Whenever I write something like this — a diary style entry, an essay in the form of a few paragraphs that never leave my Notes app — I feel very, “I had better tell you where I am, and why. I am sitting in a high-ceilinged room in the Royal Hawaiian Hotel in Honolulu watching the long translucent curtains billow in the trade wind and trying to put my life back together… We are here on this island in the middle of the Pacific in lieu of filing for divorce.” The similarities being this is a dispatch from my holiday and the dissimilarities that I typically avoid writing about myself, my life, at all costs.

The sign for ‘La Sirenella’ looks straight out of the 1970s, like a place that my grandparents might’ve stayed in their prime. I’m not sure if they’ve ever been to Sicily, but I imagine they have and I’m retracing their steps. My Nana was Swedish and Finnish, but Papa was Italian, from a hilltop town called Cilento a couple hours outside of Naples. I was always jealous of my Dad, how he was shipped there one summer as a kid to spend a few months with family in Italy. I grew up looking at photos of Nana and Papa looking glamorous in Capri, in Venice and Milan. I see them in the gray haired men here wearing thick aviator style glasses, the tanned women in bright bikinis that look like they haven’t ever touched a bottle of spf. Both sides of my family are Italian, but not enough for me to really claim it. Not enough to put the neighboring couple at dinner at ease. “Why did you choose to come to Trappeto?”, they asked. “People only come here that have family here.” (We have only encountered one trio of English speakers).

There are only two restaurants in town: one for fish, and one for pizza. But at night in summer, Trappeto lights up. There’s a fun fair along the main boulevard with a few games, the swings, and neon-lit bumper cars. Kids run up and down the strip, their parents trailing behind or just not in sight at all. The women wear wedge sandals with denim shorts and skirts, gold jewelry and pink lipstick. The men don’t care about dressing up, but their popped polo collars suggest otherwise. A group of teenage boys is clustered on the stairs leading down to the beach, afraid to speak to the girls below. Two of them sit on a bench by the water, huddled together to light a cigarette.

We are staying at an old baglio, a 19th century farmhouse that overlooks the town’s small fishing port. We found it on Airbnb. It had no reviews, but it’s quite possibly the most beautiful accommodation I’ve ever seen. The owners told us that it was their Auntie’s place. She’d renovated the entire two story loft structure by herself, outfitting it with twisted iron railings, handpainted ceramic tiles from the markets in Palermo, and custom furniture including one 10-foot-long floral upholstered sofa. There are large scale oil paintings, gilded mirrors and handcarved cherubs above the doorway to the kitchen. It is sweltering, there is no air conditioning, but every window has a view to the sea and a small breeze, depending on the time of day/if you’re lucky. The sitting rooms are replete with books, all in Italian, and personal effects. She was a windsurfer, a fencer, and became a professor when women were barely allowed to study in Sicily. In Italy, in general. She never married or had children. But when it came to her home, she thought of everything.

Out the window, there are three fishermen casting their reels off the end of the stone jetty. It’s 9:10 am, the locals are waking and setting for their morning swims. We watched yesterday, as the men all took their places, unfurling towels on the rocks before wading into the water like it’s routine. They all say, “Buongiorno” as we walk past, both sweating already from the heat and feeling lucky to be let into their world, even if just for a little while. A few boats sit delicately, close to the horizon.

Sicily is the place where the ocean meets the sky. If you follow the deep blue of the sea ripples out, the clouds and the fog coming off the water become one. There is no separation between the heavens and the earth. It’s a magic thing, really. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Tranquillo. This forever blue.

Hi hi! Hello! Thank you so much for being here.

Welcome to something like that, a newsletter on fashion, culture and travel that I have been dreaming up for approximately ~1.5 years. Maybe even two years?

When I lost my (dream) job* in 2023, my friends said that I should start a substack but the truth was I was so burnt out from working in such a high-paced environment THAT I LOVED TO DEATH, I did not have the bandwidth – mental, physical, emotional – to simply start a blog. I was also suddenly thrown into the deep end of the freelance writing pool, treading water and writing as much as possible to make rent (very not glamorous). It felt like there was no time to come up for air.

A lot has changed since then. I left New York. I live in London now, and I touch grass more often. I love the pub. I hate the tube. My style is changing – why doesn’t anyone dress up here? – and I’m trying to make sense of it all. I’ve learned a lot about myself? Some days, I’m not so sure… but I have decided that the time is NOW.

If you have enjoyed my writing in the past or think I have good taste *swoon*, I hope you’ll follow along and consider supporting me on this journey <3

A bit more about me…

I am a writer, editor and creative consultant in the fashion and culture space. I have been profiling fashion designers, musicians, celebrities, and covering cultural trends for nearly ten years. Before going freelance in 2023, I was a Senior Editor at i-D magazine, where my job was largely to know what’s cool.

I have written for T: The NYTimes Style Magazine, Vogue, British Vogue, Wallpaper*, The Cut, Dazed, The Face, Vogue Business, CR Fashion Book, The Village Voice, and more. I was Managing Editor at Beyond Noise and Copy & Research Editor at CR Fashion Book, and I have worked with countless brands on copywriting, editorial positioning, and social content creation.

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What to expect from something like that?

something like that refuses to be boxed into traditional verticals or genres of writing. Is it a fashion blog? A travel blog? A place to come for style inspiration, the occasional personal essay, or to gossip about a new opening in town? It’s something like that.

Through this platform, I will offer regular fashion dispatches, travel guides, and original reporting on topics that I’m obsessing over. I plan to launch an interview series spotlighting makers, creatives, and musicians that I love. I will publish at least once a week for you all, and also to hold myself accountable.

Perhaps less important to you, substackers, but important to me – something like that is somewhat of a response to the celebrity-driven fashion and culture coverage that dominates most traditional media sites these days, where freelance writing pitches are often assessed not on the stories themselves or the interesting people they spotlight, but whether they’ll get lots of clicks. something like that is a soft dedication to original reporting and stories that people actually want to read.

Why subscribe?

This is going to be fun, I promise.

I do not want to brag, but I am very good at planning a holiday and I’m also very good at shopping. The current status of my bank account does not necessarily allow me to indulge either of these skills/guilty pleasures as much as I would like, so I am going to give all my best recommendations and saved items to YOU.

I encourage you to subscribe for fashion and cultural exploration, with the intention to inspire but I also want to see how this goes – see what you like reading from me. We will shape this together.

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Why become a paid subscriber?

It is a big ask! I know. But as a paid subscriber, you will be supporting independent journalism and storytelling. Plus, you will get access to exclusive posts (I will write at least one paywalled post per month), special interviews, AMAs and recommendations in the chat, first dibs on TRR links, my undying gratitude and more.

Paid subscriptions help me make this newsletter EVEN BETTER, so we both benefit.

Why now?

Sometimes, you have to just jump in.

*I want to talk about this at some point, but big TBD – grief is such a strange fish