternative: reading product descriptions of your favorite clothing items. Like any respectable fashion baddie would. You gotta read that composition and fabric care bit.

I can lose hours wandering through Moda Operandi, reading shopping lists, browsing upcoming trunk shows, and diving into designer collections. It’s one of the dreamiest corners of the internet—where everything is elegant, aspirational, and perfectly styled.

In the end, reading is not only a gateway to stronger attention but to everything else, too: the fabulous, the glittery, the intellectual, the impeccably dressed. To the countryside and the city alike. Whether you’re seeking deeper self-connection or simply learning how to dress as you’ve always wanted to, reading can offer you exactly that.

Educate yourself, girl. Being cultured and knowledgeable is cool.

And happy February!

Sometime over the past two weeks, I found myself feeling stressed, a little wound up. Upset, really. I turned, as I often do, to my journal — a therapeutic practice I employ regularly, though not always with immediate relief. It was then that I put on my favorite German playlist.

Now, I haven’t spoken German in a few good months. But singing along — still knowing the lyrics despite my “time off” — brought me an unexpected rush of joy. Thinking in another language, I realized, was acting as a surprisingly potent remedy for my emotional malaise.

More specifically, engaging a different part of your mind — which naturally happens when you speak or think in another language — has the power to shift your entire mood. A gentle but effective reset.

That realization became the inspiration for today’s post: learning something new.

As I’ve mentioned in previous essays, the brain is a complex and remarkably powerful machine, capable of infinite feats. Yet one thing it struggles with profoundly is unlearning. Once a belief is adopted, it can’t simply be deleted — there’s no internal backspace. Learning strengthens neural pathways through repetition; unlearning requires not only forming new connections, but actively weakening old ones. It’s metabolically demanding. In short terms, it’s hard.

Which is precisely why learning something new is so powerful.

When we do, old neural pathways are no longer prioritized. They beginnto weaken. As I mentioned in my last post — I’m in love — what we pay attention to grows. This is the science behind it.

Essentially: learning and doing new things = good.
Learning and doing new things = mood and brain chemistry changer.

Novelty triggers our reward system, flooding the brain with dopamine — increasing happiness, pleasure, and motivation. In addition to boosting neuroplasticity, it enhances confidence, reduces stress, and provides a sense of purpose. It helps soften monotony and lighten heavy emotions.

In clothing, this concept is beautifully easy to adapt. I’d venture to say most of us here have no trouble trying new things when getting dressed — when it’s fun. But experimenting doesn’t have to mean buying something new. What I’m talking about is creative ingenuity.

New combinations. Dresses worn as skirts, tucked into jeans. A top tied differently. I am an avid supporter of patterns, and even the simplest experiment — striped socks, for instance — can shift your entire day. Small gestures, yes, but often surprisingly joyful ones. And for the record: I love fun socks.

When you invest just a little more time in your look — not from vanity, but from curiosity — it feels good. Trying something new, stimulating your creative instincts (which, regardless of what anyone says, exist in all of us) is deeply affirming. It reminds you that you are free: to choose, to change, to play at any moment.

Those are precisely the vibes I see channeled into the genius, PR-focused custom puffer created for Charli XCX’s film The Moment.

I’ve yet to see the mockumentary, but this is exactly the kind of playful energy I cordially invite you to infuse into your life. Your brain will thank you for it. Eek.

Fashion and novelty, of course, go hand in hand. But what about the less obvious areas of life? The ones that feel distinctly uncreative — work, conferences, daily routines, commutes. Let’s be honest: they are boring. Lifeless, even. Metaphorical cinder blocks.

But the magic lies with you.

Trying something new doesn’t have to be purely actionable. You can also decide to see things differently. Much like choosing orange socks instead of your usual white ones, you can reframe the experiences that make up your days.

Think Pam and Jim from The Office: small pranks, shared laughter — and eventually, something meaningful born from monotony.

Even choosing to think differently — to reframe familiar places, people, and patterns — is an act of creativity. And, as we’ve established, your brain rewards you for it. This is why perspective-taking, empathy, and curiosity are so often praised: they quite literally expand the mind.

There is nothing more precious. Nothing more valuable. At least in my opinion.

At the end of the day, we are here to learn — and to keep learning. The less resistance we bring, the better. But the more fun we have along the way, the greater still.

As Mary Shelley so perfectly put it: “The beginning is always today.”

Dear reader, it’s wonderful to be back. When I tell you I love doing this—writing these—I mean it. The joy, the excitement, the sheer fizz of it all. I hope some of that enthusiasm travels through the screen and lands with you. And if it doesn’t? I’m telling you plainly now: I’m thrilled.

So let’s begin where all good things do—with excitement. With passion. With the kind of energy that makes your pulse quicken, your mind swim with ideas, and convinces you—at least metaphorically, but ideally literally—to leap out of bed in the morning.

I am a person of many interests. I find nearly everything fascinating. I’m endlessly curious, and I suspect you are too. I want to know everything about everything—to connect ideas, cross disciplines, and become conversant in as much as I can. It brings me real joy. Information alone is enticing, but it doesn’t become knowledge until it is integrated, understood, and lived. Knowledge and wisdom, after all, are not the same thing.

Still—I love learning. Can you tell?

When it comes to getting dressed, the possibilities are infinite. Endless opportunities to become enamored, to feel excited. Getting dressed can be a glorious, daily ritual—a simple way of inviting joy into your life.

One of the surest paths there is honesty. Being true to yourself allows you to choose pieces that genuinely resonate, rather than confining yourself to a rigid aesthetic. It leaves room for range. One day grungy, the next sporty, later elegant. All of it valid. All of it you.

Personally, I adore color and stripes—they make me happy. But I also love clean, classic silhouettes. The two coexist, mix, and converse. Style, after all, is not about contradiction but harmony.

One of the things I am most enamored with—perhaps unsurprisingly—is textiles. Fabrics, wallpaper, patterns, sofas. All that delicious design jazz.

Truly, one of my great design dreams is a striped sofa. Ugh. And chinoiserie wallpaper—so fun, so chic, so chic it hurts.

The goal—whether with an outfit or a home—is to feel like a billion bucks. Because when you exist in that state of excitement, you attract positivity. You live more fully. You participate.

Now, how does this excitement translate on a deeper, emotional level? The process is remarkably similar. It begins with spending enough time with yourself to recognize what genuinely excites you—the kind of excitement that makes your heart sing. Not the nervous energy of worrying about how things will be perceived. There’s nothing wrong with that impulse, but it isn’t the point here. We’re after something richer. Fulfillment, which—truthfully—comes from within.

It all comes down to mentality. We are free to adopt a new one at any time.

One of the most effortless ways to shift mentality is through gratitude. Gratitude, dear reader, is extraordinarily powerful. One of the greatest tools available to us as humans. It doesn’t erase life’s murkier shades, but it allows us to be present—and presence is the truest form of fulfillment.

When we practice gratitude from the heart, we begin to see just how abundant our lives really are.

My mother taught me this early on. Be grateful for the smallest things, she’d say—your pillow, your toothpaste, the plates you eat from. Clean water. The people who make you laugh. The socks that keep your feet warm. The cat or dog who curls up beside you. Small things. Big things. The unnoticed architecture of daily life.

When you bring attention to these details, you reclaim your power—because attention is power. Where attention goes, energy grows. Gratitude trains attention. Like any skill, it takes practice and patience.

A brief neurological aside (bear with me): the phrase “where attention goes, energy grows” isn’t just poetic—it’s physiological. Enter the Reticular Activating System, or RAS: the brain’s gatekeeper of attention. We take in millions—possibly hundreds of billions—of bits of information every second, but only a tiny fraction reaches conscious awareness. This is why, once you buy a certain car, you suddenly see it everywhere. Focus sharpens perception. Attention directs reality.

So when you practice gratitude, you become aware of just how much there is to be excited about. Sometimes all it takes is a renewed perspective.

Yes, the world is chaotic, overwhelming, and at times frightening. But within that chaos, there is no shortage of things to see, to learn, to love, to become utterly enamored with.

Luis Miguel “the Sun of Mexico” talking about being in love with life.

Remember that idea from the beginning—about information becoming knowledge once it’s integrated? Here’s your invitation to put it into practice this Wednesday.

Set clear intentions for the day. You will start to see them everywhere. Indulge in gratitude. Ask yourself: What am I grateful for today? And then move forward with excitement.

After all, 2026 is the year of the horse—so charge ahead with momentum. Revive that childlike wonder you once had. Before schedules ruled your days. Before job applications, LinkedIn, taxes, gas prices. Become enamored with life again.

Hello again lovely reader. Can you believe we’re almost at the end of January already?! Honestly, this month has flown by. Lol. Anyways, the first month of the year is filled with many resolutions–some kept but most broken.

What I keep returning to is the idea of foundation. The pieces we build on. The habits we repeat. The internal compass that, once set, makes everything else — including getting dressed — feel far more intentional.

At the very end of my last post, I wrote:
“As we move through life and come to know ourselves more deeply, a solid internal foundation forms. From there, a quiet knowing guides us — what we resonate with, and what we don’t.”

That foundation is precisely what we’re exploring today.

So many things in life depend on strong foundations: buildings, institutions, businesses, relationships, financial stability — people. The list is endless. But what interests me most is how these foundations are built, and why they matter — not only to our wardrobes, but to our emotional well-being.

Values, habits, and a strong sense of conviction — whether inherited or independently formed — are the keystones of a sturdy foundation.

In the wardrobe, habits are everything. They dictate not only longevity, but clarity. About a year ago, on Harper’s Bazaar, contributing Vogue editor Lauren Santo Domingo shared a rule she lives by: now that her wardrobe is fully formed, for every new item she brings in, two must go. Buy a black sweater? Be willing to part with two others.

Cycling clothes out is one of the simplest ways to keep a wardrobe feeling fresh and intentional. Letting go of what no longer serves you creates movement — energetically and practically. While this can be done at any time, the start of a new year feels especially appropriate. Cleaning out your closet (and your home) is as much a wellness practice as it is a stylistic one. After all, the spaces we inhabit often mirror the state of our minds. Clean spaces are easier on the eyes — and kinder to the nervous system.

Another habit worth cultivating is intentional shopping. By this, I mean fewer impulsive, fast-fashion purchases and more thoughtful, deliberate ones. This is no small feat in a world — and on phones — constantly urging us to buy, buy, buy. Everyone wants to look good all the time, and frankly, it’s not entirely our fault.

But when we pause — truly pause — and step back from the consumerist noise, something interesting happens. We realize we already have enough. That trendy top suddenly feels far less urgent.

So what does an intentional buy look like? A piece that genuinely excites you. One that can be styled multiple ways, that feels versatile and enduring. Is the fabric real? Is it durable? Will it age well? These are the questions worth asking. For me, composition is paramount. And yes — this reflective step can also conveniently justify a higher price point. Teehee.

@chanellgirlies on TikTok. Wear real fabrics!

The truth is, at least 90% of what we buy is unnecessary. The luxuries of the modern world have granted us access to infinite goods — and infinite temptation.

Donating and thrifting, then, are no-brainers. With the staggering amount of clothing that ends up in landfills, the least we can do is ensure our unworn pieces live a second — or third, or fourth — life. I’m not an avid thrifter in the sense that I don’t do it often (just as I don’t shop often), but every time I do, I find real treasures: a Brooks Brothers coat, Carhartt jeans, understated French brands that whisper rather than shout. My favorite part of thrifting is the possibility of finding something truly unique — something non-trendy. Those pieces thrill me.

Adopting even one of these wardrobe habits can begin to shift your relationship with clothing entirely.

But what about our personal lives? That, truly, is a topic I could write about endlessly.

A strong foundation internally allows you to move forward more seamlessly. Perhaps that sounds daunting — abstract, even. But the reality is far simpler: it’s built from small things. Habits. Details. This is where our real power lies.

So how does one cultivate meaningful habits? It starts with wanting to — genuinely. Not just desiring the outcome, but accepting the work and time it requires, and being okay with that.

Focusing specifically on emotional well-being: habits here matter most of all. Because while what we wear is important, a deeper sense of self — a well-wrought internal foundation — is what makes intentional dressing possible in the first place.

In an overarching sense, habits and details should nourish you. The world is loud and unpredictable; the only things truly within our control are our outlook and our reactions. Establishing rituals that bring you back to yourself — daily — is not indulgent. It’s essential.

One of the simplest, though not easiest, practices is alone time. We love our friends and families, of course. But carving out even thirty minutes to be with your thoughts — to sit with your feelings and responses to the world — is a sanctuary no one else can build for you.

This can take many forms. Meditation. Lying on the floor in shavasana. Doing absolutely nothing. Stillness is difficult in a world of constant stimulation, and sitting with our minds can be uncomfortable. But learning how to simply be is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself.

There are also meditative activities that ground us through action: reading, painting, walking, or any hobby that keeps you present.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what you do. What matters is the willingness to be better — at anything. That genuine eagerness. Because when you truly want something, you pursue it. That’s how habits develop.

These intentional moments of solitude guide us toward awareness. Awareness leads to alignment. And alignment leads to small, consistent choices that feel right — because now, you know.

Is this making sense?

The book The Compound Effect by Darren Hardy is a great example of this. The premise is simple, but powerful: small actions, repeated consistently over time, lead to extraordinary results. My sister and I love this book. It’s a wonderful read if you’re interested in self-help.

And really, that’s the essence of a solid foundation — in style, in life, in selfhood.
The power has always been in the small. Because lots of small over time amounts to something grand.

Today, we’re talking about balance—a concept I try to weave into every aspect of my life.

Balance is a word that, at least in my world, gets thrown around frequently. It’s a beautiful idea—living a centered life—but how does that actually manifest in the way we dress? And what does it look like emotionally?

Many stylists, fashion influencers, and self-appointed gurus will tell you that good basics are the foundation of a strong, tasteful wardrobe. I grew up on this dogma thanks to my mother, a devoted believer in the power of the basics. As a result, my mom, my sisters, and I were always well dressed. Even as pre-teens and teenagers—surrounded by a sea of sweatpants and athleisure (nothing wrong with either; they’re just not the most sophisticated attire)—we managed to pull together cute outfits.

Trustworthy denim in different silhouettes, sturdy T-shirts (my favorite was a black V-neck from H&M that I wore until it had holes—much like this one from Etam), and good sweaters were the move.

A fabulous contemporary example of committing to basics and wearing them beautifully are the Moosgaard Nielsen twins, founders of Lié Studio. They champion the outfit repeat with ease and confidence.

There are many other poignant examples—Claire Rose (a favorite of my twin sister, Nicole), and Lara Saint Browning, to name a few.

This simple formula—pairing great basics with great basics—works seamlessly for all of the women mentioned above, each of whom has carved out a meaningful space in the fashion world. Legends. There is much to learn from them.

And yet, as I began to develop a stronger sense of self and a deeper awareness of who I am, my style gently veered in another direction. It was really this year that I gained enough perspective to realize just how different my preferred style is from that of my twin sister, Nicole.

Growing up—and even now—Nicole has always been the stylish one. She has taste. She has vision. In high school, she would spend hours assembling outfits, making sure she wore a different pair of shoes every day to vary her looks and extract maximum potential from our shared closet. Resourceful.

Today, her style draws inspiration from Lauren Santo Domingo, Kate Young, and the impeccably curated fits of Moda Operandi. She embodies a Claire Rose–esque execution of basics perfectly. Friends have described her style as more “French,” “chic,” and “polished,” while mine leans a bit more “sporty”—though still elevated, I must add :). We still share a great deal of clothing, so I’m endlessly inspired by her, even if she considers my borrowing a theft of creativity.

As I’ve navigated style alongside self-discovery, I’ve found myself leaning into a slightly edgier, more playful way of dressing. I love beads, texture, and pattern.

I’m drawn to flowery accessories like the Valentino devain shoulder bags and eye-catching pieces that spice up an outfit—pieces that give it a voice and elevate it to a higher level of sartorial expression.

Are you wondering… are we talking maximalism now? Well, dear reader, that is the other side of the spectrum, isn’t it? And after all, we are talking about balance.

Is it necessary to live in full maximalist garb? Not entirely. But sprinkling touches of it into your wardrobe can be transformative. Learning how to mix and layer patterns is a skill every well-dressed person should cultivate—at least in my opinion—especially if you’re naturally drawn to color and louder visuals. Think Spanish-girl patterns, English whimsy, South American weaving. A little color never hurt anybody!

@slimstyled on TikTok; my latest repost.

So what’s the recipe here? Can you guess it?

Yes—balance. Whoop whoop.

Just as balance brings harmony to our outfits, it also serves our emotional well-being beautifully.

As humans, we experience the entire emotional spectrum—the full rainbow. None of us are spared moments of anger, grief, or confusion, just as none of us are exempt from joy, excitement, or calm. That is the wonder of our humanness: our ability to feel. And feel we do.

At the core of this constant back-and-forth lies duality—this remarkable quality that colors everything in our world. Yin and yang. “Good” and “bad.” Vanilla and chocolate. (Though, of course, there’s also strawberry.)

If we were to call strawberry—or raspberry sorbet, or even pistachio gelato—the middle ground, the emotional sweet spot, it would taste like true calm. The nervous system is relaxed. You’re fully present. A space where nothing exists but the here and now, and gratitude for what is arises naturally.

I used to think balance meant being calm all the time. I don’t anymore. Balance isn’t about suppressing emotion—it’s about letting it pass through you without allowing it to color you forever.

As I’ve shared before, I’m reflective by nature, especially when it comes to my feelings. Here’s a quote I found in my journal from late November of last year:

“...I still have to process so many emotions. Like the fact that Tommy (my family dog) died on Saturday. But Saturday was also Sassy’s (my best friend) 21st birthday, and we went out with the guys and it was so much fun. I haven’t had that much fun in a while. The duality of life. Constantly being pulled from polarity to polarity. So it’s my turn—my job as an awesome human being—to return to a center. My center. To acknowledge what these polarities made me feel, observe and learn. And keep going!”

And at the very end: “...even just writing this makes me feel so much better.”

I love that I’m this coherent in both my journal and on Substack.

So no—balance isn’t about staying centered at all times. It’s about knowing how to return. As we move through life and come to know ourselves more deeply, a solid internal foundation forms. From there, a quiet knowing guides us—what we resonate with, and what we don’t.

Do I want to hold on to this emotion? Is this anger serving me? Is this situation constructive? Is this relationship or environment nourishing me?

The practice is simple, though not always easy: let go of what no longer fits, and feed your mind, body, and soul with energy that truly nourishes.

Balance. A work in progress.

Xx,
Karime

Writing these posts is so much fun! I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them :)

Animal print has made its way back into both mainstream and high-end fashion recently, but this resurgence didn’t happen overnight. It’s the result of a slow-building cycle that’s been quietly gathering momentum for years.

In the early 2020s, animal print began quietly reappearing in both designer collections and street style, buoyed by nostalgia for 1990s and early-2000s aesthetics. By 2023–2024, social media accelerated its return: TikTok trends like the “mob wife” look and a renewed appetite for bold, maximalist dressing pushed animal print back into the collective consciousness. By 2024–2025, major fashion houses had fully re-integrated it into their collections — not as novelty, but as intentional statement pieces and wardrobe staples.

That’s a bit of context.

When animal print first began cycling back — and I started seeing it styled in a more refined way — I found myself warming to it. I do remember, however, that my mother always thought it a bit… trashy (love you, Mummy xx).

And honestly, I understand her view. Anything — not just loud patterns — can feel untasteful if styled without balance or a sense of curated creativity.

The same principle applies to design, something I am crazy about — as you’re about to discover, dear reader

I was slightly hesitant to bring design into this space at first, but it lives under the same creative, cultural umbrella as fashion. And this is, at its core, a place for sensibility and reflection. Reflection really is the main driver here. I realised I was constantly sitting with thoughts — about clothes, spaces, people, myself — and it began to feel like they deserved somewhere to live.

Anyway. I am very much pro–animal print (obviously — otherwise we wouldn’t be here), mainly because it adds dimension. It brings a playful yet sophisticated energy to both outfits and rooms. Take this zebra-print stair runner, for instance.

Imagine walking up those stairs. These are the stairs of a cultured person. Someone who’s travelled, who’s seen things. Someone in the know. If those were my stairs, I’d feel like the baddest B — genuinely. I’d be thinking: yes, I am the moment.

And that’s the thing. It’s something so simple, yet not many people choose to dress their stairs with such intention. That thoughtful layering — a runner over stairs, patterns mixed just so, textures working together — is what takes a space (or an outfit) from two-dimensional and functional to stimulating and inspiring. A space you want to be in. A space that welcomes thinking and creativity.

And yes, maybe this sounds dramatic. But honestly? Let’s be dramatic. No one else is going to do it for us. Let us spice up our lives with a little extravagance, a little delusion, all while living our dreams.

It’s about understated elegance. A beautifully curated outfit — say, a pair of Le Monde Béryl printed calf-hair driving shoes — may exude quiet confidence, but the self-assuredness that truly carries any look comes from within. Just as our outfits are layered, we are too.

And it is our responsibility, and ours alone, to uncover those layers. If you don’t get to know yourself… who will?

Which brings me to the more contemplative side of this post.

Becoming more yourself requires what I call inner work: self-observation, self-reflection, and gently asking questions like Why do I do this? Why do I feel this way? Why do I react like that? — all without judgment. Judgment, after all, is the greatest impediment to growth of any kind.

This inner work is what gives us depth and authenticity — that extra layer of pizazz, that oomph, much like a tasteful animal-print chair or cushion gives a sitting room. It’s the same reason I’m drawn to those Le Monde Béryl shoes (which, by the way, are currently 30% off — someone please hold me down and no, this is not sponsored).

So what I’m really saying is this: invest time in yourself. Peel away from the noise, the hustle, the endless social obligations. Sit with yourself — even if just for ten minutes — and go inward. Just feel.

I know most of us resist this. Feeling can be uncomfortable, sad, frustrating. It can surface pain, guilt, powerlessness, and questions with no clear answers. But facing the confusion — walking through it, clearing it away — is the only path to you. Picture an eighteenth-century explorer hacking through the jungle, creating a path where none existed before.

On the other side is the real you. The you who deserves love and knows it. The you who allows yourself joy and calm. The you who understands that life can be difficult and beautiful at the same time. The you who hopes again. The you who knows your own strength and carries it quietly; a known fact.

It’s the lowest-risk, highest-reward investment you can make.

Of course, this is an ongoing process. Self-reflection doesn’t end — there are always layers. Much like anything meaningful in life. And while I like to think we have free will — that we are constantly choosing, in small and big ways — we can choose not to live reflectively at all. But I’d argue: why not? What do we really have to lose? Other than the unhelpful narratives we cling to because they feel safe — the ones that keep us rooted in place long after they’ve stopped serving us.

This space is for the naturally curious. For those who want to be just a little better, every day.

Becoming a cooler person is a nice byproduct, sure. But getting to know yourself — truly understanding the layers that make you you — is something no one else can do for you, and no one can ever take away.

You can make introspection your greatest power and still rock animal print — all in the same lifetime.

xx,
Karime