When I opened Zoom, I saw Debora Spanhol, a young woman in her early thirties, adorned with chunky silver bangles, rings, and earrings that looked like melted metal, all created by a designer friend of hers. They stood in striking contrast to her warm, dark eyes, little brunette curls, and big, curious smile, giving her the look of a southern Italian woman. Yet Debora is a Brazilian photographer, and through her work, you can trace her roots, rising to make her photography vi

I met her one time in my parents' backyard in New Hampshire. She was wearing a summer nightgown with little pale pink flowers decorated like polka dots. She looked at me — so happy, but nervous. She wanted to walk toward me but was too afraid, so I went to her. I held her little hands in mine, knelt to meet her blue eyes, and embraced her. I hugged her the way she always wanted to be hugged. We laughed. We rolled around in the plush, freshly cut green grass. We ate chocolate-

We start out in this life exposed to everything: family dynamics, the zip code we were born into, the beauty standards that come pre-packaged with our birth certificates. In those early years, we aren't trying to 'make it'; we’re just expanding. We’re constantly mapping out the world, one discovery at a time. And there’s this beautiful, raw truth to how a child navigates the world: they never stand at the edge of a dream and think, 'I can't'. Kids just push their limits until

“If we are lucky, we get to experience around eighty summers.” I came across that sentence recently, and it made me slow down. Eighty summers. Eighty seasons of warm evenings, open windows, sun-warmed skin, golden light stretching into the night. Eighty chances to sit somewhere beautiful and realise: I am here. I am alive. I am experiencing this. And yet, how often do we spend our summers waiting for summer to begin? Waiting for the perfect holiday. The perfect version of our

Come at 9 pm, we told them. “Bet,” they replied, meaning, See you at 10:45 pm. Nights with our “guy friends” – naturally, they were only ever nights – were fueled by the hometown mule, who delivered strawberry lemonade vodka straight to suburban parents’ homes, up-charging teenage daughters at a rate of 50%. With grins that bore full sets of milk teeth, we waved his Honda Sedan out of the driveway; “You be safe tonight, girls!” he called out to my friends and I, as if he wer

In an internet built on performance, Samia Kanaan somehow feels remarkably unperformed. Whether she's interviewing fashion insiders from the bathroom of a Paris nightclub, documenting Fashion Week, or greeting millions with her now-iconic "Coucou ma biche," her content has always felt less like broadcasting and more like inviting people into a conversation. Born in California, and now building a creative career in Paris, Kanaan has quietly become one of a new generation of cr

It may seem inconceivable, but only a couple of decades ago, women were encouraged to hide their pregnant bellies. Women even wore maternity corsets in the Victorian era just to hide the baby bump. The appearance of a pregnant woman was considered improper because it was evidence of sexual activity (God forbid). This year at the Cannes Film Festival, nobody could take their eyes off the Hungarian Beauty, Barbara Sprouse. She is not the first woman to debut her baby bump at Ca

Fiona Apple's styling still resonates today because none of it was built for approval. Every reference board right now looks pre-approved: clean girl neutrals, the same five brands, an outfit so smoothed over it might as well be AI-generated. Fast fashion chases that same flatness from the other direction, a rush job dressed up as a finished idea. There's been a cultural leaning toward sameness over the past thirty years, and now the pendulum is swinging the other way. A look

Can you love someone without ever meeting them? When was the last time you truly met someone? It sounds like a simple question, but I'm no longer sure it has a simple answer. We still talk about "meeting" as though it only counts when two people occupy the same room or shake each other's hand. But in 2026, is that still true? What if you've heard someone's laugh before you've ever heard their footsteps? What if you've spent nights discussing your essays, shared the poems you