Don’t get me wrong. Kindness, generosity and selflessness are beautiful qualities. The world needs more of them. But there comes a point where you have to ask yourself a question:

“Do you love yourself enough to risk someone else’s disappointment?”

If that question makes you pause, even for a second, maybe there’s some self reflection to be done.

The funny thing about people pleasers is that they rarely realise they’re people pleasers.It’s normal to them.Putting themselves second is their routine. Saying yes when they want to say no becomes second nature. They don’t evenn realise they’re making sacrifices because that’s simply how they’ve always existed.It wasn’t until I recognised those traits in someone close to me (my mum) that I realised I had them too.Although thankfully, not to the same extent.The moment I stopped romanticising people pleasing was when I started noticing what it had cost her.I’d watch her be kind to family members who had treated her terribly.I’d watch her lend money to people who never paid her back.I’d watch her host gatherings for cousins who happily spoke badly about her the second she left the room.

She bent over backwards for people who didn’t bat an eye at all the sacrifices she made for them.And that’s when it hit me. Maybe people pleasing isn’t always a sign of kindness.Maybe sometimes it’s a reflection of how little we believe we deserve.

I think it all comes down to self respect.If I truly respected myself, why would I constantly put myself in situations where pleasing everyone else mattered more than protecting my own peace?

Before I go any further, I want to make something v clear.I’m not saying self sacrifice is always bad.Sometimes love requires sacrifice. Parents sacrifice for their children.(My parents moved countries and live apart for us)Friends sacrifice for each other. Healthy relationships involve compromise.There’s a huge difference between making sacrifices for people who love, value and appreciate you and constantly sacrificing yourself for people who couldn’t care less.

One is love.

The other is self neglect.

Our small traits of people pleasing can be traced back to when we were kids.it’ll be tiny little moments that seem so innocent and yet looking deeper you realize what actually happened.I remember being in high school, sitting next to a girl called Molly in music class.Our teacher chose me to play the piano and Molly to play the triangle.Molly wasn’t happy.She wanted the piano.She complained. She made a fuss.

And what did my people pleasing self do?

I gave her my place.At the time,I walked away feeling proud of myself. I’d made someone happy. Surely that made me a good person.

Looking back, I just think…why? It’s not as if Molly remembers that moment.It’s not as if my life changed because I let her play the piano.

But as a child, being chosen to play the piano felt like a huge deal. I gave up something I genuinely wanted simply because I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else being disappointed.

When we hear the word “sacrifice”, we immediately think of huge, life changing acts.

Giving up your career.

Moving countries.

Donating an organ.

But sacrifice isn’t always dramatic.

Sometimes it’s letting someone else take your place.Sometimes it’s saying yes when you desperately want to say no.Sometimes it’s shrinking yourself so someone else feels a little bigger.Those moments seem insignificant on their own.But repeated enough times, they teach you something dangerous.That everyone else’s happiness matters more than yours.

And I don’t believe that’s kindness.I think that’s forgetting your own worth.If you constantly sacrifice your happiness for people you don’t owe anything to, maybe the issue isn’t that you’re too kind.Maybe it’s that you haven’t learned to value yourself enough to believe your happiness deserves protecting too.

So…Is self-sacrifice the flex you think it is?

Sometimes.But only when it’s a choice.Not when it’s your default.And definitely not when the only person constantly paying the price is you.

xoxo,

emaan

Soft. Quiet. Deceiving.

There’s something deeply unsettling about how gentle it feels…and I know exactly why.

So here it is.My formal complaint against spring, submitted to the official board of weather management.

Dear Spring,

You’ve probably read the word complaint and paused. Confused. Maybe even a little offended.A complaint about you?Impossible.

And yet, here we are.

I’m not happy with your arrival, and I’d like you to know why.

Every year, just as I’m finally pulled into the comfort of winter, no sweating, no creepy crawlies, no unbearable heat, you show up. Right when I’ve settled in. Right when everything feels calm and perfect.

Fall and winter are the most magical times of the year. Quiet. Soft. A little melancholic in the best way.And then you have the audacity to arrive and ruin everything.

Now, don’t get me wrong, you, on your own, aren’t so bad. It’s more what you signify.

You’re a warning.

A preview.

A gateway.

Because after you comes summer.And I can’t help but resent you for that.You’re the polite knock before chaos. The preview, before months of heat I didn’t ask for.

You bring your little acquaintances with you,

those horrid creatures that seem to exist for no reason other than to suck our blood for fun.

And don’t think I haven’t noticed the confusion you cause.

What am I even supposed to wear?

It’s too warm for jackets, but too brisk for a light dress.You leave me standing in front of my wardrobe like I’ve never dressed myself before.

But I’ll be fair.You’ve been kind to me this year. It’s May (my birthday month,the most whimsical month ever coz an angel was born), and you’ve been gentle.You haven’t rushed into summer like you usually do.

It still rains every few days. The flowers are blooming, and they look… annoyingly beautiful. The air still carries a softness I can tolerate.

My favourite thing about you so far is “sakura season”.cherry blossoms trees everywhere.its FLIPPING GORGEOUS.

Sometimes…and ONLY sometimes, you make me feel peaceful.

You bring this strange sense of calm before the storm (the storm, of course, being summer).

You make me stop.Breathe.

This is the time of year when life softens a little. No life changing exams, no constant revising, no pressure sitting on my chest. Just… peace.

So I go outside, take a breath, and breathe you in.And before you get any ideas, no, this is not weird. You just smell nice. That’s it.I’m not obsessed with you or anything.

I want to like you. I really do.So I try to give you the benefit of the doubt.But don’t think I’m not catching on to what you’re doing.This is all a hoax.

You’re lulling me into a false sense of security. Making me comfortable. Letting me enjoy you just enough…

Because before I know it, you’ll be gone.

And your ugly stepsister, summer, will take your place.And I’ll be stuck waiting an entire year for you to return just so I can complain about you all over again.

So here it is.

My letter of complaint.

Do with it what you will.

Yours reluctantly,

emaan

I’ve been through a lot of different types of friendship breakups during my 21 years on this planet.

Some were painful, some were a long time coming, and some I easily moved on from. But the one common denominator in all of them was this huge sense of loss. no matter how toxic they were or how much easier my life became with them not in it.Losing that connection, however small it may have been, hurts. And the feeling of loss is difficult to shake off. You may have shared certain aspects of your life with them and them with you, and knowing there’s now a person on this planet who knows intimate details about your life but you have zero contact with aside from the occasional awkward eye contact (if you go to the same uni) makes you feel kind of out of sorts.

There are a lot of different types of friendship breakups.

Sometimes friendships end with a huge, dramatic fight ,tears, yelling, screenshots.Other times they just fade. You start talking less, stop sending each other stuff you find funny, and before you know it, you haven’t spoken in months.There’s no closure. Just silence. And the lingering question of: are we still friends?

Some breakups happen because of long distance.Some because your lives are just too different or you’re too busy or you’ve both moved into different stages of life.Maybe your vibes don’t match anymore. Maybe you just don’t get along.Sometimes it happens because that person is a bitch and it’s better for your mental health to let them go.Sometimes it’s because your morals and values clash.And the best case scenario is when it ends naturally and you still wish the best for each other.

I’ve been on both sides of the friendship breakup: the one breaking up and the one being broken up with. Both sides are difficult to be on.

When we’re younger, we think every best friend is the one.

“We’re gonna buy houses next door to each other and our kids will be best friends.”

But no one prepares you for the fact that sometimes your so called “best friend forever” has an expiration date, and forever doesn’t actually mean “forever”.

That’s why friendship breakups hit harder.you’re not just losing a person, you’re losing the future you imagined with them.

Every time a friendship ends, I go through this whole self analysis spiral.

Was I the problem?

Did I say something wrong?

Could I have fixed it if I’d tried harder?

The reason I’ve always felt that friendship breakups hurt more than actual breakups and I do know I don’t have a leg to stand on because I’ve never been in a romantic relationship ,is because I genuinely don’t think a man will ever know me the way a true friend does.

He’ll never get me or my soul the way a friend does.

He’ll never be there for me the way true female friendships are.

He’s not gonna tell me if my makeup looks like shit or which outfit looks better.

He’s not gonna tell me my worth.

He’s not gonna talk to me about the TV shows I watch or the latest book I’ve read or the current song I’m listening to on loop.the little mundane things in life,I can’t talk to a man about them.

If I have a problem with my family, they’re the first people I’m venting to.

No man could ever replace that.

No man can fill my soul the way true female friendships do.

So if a man can’t replace that, and female friendships hold so much value that a man could never replace them, then it goes without saying that the loss of the friendship would hurt more than the loss of a romantic partner, right?

I mean, what really are you even losing in that regard.

When I was in primary school, we used to have two classes per year.

If you were in Year 4, there were two Year 4 classes ,one for birthdays from September to March, and the other for May to August.

We were a group of five, but the four of my friends were all born before March, so they got put in the same class. My birthday is in May, so I was separated from them. This two class system started in 3rd grade, and the minute I wasn’t with them anymore, I sensed a shift in our friendship.

They didn’t want to continue the friendship.

They ignored me during break time, pretended I didn’t exist, stopped talking to me completely.

I couldn’t understand it. What was the reason? I thought we were BFFs.

That was my first friendship breakup, and it was on and off through all of primary school. It continued in 4th grade. Then in 5th grade, we were in the same class again and just like that, the friendship reignited. Suddenly I was visible again.

Me being the dumb 10 year old didn’t once consider the fact that maybe these “friends” weren’t true friends, since they had ignored me for the past two years. I was just happy to have them back. I was craving that female friendship group I’d been denied.

In 6th grade, we were in different classes again, and I’m sure you can guess what happened…

I really was an idiot.

In 6th grade, I finally learnt my lesson and made new friends (about goddamn time).

We were a group of six, and I loved them to bits. They made my last year of primary school the best.

During primary school, I also went to mosque classes. They grouped students according to how good their recitation was, and not to toot my own horn or anything, but mine was really good, so I’d always get placed with older students.

In one particular class where everyone was two years older than me, I met a girl called Zainab, the first older friend I ever made.

Now a two year difference isn’t a big deal now, but when you’re young, the emotional maturity difference is huge, which is why it was surprising we hit it off so well.

This was the type of friendship breakup that happened gradually, simply because our lives went in completely different directions. I’ll always think of her fondly though.

The next breakup was in 8th grade ,Amber. Another long-distance one.

And the latest one was in second year of uni, because they had no value of friendship whatsoever. They were incredibly male-centred, had no morals or values. Lowkey glad they’re out of my life.

Even my favourite shows revolve around friendships. I always gravitate towards shows that centre female friendships like Derry Girls, The Bold Type, Sex and the City, Bride Wars.

Some of the friendships in these shows are messy as hell, but some are beautiful, and I love watching them.

The point of all this is: all the friendships I’ve had throughout my life have shaped me. I may not be in contact with many of them anymore, and I may not be on good terms with some of them, but they’ve shaped me into who I am.

As horrible as some of them were, I’m glad they happened. I feel like I needed them. They’ve shaped me into who I am today.

When I look back on these friendships, I feel a huge sense of loss ,not at the people themselves, but at the girlhood we shared.

That’s something no romantic partner or “soulmate” could ever replace.

You can get over a guy.

But losing a friend?

That changes how you trust people. It makes you a bit colder, a bit more careful. You start realising not everyone’s meant to stay.

And with that,I will leave u with a little quote from bride wars

xoxo,

emaan

As I’m writing this, it’s early morning and the weekend, which means I’m back home from uni. The fan’s on its lowest speed, just enough of a breeze to make me shiver and snuggle deeper into my blanket. I have my song of the fall playing in my wired earphones “Lucky October by ELIO” and the lingering taste of my mum’s white chocolate chip cookies that she baked last night still hasn’t left my mouth.

It feels like the perfect time to recount everything that’s happened this month and by “this month,” I mean October, fall, autumn… the best season ever. This post is just me rambling about the things that have happened lately that made me feel like I’ve properly entered my fall era (and a few other important things hehehe).

Okay, so I’m not gonna lie the month didn’t starf great. It was exam season, and I was extremely stressed. The first two weeks of October were just revision, caffeine, and breakdowns. I barely had time to process that it was even fall. But my exams finally ended, and the result came out a few days ago (I passed!!!), which is why I’m in such a good mood while writing this.

But something very unexpected happened during exam season. I rescued a kitten!!!

I was in my room revising when my sister called me outside .there was a tiny kitten meowing in our garden. I went out and saw the smallest little brownish grey fluffball shivering in the corner. The saddest part was that its sibling’s dead body was lying next to her. Their mum must have abandoned them, and it had rained the previous night, so one of them didn’t survive.

The one that did her eye was infected and almost shut she looked so fragile. We just couldn’t leave her outside. We brought her in, cleaned her up, and fed her milk with a baby feeder. She drank hungrily. We named her Milo. She’s about three weeks old now, and she’s my baby. I refuse to let her go, even though my mum keeps reminding me we already have two cats.But I birthed milo.i can’t just give her away.

There are these specific trees in our garden that release the most beautiful smell at night when the cold season starts. That smell is my official sign that fall has begun. It’s nostalgic and comforting.I can’t even describe it properly. I tried figuring out what tree it was and I think it’s some kind of night  flowering jasmine. Every year, as soon as October arrives, that smell returns and I find myself standing outside, closing my eyes, just breathing it in.

My mum has also entered her baking era. Usually, the dynamic in our house is that she cooks and I bake. But lately, I’ve been too busy and since I only come home on weekends, she’s taken over. Maybe it’s the fall air, but she’s been unstoppable. She’s definitely not a beginner she used to bake a lot when I was a kid but she’s picked it back up again.

It started with warm, crispy on the outside, soft on the inside hot cross buns. Then cupcakes. Then coconut cake. Last week, she made donuts dipped in chocolate glaze and dusted with powdered sugar. Easily my favorite so far. Then came chocolate croissants. And this weekend? Chocolate chip cookies made with broken chocolate chunks from a galaxy bar. (All of this is not good for my calorie deficit, by the way.)

This week, uni had an event with stalls and games, so my friends and I allwent.

I wore such a fall coded fit :a white shirt, dark grey denim skirt, black ballet flats, black hijab, and my cherry red bag. I’ve been waiting to wear that bag all season, and finally getting to use it felt like injecting pure autumn energy straight into my veins.

One of my favorite YouTubers, Zoe Sugg, has started uploading her fall vlogs again. She’s even started a new thing called “Halloweek” where she vlogs Halloween related stuff for a week straight. It’s honestly been the highlight of my night routine and has completely set the fall mood for me.

It’s nearing the end of October now, and somehow, I’ve managed to read ten books already. (How I did that during exams, I have no idea.) One of my favourite rite authors released the next book of a series after two years. it’s called Sinners Atone. It ended on a massive cliffhanger, and I nearly cried because I need to know what happens next. The book itself is set around Halloween through December, so it was the perfect fall coded read.

And that’s my little October recap:messy, sweet,v random and perfectly imperfect. Fall always feels like a fresh start to me, and I’m just happy I finally get to slow down and enjoy it. Here’s to quieter days, cooler nights, and more sweet treats and kittens trying to worm its way into my hoodie.

I’ll keep u lot updated if anything major happens in November.

xoxo,

emaan

Do you actually like them or did the Internet tell you to? If so, call for help coz you’re being held hostage by aesthetic marketing

I was minding my own business, peacefully scrolling through TikTok, when I came across one of the most atrocious things I’d ever seen. It was a keychain. Teddy bear-ish in shape, sure. Kind of fluffy. But the face? Straight out of a horror movie.

Big creepy smile. Eyes that looked almost alive. Psychopathic. Possessed. The kind of thing you’d expect to find crawling across the ceiling at 3 a.m.

To make matters worse, one of my favourite YouTubers was unboxing one like it was the cutest thing ever. I was confused but okay… her life, her choice.

Then within days, it hit me.this wasn’t an isolated incident.

It was a plague.

These monster ass keychains had a name. Labubus.Apparently, they were here to replace Sonny Angels.

Now, I never really got the naked baby hype of Sonny Angels either, but at least some of the collections had clothes and looked kinda cute

But suddenly, every influencer, every chronically online teenage girl, every “clean aesthetic” girl was obsessed (which I find pretty ironic btw). And I just wanted to grab them by the shoulders and scream,

“WTF is wrong with you? You want these little demons hanging off your bag??!”

The thing is,this Labubu epidemic snapped something in me. It made me realize just how easily we’re manipulated into wanting stuff. Not needing. Wanting.

Most of us don’t even like these things.

But the more we see it, the more we convince ourselves:

“I do need this.”

“I do find this cute.”

“I will literally die without it.”

And that, my friends, is how consumerism gets you.

It’s how influencers and brands profit:

Step 1: Get paid to promote a product.

Step 2: Shove it in your face until you can’t remember life before it.

Step 3: Watch you spiral into “I’m not cool if I don’t have this” mode.

Take Rhode, for example. The peptide lip treatments.

£15 for one lip gloss. Insane, right? You’d think people would catch on. I mean, why pay that much for a gloss that’s literally known to get grainy when you could get something better at a drugstore for half the price?

That’s not lip care, that’s daylight robbery.

And yet? They’re selling out. Because people aren’t buying the product,they’re buying the brand. The status. The moment.

You’re not applying gloss,you’re applying Hailey Bieber’s approval. You’re paying to pull it out on a night out and say, “Oh this? It’s just Rhode.”

And let’s not forget the whole Rhode lip liner drama.

The lip liners they came out with had no durability.And then they claimed, “Oh, they’re not lip liners… they’re lip shapers.”

Excuse me, what???

She even used Tate McRae in the promo , but I watched a makeup tutorial where Tate used the so-called lip shaper and then immediately went over it with an actual lip liner.

I’m sorry… if you have to follow up your lip shaper with a real liner, what was the point of the product in the first place?

It’s this kind of stuff that really opens your eyes to how manufactured desire has become. We don’t want the product.we want to belong to the moment it’s selling.

Now listen,I’m not judging. God knows I’ve been sucked in to trends too.

A few years ago, the Balenciaga cagole bags dropped and I thought I had found my soulmate. That bag was my entire personality. I prayed for it. I dreamed of it. I imagined walking through life with it on my arm.

It was too expensive, of course. I couldn’t afford the real one. And for years, I mourned that bag like a lost love.

Then Balenciaga got cancelled and I kind of… forgot about it.

Now when I look back, sure,it was cute. But that much money? For a bag?? Not worth it. And honestly, the scary part is: if I’d had the money back then, I would’ve bought it.

The viral Dior palette? Barely any pigment.

Gua sha? A beautifully packaged hoax.

And the Rhode phone case? It’s just a bulky brick designed to make you crave the matching lip gloss,like an accessory to the accessory. Marketing genius, sure.

And can we talk about skincare for a sec?

My cousin went through this hardcore phase where she ordered everything from that viral brand The Ordinary. She was obsessed with the red AHA peel mask.you know, the one that makes you look like a vampire mid-metamorphosis.

Her mom (my aunt) kept warning her:

“You don’t need a 20-step night routine. Your skin’s fine.”

But of course it was all “Mom, you wouldn’t understand.”

Her skin actually did start to improve… until it didn’t. It got irritated, sensitive, and worse than before.

Now? She uses one gentle product. Her skin’s healing.

All that hype? Just another overcomplicated ritual we convinced ourselves we needed.

This is what consumerism does.

We start losing our personalities without realizing.

We copy the people we watch. Their style becomes our style. Their likes become our likes.

Is my favourite song actually my favourite song… or have I just heard it too many times on TikTok?

Do I actually like skinny jeans… or did Alix Earle tell me they’re back in?

Do I want lip filler… or is it just because every influencer on my feed has it?

It’s scary how our tastes are being rewritten in real time and we don’t even notice it.

Who even are we anymore?

Who am I without a constant murmuring in the background telling me what’s “in season”?

Have you seen those TikToks that are like, “So what are we wearing this summer?”

Excuse me???

I’m wearing whatever the f*ck I want.

Two years ago, denim skirts were “in”.they were the moment. Now they’re being dismissed as “church girl core” or “weird.”

But you know what?

I love denim skirts.

I’ll wear one whenever I want to.

I’m not going to let social media decide what I’m allowed to feel cute in.

I’m actually glad to say I’ve reached a point where I don’t fall for every trend the second it pops up. (Still human though.So yeah, sometimes it happens. But I recover faster.)

If I feel good in something , it’s staying on, regardless of what the trend forecast says.

⸻

So here’s the thing:

I’m learning to pause.

To stop chasing every trend that goes viral.

To ask myself, Do I actually like this? Or have I just been exposed to it 50 times in the past two days?

It’s not easy.

The internet is loud. The desire is constant. The keychains are… terrifying.

But every day I scroll past a Labubu without buying one?

That’s a win.

xoxo,

emaan

I want people to wonder if I’m a witch. I want them to believe I’m unlucky just because I own a black cat. If I were to be reborn as an animal, I’d be a black cat,no doubt about it. Honestly, I’m pretty sure my Animagus is a black cat too (the Harry Potter fans will get it).

I’ve always wanted a pet, but my mum being the perfectionist that she is,never allowed it. My dad, as a compromise, used to take us to farms every weekend, where we would pet guinea pigs, bunnies, and kittens, cuddling them until we were eventually dragged back home.

The house we lived in had once belonged to a cat owner, so there was a little cat flap in the door leading to the conservatory. Every time my younger self laid eyes on that cat flap, it felt like pouring salt on a wound. I used to pretend we had a cat, telling myself she was just outside all the time hence the flap.

I always knew that if I ever got a pet, it would either be a bunny or a kitten. I spent hours watching YouTube videos on how to properly hold them, what to feed them, and all the little things that made a responsible pet owner. I studied those videos like my life depended on it, always hoping that one day my dream would come true.

But before it does, this story is about to take a turn for the worse.

Mimi: The Summer That Changed Everything

It was the summer holidays of sixth grade when I woke up one morning to find a tiny, greyish orange kitten playing in our garden. My dad said we could keep her for the remainder of the holidays.

Me and my siblings were ecstatic. Not even my mum’s stern reminders of how “the kitten cannot enter the house” could dampen our excitement.

Mimi, as we named her, slowly but surely wormed her way into all our hearts. She was the cutest, most affectionate, and clingiest kitten ever. She would only fall asleep in our laps, and the second you moved her, she would wake up. My dad would sneak her into the house, letting her crawl onto my bed to wake me up.

At night, putting her outside was the hardest part. She wanted to snuggle up with us, and it broke my heart to hear her soft meows when we shut the door. But I was too busy enjoying being a cat mum to think about what would happen when summer ended. And as we all know, time flies when you’re having fun.

Too soon, the holidays were over. We had to return to the city, and my mum absolutely refused to let us take Mimi with us no matter how much I begged.

With tears streaming down my face and a heavy chest, I said goodbye, promising that I’d be back as soon as I could.

Loss and Guilt

Time passed. School took over, but I never truly forgot about Mimi.

One evening, while revising for my maths exam at the dining table, I casually asked my dad who was looking after her. He exchanged a tense glance with my mum. She gave him a sharp shake of her head as if to say, Don’t tell her.

I knew something was wrong. My stomach twisted.

When I pressed my dad for an answer, he sighed and finally told me.Mimi had wandered out of the garden. A bigger cat had attacked her, and she was injured too badly to survive.

It was my first experience with death, and I didn’t handle it well.

I broke down. My maths book was covered in my tears.I heard my mum scolding my dad in the background, saying he shouldn’t have told me. I cried myself to sleep for months. I couldn’t stop imagining Mimi’s last moments, dying in pain because I had abandoned her.

I blamed myself. I blamed my mum.

Eventually, the pain dulled. Exams, life, and distractions took over, and I moved on.

But for the next seven years, I never once considered getting another cat. Losing Mimi had hurt too much. I wasn’t willing to go through that heartbreak again.

Finny: Love at First Sight

It was during the five month break after my MDCAT exam when everything changed.

One day, my dad walked into the house carrying something small and fluffy. At first glance, it looked like a tiny teddy bear. But when I looked closer, I saw that it was an adorable black kitten.

Love at first sight.

Dad said the kitten had been following him outside, and when he realized it had been abandoned, he decided to bring it home.

We fed him some milk and made a little bed for him in the garden. The next day, he was still there. He hadn’t left.So we took him to get vaccinated and officially named him Finny. My mum picked the name, and unlike Mimi,Finny somehow managed to worm his way into her heart as well. For the first time, my mum allowed a cat to live in the house.

It’s been two years since then, and I’ll tell you something,Finny is nothing like Mimi.

He has attitude. He does not like to be held. He’ll tolerate a chin rub, but cuddles? Only on his terms.

But he understands emotions in a way I never expected.I remember coming home after an exam that hadn’t gone well. I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling in disappointment, when I heard a soft thump.Finny had jumped onto my bed. He curled up next to me without hesitation, offering silent comfort.

People love to tell me that black cats are bad luck. My grandma is the worst of them all. “Get rid of this monster and get a white cat instead,” she always says.

But I wouldn’t trade Finny for any amount of money.

He even got a ginger cat pregnant, and now one of his kids, Fifi, is slowly working her way into all our hearts.

The Magic of Black Cats

Throughout history, black cats have been surrounded by superstition. Some cultures believe they bring misfortune, while others see them as symbols of protection, magic, and even royalty. In ancient Egypt, black cats were considered sacred, while in some parts of Europe, they were thought to be witches companions(I actually take that as a compliment).

But here’s what I know for sure,black cats aren’t unlucky.

Finny came into my life when I had long given up on owning a cat again. He healed a part of me that I didn’t even realize was still broken.

So whether they’re seen as bad omens or lucky charms, to me, black cats will always represent something else entirely:

Second chances.

Xoxo,

Emaan

The world is already so stuffy and serious. Why not treat it like your own personal fairytale?

Ever since I first heard the word whimsical and understood what it meant, I knew I had found my calling. This is what I was meant for. I wanted to become the personified version of the word. So, I’ve put together a collection of dressing habits and hobbies that I consider the epitome of whimsy.

Dressing Like a Whimsical Dream:

1.Fairycore Skirts

One day, while scrolling through Pinterest, I stumbled upon the most breathtaking skirts I had ever seen. They looked as if they had been stitched by tiny fairies and sprinkled with magic dust. The layered ruffles, tulle, and asymmetrical hems made me gasp in awe.

Here’s how to style them:

2.Blouses & Dresses

Think embroidered tops with intricate details that look like something out of Fairytopia.

3.Knitted Cardigans

bonus points if u knit it yourself

• Honourable Mention: A drop-dead gorgeous sequinned pastel green dress that I will own one day, InshaAllah.

4.Funky tights

The possibilities are endless:coloured, patterned, sheer, glittery, lacy. Or better yet, tights with tiny bows.

5.Accessories that scream Whimsy

• Fairycore jewelry

• Beaded necklaces

• Ribbons in your hair

• Fingerless gloves

• Pendants & charm bracelets

• Mismatched earrings

• Clips (which can go on your hijab, too!)

• Vintage brooches

• Stacks of bangles

• Your mom’s old watch

Storytime: My mom used to be a huge watch collector. She would save up and buy designer watches, amassing an entire collection. Lately, I’ve been into vintage watches, and instead of buying a new one, I raided her collection and found some absolute gems still in perfect condition. I feel like I get extra whimsy points for wearing her watch rather than buying a new one.

6.Makeup:The sparkle & shine method

• Shimmery eyeshadow swiped all over, don’t worry about being precise. Let the glitter fall where it may.

• Flushed cheeks, highlighter, a bold lip, and lots of mascara.

• Tiny rhinestone stickers near your eyes for extra oomph.

• Colored eyeshadow in the inner corner.

• Some girls even draw butterfly wings with their eyeliner, which is next level whimsy.

Story-time: When Euphoria first came out, I was obsessed with Maddy’s eye makeup. I tried to recreate every single one of her looks. I even ordered tiny rhinestones in different sizes and added them to my eyes all the time.

7.Hair:A whimsical statement

• Dark blue hair gives off major witchy vibes.

• There’s something powerful about someone with deep blue, maroon, or pastel pink hair.

• Messy braids, detailed plaits, butterfly/star clips, bangs.it’s all very whimsy coded.

I have jet-black hair(which is also very whimsy coded), and I’m too much of a wimp to ever bleach it, but to the girls who do and maintain it,I respect you.

8.Nails:The final whimsical touch

Swirly designs, mismatched colours, sparkles, and tiny illustrations.

During that one week of the month, I love wearing press on nails. They can be anything from delicate florals to bold, artsy patterns.

Whimsical Hobbies & Daily Joys:

1.Scrapbooking & journaling

Whenever I’m utterly obsessed with a book or show, I immediately print a bunch of pictures and start scrapbooking. I write about my favourite characters, quotes, and scenes, it’s so fun to look back on.

I haven’t tried junk journaling yet, but my friend does it. Whenever we go out, she’ll collect receipts, wrappers, or anything from the day and say, “I need this for my junk journal.” Very whimsical of her.

2.Watching nostalgic movies & cartoons

Old Barbie movies? Essential.

I grew up watching Barbie: A Fairy Secret on repeat. We had the CD, and every weekend, we’d play it. I must have watched that movie at least 150 times (not being dramatic at all).

Other childhood favourites:

• Milly and Molly

• Charlie and Lola

• Littlest Pet Shop

• Care Bears

• Madeline Goes to School

Watching them now brings back an overwhelming wave of nostalgia.

Also there was this book series that I used to read as a kid called “The rainbow magic series”.I read every single book and even had the special editions book with all the secret facts that I bought from our primary school raffle sale. I’m pretty sure this is where my whimsy lore started from.

3.Collecting trinkets

A whimsical girl is always picking up random little treasures:mini perfume bottles, tiny figurines, keychains, antiques, or even something completely useless from a market stall just because it feels magical.

4.Reading & flipping through old magazines

Reading may seem like a pretty normal activity, but I feel like nowadays, with BookTok, we all tend to gravitate toward the same books. That’s not to say they aren’t great, but there’s something whimsical about picking out books from an old antique bookstore and reading something that only a handful of people have read.

Growing up, bestseller books were always too expensive for me to buy with my own money, so my dad would take me to secondhand bookstores, where people had donated their old books. I’d pick out a handful of worn and torn books and get five for the same price as it would have taken to buy one brand new bestseller.

I also have a deep love for flipping through old magazines. There’s something so nostalgic about it, seeing outdated fashion trends, old advertisements, and vintage beauty tips that probably don’t even work.

Once, while browsing in one of those old bookstores, I found a book filled with photos of Princess Diana’s outfits throughout the years. It was like stepping into a time capsule of elegance and effortless style. I always find myself flipping through it when I want inspiration, marveling at the details of her outfits and how each one tells a story.

There’s just something about holding a book or magazine that’s already lived a whole life before reaching your hands. The slightly yellowed pages, the faint smell of old paper, the little notes or underlined sentences left by a previous owner,it all adds to the magic of reading.

5.Talking to Yourself & Daydreaming

I talk to myself all the time. I don’t think I can go more than ten seconds without making a comment to myself about something, no matter how insignificant it is. It’s like having a never-ending conversation with the most entertaining person I know,me.

But it doesn’t stop there. I also daydream a lot. I’ll be washing dishes, staring at the wall, or walking to class, and in my mind, I’m living an entirely different life.

There’s something so whimsical about being able to slip into a dream world whenever you want. Whether it’s imagining different versions of yourself, replaying conversations in your head, or daydreaming about the most unrealistic yet totally possible life scenarios, it all adds to the magic of living inside your own mind.

6.Romanticising your life

Your life could be boring, but if you shift your mindset, suddenly it’s magical.

• Drinking tea out of a delicate porcelain cup.

• Walking in the rain and pretending you’re in a movie.

• Writing letters to your future self.

• Turning mundane errands into an adventure.

It’s all about perception. Not being afraid to be “Too Much”. Ignore trends. Dress how you want. Be extra.

Whimsy is about embracing who you already are, not changing yourself to fit some aesthetic. You don’t need a new wardrobe or a list of specific hobbies.

At its core, whimsy is about being unapologetically you. There’s a certain confidence that comes with fully embracing your weirdness and that’s the true magic of it all.

xoxo,

Emaan

We humans like to think we’re the supreme species, the top of the chain. We believe we’re the masterminds behind every trend.

But polka dots? Straight-up plagiarism.

Long before the first polka dotted dress made its way down a Parisian runway, turning heads and making waves, a ladybird on a nearby tree watched in mild amusement. Imagine the audacity,humans acting like they’d just discovered spots, as if we hadn’t been rocking them since the dawn of time.

An Exclusive Interview with a Ladybird

Me: How do you feel about the resurgence of polka dots and their newfound status as a symbol of elegance?

Ladybird: “That’s what you want to ask me? Seriously?

We wear our shiny red and black polka dots with pride,not just as a fashion statement, but as a means of survival. They warn off the less stylish creatures who wouldn’t know true elegance if it landed right on their heads.

But you humans? You treat trends like a toddler picking out toys. One moment, polka dots are “in,” the next, they’re “childish.” You think you reinvented them? Please. We wore them first. And did anyone ever bother to give us credit? Anna Wintour, I’m looking at you.

Not only are we the blueprint,we birthed polka dots. We embody them. And yet, our legacy is forgotten, overshadowed by so called fashion geniuses acting like they’ve unearthed some revolutionary concept. Hello? Do we not exist?

Did you know polka dots used to be considered unlucky? Once dismissed for their irregularity, they were seen as messy, unpredictable,undesirable. But now? You stitch them onto your dresses, your scarves, your Minnie Mouse ears (yes, I’m looking at you, too).

Dior, Miu Miu, Loewe,you’ve all cashed in on my look, and I have yet to see a single paycheck. No mentions. No invites to the Met Gala. Not even a front row seat at Fashion Week. Should I sue? Maybe. But I won’t. Because, as they say, imitation is the highest form of flattery.

Speaking of flattery,did you see the Grammys? Did you see what Clairo wore? A stunning black-and-white polka dot dress, clearly inspired by us.

Just remember,I was here first. You were all late to the trend. And it’s only a matter of time before you move on to something else, calling my coat “childish” and “frivolous” once again.

But for us, it’s not a trend. It’s survival.”

• Final Verdict:

We claim to love timeless fashion, yet every few years, we act like we just rediscovered polka dots. One moment, they’re “immature.” The next, they’re “the epitome of elegance.”

Maybe we love them because they remind us of childhood,a time before our hopes and dreams were crushed by the weight of reality. Or maybe, just maybe, we just like copying cute bugs.

So, do we owe ladybirds an apology note or a thank you card?

Either way, the dots aren’t going anywhere. Might as well embrace them.

Xoxo,

Emaan

Personalizing and accessorizing nearly every single thing I own has become my new favorite thing to do. It’s my way of putting a stamp on things—a way of saying,

“This property belongs to Emaan,”

but in a cool way. Not in a “you better not steal this” way… although maybe that’s also what I want to say.

Not only does adding charms look adorable, but there are no rules. And that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about in this post.

Adding too many charms isn’t a thing.

Grab your favorite bag and throw a bunch of random stuff on it. It doesn’t have to match, and it doesn’t have to fit a specific aesthetic. As long as you love it, it belongs there.

It can be a stuffed toy, a lacy ribbon, one of your favorite necklaces, or even a clay charm you made yourself (that’s what I do).

There’s something about a bag that clicks and clacks as a girl walks that just gets to me.

The Meaning Behind Adding Charms:

I love seeing a person with an accessorized bag,I live to dissect it.

Does that specific stuffed toy hold a special memory?

Was that heart keychain a gift from a friend?

Every charm tells a story, and even if it doesnt, I’ll romanticize the hell out of it. Because whether there’s a backstory or not, a persons personality is always on display. Their interests, moods, and little quirks,you can see them if you just pay attention.

The Experience:

Don’t even get me started on the process of adding charms.

Putting them on one side, then switching them to the other because that side looks better. Rearranging, reattaching, mixing and matching , its an art, a science, and a source of happiness that no man could ever provide.

And the best part? Switching them out based on your outfits, swapping them from bag to bag ,its all part of the experience.

I started with barely any charms. Just one, a birthstone my mom gifted me. Over time, I’ve built a collection I’m proud of.

The Philosophy of Too Much:

I’m a maximalist to my core, so the concept of too much is blasphemy to me. I never want to hear those words uttered in my presence.

We need to stop molding ourselves to trends and just do whatever the hell we want.

I’m new here and I might just be talking to myself for the foreseeable future but I’m actually alright with that.it doesn’t bother me as much and I’m sure that people who have the same interests as me,will soon find me (I hope)

Anyways I wanted to talk about how cool this app is and how ever since I’ve joined ,it seems like I’ve entered a secret society for the cool girls that no one really knows about.where have I been all this time?How did I not know this apps existence? has it been operating under the radar?joining and reading all the posts this app has been providing has been my new favourite hobby.how is everyone here so intricate and meticulous with their writing?no matter what I choose to read,I’m always riveted and every post leaves me with a sense of inspiration

Social media nowadays does the exact opposite of inspiring us,it instead drains us and this app is like a breath of fresh air

I hope to meet a lot of new people here and read a lot more interesting posts

xoxo,

emaan (I’ve always wanted to sign off like that)