I love entertaining at my home, dressing feminine and being a woman. I loved all the things girls growing up were encouraged to love; playing with dolls, wearing pink, performing for others. I am heterosexual and have always dated men, I am married (7 years this August), have a 5 year old son I adore and routinely get botox injections. I have dedicated my professional career to helping others navigating trauma and relationships, I would most definitely consider myself a nurturer. And I have always enjoyed having lots of other women around me, going on girls trips, prioritizing my female friendships, having been captain of the cheerleading team, joining a sorority, the Junior League, and now my second book club in Los Angeles — the one where we actually read a book, in addition to drinking wine and talking. And the book I chose was Yesteryear, hence the homemade sourdough spread. It’s the buzzy new novel based on a tradwife influencer who gets sent back to the 1800s, to live the life she always romanticized. You can find my complex thoughts on it LINKED HERE.

I do, however, loathe cooking. I enjoy eating — other peoples food. Sometimes I can convince myself when I watch Stanley Tucci: Searching for Italy whilst double checking my chicken isn’t raw in the middle. My family does need to eat afterall, as do the guests I routinely invite over to enjoy my maximalist tablescapes I love to make. I don’t exactly like to clean my house but I do it obviously and the payoff of clean countertops and bedding is always worth the effort. I do most of the grocery shopping, dishwashing, school coordination and home organizing. I plan all our parties, celebrations and travel. I am both tired and satisfied and annoyed on a daily basis.

Thank God my husband made the sourdough — and monogrammed it for me. Because I am not a tradwife by any stretch of the imagination. And I would imagine neither are any of you. The ‘trad’ in tradwife is short for ‘traditional’ and the true definition is still being debated in pop culture via viral videos on the internet that range from prioritizing homemade meals and raising multiple children, to submitting to one’s husband and essentially taking gender roles back in time. The definition is contested — it ranges from these positions and circumvents a number of facets of modern womanhood. Like many cultural phenomena, the tradwife trend appears tangled in attempting to define itself, in my opinion.

If we look back to the 1800s, marriage was about survival. One simply had to have a family in order to live; someone had to sew clothes, raise livestock, make soap. Children were an integral part of a functioning household, husbands and wives relied on one another for very practical reasons. Post-industrialization in the 1950s allowed less laborious work and more opportunity for marriages to be based on love and attraction. Gender roles became a bit more defined à la I Love Lucy as women were encouraged to cover domestic roles like cooking, cleaning and childrearing while their husbands pursued professional careers. Modern technology allowed American couples to focus on things like materialism, wealth and beauty. However, the divorce rates of the 60s and 70s proved that formula didn’t work. Women were overwhelmingly disappointed and as a society we started encouraging women to pursue careers outside the home and create independent financial stability outside of marriage.

We made homemade sourdough in the 1800s because we had to, now we choose to make it in response to big food and a desire to feel better. We choose to leave the chaos of a city to find peace and safety in the suburbs. We set up farms on rural land because it was a practical way to feed a large family, now we can choose how many children we want to have and how exactly to feed them. We married young in the 1950s because it was our only option, now we choose matrimony for love and self-actualization. We can establish a career, we can wait to marry the right person. Someone who helps us become a better version of ourselves, marry our best friend, and the maker of my book club’s monogrammed chicken-potpie.

Before we critique the tradwife trend, we must first critique the system of modern womanhood itself. Women can work outside the home — but school pickup remains at 3pm, non-negotiable. Women can build businesses — but childcare and seed money are both scarce. Women can achieve financial success — but monetize femininity online and watch the world humiliate you for it. We have access to groceries and medical care, and yet our bodies remain unexplained, dismissed by systems designed for efficiency, not health.

The tradwife trend is not simply nostalgia, fundamentalism, or sexism. It is a diagnosis. It is women saying: the system promised us everything and delivered exhaustion. Some women are choosing tradwife aesthetics not out of ideology, but out of strategic surrender — at least in the 1800s, the work made sense.

Choice without infrastructure is a trap. So women are making rational calculations. Some choose to opt out of the system entirely. Some monetize their femininity. Some build a career and sacrifice sleep. Some choose to stay home and admit they need help. None of these are failures. They’re survival strategies.

And the hard truth is they never did, neither in the 1800s, 1950s or modern day, did women actually do it all. But the difference is honesty. In the 1800s, everyone knew it took a village. In the 1950s, we had extended family down the street. Now we’re supposed to do it alone — and when we can’t, we blame ourselves. The tradwife is just admitting what we’ve always known: mothering is meant to be shared. Americans pride themselves on individualism yet we truly remain collectivist in nature. We are all truly reliant on one thing: interdependence.

I couldn’t have hosted this book club without having the help of my housekeeper to clean during the day while I saw back-to-back patients, my mother-in-law to pickup my child from camp and my husband to have secured the dinner. I couldn’t have set up the buffet table, made myself presentable and shot these photos without having help. I wouldn’t have been able to offer guests beverages and a dessert without having asked them to bring something to share. And it’s not because I am inadequate or lazy, it’s because our expectations of women are ridiculous and untrue.

My frustration isn’t the fundamentalism. It’s that we’re using tradwives as a distraction from the actual problem: we’ve built a system that makes all women fail. So stop mocking the tradwife aesthetic. Stop defending it. Start asking: Why are women so desperate for any exit that prairie dresses and sourdough feel like rebellion?

It’s easier to mock her, to dismiss her as MAGA or abused or naive. The reality is we’re more similar to her than different. We’re all saying: This doesn’t work. And when we stop fighting each other about how that manifests — prairie dresses vs. power suits — and start focusing on what we actually need —childcare, healthcare, financial independence, time — that’s when the conversation shifts. That’s when we actually build something better.

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My favorite place in California is a charming coastal town up north — a place where houses and shops reside in Tudor storybook cottages, with Dutch doors and Spanish style balconies, names instead of addresses and where dogs are welcome almost everywhere. It’s a place reminiscent of Europe’s most idyllic countryside towns yet only a five hour drive from Los Angeles. And I’ve been in love with it ever since my first long weekend here almost a decade ago, this time returning with my 5 year old son and husband.

Perhaps I love it so much because I’ve always wanted to visit the English countryside, as any millennial woman would who grew up on Nancy Meyer’s The Holiday. It’s one of my absolute favorite movies featuring two of arguably the most enviable locales to call home. I’ve already accomplished Los Angeles, now a charming cottage in Cotswolds is next, not just for its quaint towns and elevated country living, but for the way it makes me feel as I watch Cameron Diaz’s character bask in a cast iron silver soaking tub after checking out with all the goodies at the local market, enough cheese and chocolates for a cocktail party, yet intended entirely for her own enjoyment. Her character represents success — financial independence and the power of what it brings as a childless, single woman — a first class flight to England to spend the holidays on her own terms.

Nestled into the rugged coastline of California’s Carmel Valley, Carmel by the Sea boasts an easy walk to arguably one of the most beautiful beaches on the west coast. It’s small and serene with its fine white sand and wide reaching cypress trees that always tend to make the perfect sunset picnic bench. Every time I arrive all I can think about is how easy it would be to spend the entire afternoon here. Chomping on snacks from the local cheese shop, no stress about parking and traffic getting home. It’s a completely different beach experience than I have at home or anywhere else really — it’s small and cozy, no promenade, tourists or pressure to get your day’s worth of schlepping chairs and beach toys. The beach here feels built into the lifestyle, a simple walk from town and a welcoming atmosphere once you arrive.

The trees offer a natural shade as does the common fog, the temperatures are leveled or even chilly solving the endless mystery that is practical, yet chic, beachwear made easy. I just love a sweater over a bikini, or to skip the bikini altogether quite frankly. The weather here is somewhat on par with its English style surroundings, mainly foggy and cooler in the summer, the sunniest days peaking end of August and lasting through October. As much as I love a bright morning, sunny afternoon, golden hour end to the day, the fog almost acted as some odd permission, allowing me to pause on vacation. Truly relax in the contrast of a typical day in LA and to be honest, not chase the light during vacation. This time around it truly remained a gift, the second version of Euro summer I was craving, a slower paced and cozier way to ring in my 37th birthday.

A good holiday destination is like fine wine, it should only grow richer with time — look at me swapping ‘vacation’ for ‘holiday’ — Nancy Meyers, please move me to the Cotswolds immediately! A Provençal lunch à la mas, a Scottish bagpiper aperitif, sheep-side dinner at dusk — Carmel you must have understood the assignment. A destination I already loved for the European charm, but truly transported me this time somewhere else I didn’t think I could go without a passport. All of it made more special by the calm the weather created. Allowing me to see a common Californian destination in an entirely new light, or less light if you will.

Perhaps you were even searching for extra credit this time around. Offering me something new and perhaps a test of loyalty — will she still love me without that California sunshine? — but Carmel you passed with flying colors. I got to be Cameron Diaz and let go of the hustle of Los Angeles, a change of pace I didn’t know I needed on this level. All of it made more special given Arthur and I’s last time here was with another chunky bébé, the more French kind if you know what I mean...

Parker seemed to love his first trip here too — staying in the heart of town, a walk to the Cottage of Sweets and a wide grassy park simply a stone’s throw from our suite. He loved the organic farmstand on the drive in because it wasn’t just a stop for lunch, boasting a cute market and idyllic play areas for him to run around after a long car ride, pick berries and play in the large tent. It was so satisfying to see him enjoy this vacation, in the same vein as bringing Pierre (aka Piggy) here all those years back. Arthur and I wanted him to have fun and be welcomed as part of the vacation, smell new things, enjoy the beach. Things he could do in Los Angeles, but they often proved a logistical challenge — he almost overheated on a summer drive back from Malibu. We wanted to take him to dinner and cuddle by the fireplace, and Parker’s happiness was deeply connected to our own. That’s exactly how it feels to be Parker’s parents, we bring him on vacation not to ease the logistics for ourselves (because it won’t) instead seeing him experience joy is now our joy. Watching him grow makes us the most fulfilled. There’s no longer an us without including him.

And including Parker, our curious 5-year-old, prompted a visit to the nearby Monterey Bay Aquarium this time around. Perhaps what every parent chose to do that misty morning. But despite the interruption to our slow paced vacation, we managed a pizza lunch al fresco in one of Carmel’s charming courtyards, a feature I love most about this town, similar to the vias of Palm Beach. I could easily spend an entire afternoon here pursuing the art galleries and hidden passageways tucked behind each quaint and addressed street. Feeling cozy and cultured all at the same time. Which I did while the boys watched a movie back at the hotel that afternoon. Popping into a few shops, contemplating a warm latte and what purchasing a home abroad in Provence or Lake Como or the Cotswolds would actually entail.

I see now why Nancy Meyers actually created the storyline around the two different destinations, because perhaps one cannot exist in such high merit without the other. Living with nonstop sunshine, glamour and the buzz of Los Angeles perhaps creates my desire for the slowness and coziness Carmel by the Sea offers. Hence why Cameron Diaz was eager to escape her life in LA and in turn, Kate Winslet needed some sunshine and the relics of old Hollywood to bring her back to life. It’s the duality of environment that perhaps dictates one’s concept of a vacation.

I needed this reset, in the midst of summer transitioning into fall, school emails loading and the holidays on the horizon. An imperfect pause, as one does need some stroke of sun for better photos. And that’s exactly what I got, blurrier, fog laden photos while I sipped a warm latte by the firepit and stole a few of his french fries as the bagpiper marched. Sans sunset on the Spanish Bay, a first for my now 5th trip here. I came for Carmel by the Sea and received yet a true transport to the misty coasts of Great Britain, the holiday house swap I didn’t quite know I needed. Happy birthday to me.

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37 has found me right here. In my happy place—a shell shaped chair, typing away at my desk in my closet office, at 5am in the morning. It’s the only time I’ve found to do the one thing I’ve been most passionate about in the most befitting place. A hot water with lemon to start, often times a dog to let out, my first cup of coffee around 7am as I work through my weekly essay for Sunday. This summer I stopped going to the gym in the morning, after having spent about 6 months getting back to it—instead I now get up at 5am everyday and write. I’ve known all along there was a book living inside me, I just didn’t yet know how or when or exactly why.

Early this summer something inside me finally pivoted towards a place I’ve been too scared to fully go. For years online I’ve been hiding behind the aesthetics that inspire me, basking in so much of what I love, yet still feeling as if I haven’t quite quenched the full depth of my curiosity. I am still obsessed with the what, but I have always been driven by the why. Why this vacation, why this theme, why this room and why do I feel the way I do?

So now at 37, after about 15 years of blogging, creating and sharing on social media, I am now choosing to explore the why. And I am choosing to do this via my commitment to writing. Writing about my life, and how I romanticize it, writing about my work as a therapist, writing about my soirées, outfits and travel too. It’s all there and I am finally capturing it the way I want.

Writing has always intrigued me, ever since I received my first diary around the age of 9 and started typing (and printing oh dear) my entries for review. Scrapbooking eventually took over my world with weekly runs to the craft store for more supplies, landing me of course on my highschool’s yearbook committee and eventually the school newspaper.

It wasn’t until I moved to Los Angeles and started graduate school that I started posting daily on Blogger, mostly sharing fashion and places I loved. In the 15 years following I was able to curate somewhat of a point of view through the lifestyle content I was creating. It remained mostly aesthetic, however, even when I did write it was more like how-to host or where-to-go for a girls weekend. All of it was authentic to me, however, I never felt real clarity in what exactly I was doing. I have always and will forever be obsessed with style, travel, design and entertaining—but I was unable to find a super clear voice within the constraints of purely aesthetic led content creation.

Perhaps because my most confident voice wanted to say something else.

Starting a style blog in 2011, at the very start of my graduate school program was a form of self-care. And it was easy to call it that. I was training to be a social worker and therapist. I was containing people’s trauma daily. Hearing the most heartbreaking realities those who’ve been most often overlooked by society. I knew things I couldn’t really talk to anyone else about. I felt like the Giver from The Giver. The man who’s job it is to hold the complex memories from the past and shield them from others in his utopian society, ironically one of my most cherished reads as a kid—I suppose Freud would have a field day with that.

I’ve spent the last 15 years of honing my interest in photography, hosting skills and development of my personal style—it became a way for me to indulge in the other side of life. And my creative pursuits did serve as my self-care in many ways. It provided me joy and comfort and most of all permission. It allowed me to look at the world from a less heavy, and perhaps less realistic, lens. So I always led with that, maybe it helped me justify the copious amounts of time I would enjoy spending on my ‘hobby’ or perhaps shield me a bit from the scrutiny society throws at influencers.

However, I am going to finally admit something out loud for the first time. This is not just a creative outlet, hobby or self-care. It’s just me.

It’s who I am and it informs the way I see the world and more importantly the way I want to respond back to it. I love seeing my inspo board turn into a tablescape the same way I love seeing my client finally find their voice. I love looking for pattern cohesion in a chic Mayfair restaurant as much as I love finding relationship patterns in my clients. I love witnessing someone find their way through trauma the same way I love admiring beauty—both are compelling, both build resilience, both fascinate me. I’ve traveled to the world’s most beautiful places, and I’ve felt equally privileged bearing witness to my clients’ vulnerability.

They aren’t separate for me anymore—and they never were. I don’t curate my life as self-care; I romanticize it because I know more than anyone, even in the darkest of circumstances, how to find its beauty. Life is both magical and tragic, both painful and beautiful. That’s what makes us human—not one or the other, but both. So that’s what I want to write about now. At 37, in this shell-shaped chair, this is me.

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Pinterest is a wonderful place for many things. When I open my feed it’s access to the most creative corner of my brain, showing me everything I love and more — particularly the more limit-pushing things and places I never would have known existed otherwise. Perhaps Pinterest was my first true experience with AI, even seven years ago when I imagine it first showed me this magical place I manifested a reservation at. One I never knew existed, yet the second I saw it I could instantly picture myself there. Images seem to have the power to do that, and somehow I found the power to make it happen for myself.

I had this striking scene of euro summer excellence on my “euro summer” Pinterest board for a long time — I loved it because it evoked everything this part of the world represented to me. Natural beauty made leisurely, in the most elegant of ways. In America we are a bit more likely to protect places like this from commercialization, but the Europeans have a history of nobility — so they are happy to turn a chateau into a cafe, or a jaw-dropping cliffside into a beach club. Hence the magical place I’d found on Pinterest, made real: El Olivo, the crown jewel restaurant of Belmond’s La Residencia, formerly a 16th-century manor house with sweeping views of Deià.

It was the epitome of euro summer elegance, and it became my mission to have a seat at one of those tables. A showcase meal on Mallorca with my family — candlelit and romantic for me, delicious for Arthur, a true test of Parker’s proven restaurant agility. An evening there represented more to me than just a fancy meal with a view, or an early anniversary celebration. It was an appreciation of something exquisite, the pinnacle of our trip to Spain and everything I wanted to get out of it. The slow mornings, the long beach days, the unscheduled walks, the lazy boat day. This dinner felt like the cherry on top — isn’t indulgence the payoff of relaxation?

After a tiny bit of research I soon understood the hilltop of Deià wouldn’t be the only mountain I’d have to climb to get us here, as reservations were hard to come by. However, I remained persistent, and called about three months out, introducing myself to a lovely staff member who actually took the time to talk to me a bit about where I was calling from and why this was such a special dinner to me. Eventually they put me in touch with someone else, who emailed and called a few times, all to be told to wait until 30 days out for reservations to open to non-hotel guests — upon which no reservations were available.

Eventually I succumbed to my failure and did my best to let it go. A few mornings later I woke up with a thought: we were 30 days out from the second-to-last day of our trip to Mallorca — perhaps they would have availability for the later day in the week? I promised myself this was my last Hail Mary before doing therapy on myself.

When I received the response via WhatsApp, in the affirmative, the magic before the magic had happened. I was over the moon excited, realizing my persistence, flexibility, and kindness had paid off. All this work, to yield one of many attempted reservations. As I continued my day, I imagined what it might be like as a staff member working in hospitality. A consistent

stream of thoughtfulness and consideration required. Having to always find a way to say “yes,” and perhaps essentially say “no,” in the most kind but also firm of ways. It made me think of myself, in my career as a therapist, managing the understandable, and sometimes irrational, emotions of others — constantly.

I felt instant empathy, and maybe even a little guilt for my persistence. I know it’s their job to field lots of eager requests, obviously, but it’s nice to be recognized for your work. I realized what likely got me the reservation was the history of reaching out, and likely having been added to a real or metaphorical waitlist of sorts. So when a spot was available, I was the one not just asking now, but who had the history of having asked before. The staff member had considered me, and so I decided to consider them.

I reached out to about five local florists on the island and found an arrangement that would hopefully convey my gratitude. Not a showstopper, but something beautiful that would be enough to brighten their day — like when Arthur surprises me with an oat milk latte from Caffe Luxxe. He always manages to get the wrong size, even though when I go they only have one size, but regardless I always feel so considered. It’s not a tit for tat, but a small reminder that what I do is meaningful and seen. And I wanted whoever it was on the staff at Belmond to feel just that.

Apparently unexpected floral bouquets translate in any language. And so did my appreciation. We arrived a few hours ahead of our sunset reservation to explore bits of Deià, as I had to see Caserra71 and a few other chic shops in town. We then walked back to La Residencia for an aperitivo at the gorgeous bar at golden hour — something I’d recommend doing regardless of reservation status: a drink on the terrace, dinner at their other restaurant, Café Miró, and a little walk through the garden.

Alas, it was time for our almost overhyped dinner. My husband’s best friend said it was the “best meal he’s ever had,” and I started to worry we had spoiled the evening before we’d even sat down for it. Parker was ready to be screen-free for three hours, and I took a deep breath and just let whatever was there go. I had done the hard part; now it was time to bask in my accomplishment of sitting in arguably one of the best seats in Spain.

Of course I had a few tricks up my sleeve for Parker — a few fun new workbooks to entertain him, which helped. But he remained his usual curious self, listening intently to the waiter who explained each dish, and requesting to try everything that “wasn’t raw.” They had a kids’ menu for him and he savoured his big bowl of carbonara, but unsurprisingly for us, he loved every second of the meal. Arthur and I did really enjoy the food; it was delicious and, of course, presented well. I knew it wouldn’t be the “best meal of my life,” and to be honest, the food wasn’t the hype for me. It was the ambiance — the why rather than the what. I knew why I wanted to be here, here being the epicenter of euro summer glamour. And on that note, it did deliver. The photos did actually live up to the hype.

Perhaps the most special part of it, however, was how kind and interesting the wait staff were. Many being locals who grew up nearby. You see, I’ve never loved the formality of a seven-course meal, but I do love the hospitality. Professionals performing as they present food as art, explaining the why behind each dish. It’s that sliver of self you get to see and share, in between courses and clearing plates. A reciprocal bearing witness to one another: “yes I grew up in Sóller” and “mommy, that’s where we rode the choo choo to” and “I played soccer right in that square as a kid” and “do you surf in Los Angeles” and “hahahaha no, I don’t surf, but I wish there was a euro beach club.” It’s the reason I love to travel. Being a guest in my version of someone else’s world.

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Euro summer has become the epicenter of travel from May to September — and I get why. Unlike most trends on Instagram, this one always lives up to the hype for me, despite the fact that we ruined Positano. But it’s where we travel, it’s the approach to living we take once we arrive there. Whether you basked in the charm of Èze, actually read a book at the beach in Santa Margherita or stood in awe while touring Athens — it’s a way of life. Whether you received a passport stamp this summer or stayed stateside, the rules still apply.

To understand the concept, we must first understand its origins. Like most things, the concept of traveling to Europe in the summer is not new, it’s just become more accessible and of course, forever changed by Americans. Before the 1920s wealthy Europeans typically traveled elsewhere outside of summer, the Côte d’Azur remaining a resort town for winter. During summer the British aristocracy would retreat to the English countryside come August, Italian nobility to estates on Lake Como and eventually the Swiss Alps for some fresh air.

The seed that planted euro summer was when an American couple, Gerald and Sara Murphy convinced the owner of Hotel du Cap to remain open for a summer in the 1920s so they could entertain Pablo Picasso, making the South of France into a summer destination.

Eventually it was wealthy Americans who solidified the concept of traveling to multiple European destinations come summer, air travel making it possible and Slim Aarons’ photography making it chic starting in the 1950s. He documented the glamorous places, parties and people of the elite and shared it with the world — his work the inspiration perhaps for our Instagram feeds today.

I’ll admit I too come for the glamour, but I stay for the lifestyle. The essence of euro summer is how, not what. How do you start your mornings here, how do you feel after a three-hour lunch, how do you get from one destination to the next. In America we value the art of productivity (and its proximity to financial success). In Europe we value the art of living.

Euro summer for me is about slow mornings. I no longer schedule anything before lunch, which can last up to three hours if you’re at the right beach club. The culture of appreciating our time while we sit and soak in the ambiance of where we are, perhaps after a few hours of swimming and sunbathing is not lost on me. Everyone is more interested in talking to the people at their table while they enjoy their food and sip slowly. Waiters don’t rush us to order the next course. Kids are welcome to play around the table or fall asleep in the banquette. You might even find yourself talking to other guests at another table or dancing on them a few hours into the second seating. The primary expectation is embracing your time, a good meal is just an added benefit.

Euro summer is about everything shifting with nature, the sunsets at 9pm so naturally lunches start at 3pm and dinners at 10pm. Our kid’s bedtime is naturally closer to midnight but isn’t scheduled. Children are encouraged to play in the village square or at a playground set right in town. A nightly gelato run is more than a treat, it becomes an evening ritual where everyone is still out and the walk afterwards is beautiful.

Euro summer is less about sightseeing and more about seeing culture. Swapping museum days for passeggiate along the promenade and bus tours for boat days. Not because we don’t care about art and history but because summer is meant for relaxation and reconnection. The focus is on family, friends and fun. It’s about women sunbathing topless for their own comfort over anything else. Boats anchoring at bay and remaining in awe of what nature gave us. Starting the day hearing farm animals, ending with the cicadas singing. Bearing witness to the way others live.

We can immediately identify the hashtag, but the essence of euro summer is in the lifestyle it evokes. It’s beyond an aesthetic, as it’s become a privilege to finally relax. To truly bask in the comfort of your surroundings for however long you have, wherever you are. It’s a choice most of us Americans need to cross the Atlantic to make, but it’s entirely possible stateside. The same principles apply regardless of where you find yourself this summer: making mornings slow, savoring meals, connecting with nature, letting kids be kids.

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We all travel for different reasons. Some of us want to explore, some want to relax, some of us are looking for a true escape. I however, I want to bask.

I want to bask in my surroundings, I want to be enveloped by my environment. Engaged in the experience. I want in.

So where and how I travel means a lot. I am not necessarily a hotel snob, but rather an aesthetic one. The star ranking on where I stay is much less important to me than the detail, the artistry, the vibe for lack of a more sufficient descriptor. Travel is meant to transport us, whether across the globe or into someone else’s kitchen, we are meant to be curious about other ways of living. What I am looking for is to be immersed in whatever environment I imagine myself to be exploring. Like when we stayed in a picturesque Provençal mansion atop the tiny village of Ménerbes or the villa on Lake Como with ornate molding and unbeatable view. When I plan travel I don’t just think about where and what but rather how. How will I feel when I wake up each morning, how will we live in a way that is more special or unique than we do at home. How will staying here, stay with me?

We are so very much influenced by our environment, us humans having originated as wanderers of the world, on foot, looking for food all day, talking to each other about what we see and how we feel. Not much has changed for me when I travel, except I may have traded the search for berries and bears for the best tarte tropézienne or strolling through narrow cobblestone streets of Havana, in awe of how people simply sat outside and talked to one another without 5G cell service.

For this trip to Mallorca I am really proud of our hotel choices — both the ones we stayed in and the ones we visited — all offering us something unique, especially the one we only made it to for tapas and the tapestry adorned design of my maximalist dreams.

Hotel Cort, Palma de Mallorca

For our time in Palma I chose Hotel Cort, a charming boutique hotel set in Plaça de Cort, which is nestled right in the center of old town. Despite being a central spot in Palma a stone’s throw from most of the historical sights, retail and restaurants, it never felt overcrowded or touristy. Our balcony had a perfect view of the Palma’s 17th-century Town Hall with a bell tower that rang on the hour and the olivera de Cort, a 600 year old olive tree with its exceptionally well preserved roots on display. I chose the Junior Plaça Suite with a double balcony and it was a perfect fit for us three with just the right amount of space to relax, eat breakfast and watch the happenings on the square. Arriving here for our very first night of the trip I wanted to ensure we had a restaurant in house for dinner and the tapas on our first night was incredible. We loved sitting in the square while people watching, nibbling slowly as we pushed through the jet lag.

My favorite moments here in Palma, however, were the slow mornings. All to myself, sipping my nespresso with the windows wide open, the boys fast asleep, seeing how everyone in the square started their days. As a younger traveler my goal was always about maximizing my time but as I’ve become older I hold more value now in how travel feels. Whether it’s booking a massage after the long plane ride or committing to a slow start each morning, my presence has truly become the gift.

Grand Hotel Son Net, Puigpunyent

This hotel might be my only reason for returning to the island. Not to sound dramatic, I loved Mallorca, but Son Net blew my expectations out of the water in terms of delivering on both design and service. About 25 minutes inland of Palma, Grand Hotel Son Net is a diamond in the countryside, an absolute slice of Mallorcan maximalism I was desperate to be served. If only my husband could get on board, or rather, not get bored — this man is all about fun, beachy, lively energy, it’s his euro summer too, unfortunately — meanwhile I am ready to retreat into a bed of 55 different patterns that somehow magically sync up with one another to create the most beautiful hotel in the world. Yes, I said it. I think it might be the most beautiful, and yes, I’ve seen almost all of them.

We did not stay here. We came for cocktails and tapas, and lounged leisurely al fresco, perhaps a bit too leisurely for Parker. What I loved about it was the combination of countryside charm and maximalist glamour. It’s the balance of the two things I obsess over, beauty and depth. I am determined to return one day as a guest, perhaps for a relaxing stay with some girlfriends, with all the outfits to match — ready to bask.

Hotel Es Port, Port de Sóller

Since Arthur loves the beach and the energy that comes with one, and I love Mediterranean charm and the storied villas that tend to come with it, finding Hotel Es Port was essentially like finding true compromise in our marriage. Nestled into a goat and citrus tree adorned hillside, yet perched steps above the lively Port de Sóller, sat the solve to all our hotel struggles. Alas, the hours I spent overanalyzing our next hotel stay finally felt worth it. All the while I knew the compromise didn’t just appear. Someone went looking for it.

I knew Arthur would love the bustling seaside town, with its beach lined promenade and laundry list of ocean facing shops and restaurants. I knew Parker would love the calm water of the bay, the wooden tram up to Sóller, and the excess of gelato shops. And I would have my 17th century possessió — a Mallorcan mansion with an old olive mill in the lounge, which gave me something to consider each time I passed it: how slowly something like olive oil took to make back then, something I completely take for granted every day.

Every morning I sat on the balcony overlooking the Tramuntana mountains, listening to the tram bells and the goats while I sipped my coffee. I wondered how much more regulated people who live here and wake up this way feel. Despite not being a breakfast eater, I loved the terrace overlooking the gardens, the mix of Spanish and German and English, the British and Australian accents. Some mornings I hit the spa or went for an oceanside run, but my favorite was walking the grounds alone, earbuds in, a podcast going — not entirely in flow with my surroundings, but close enough.

What stayed with me most was the light. Every evening the sun hit the stone of the estate and the Mediterranean facade became the backdrop for our stroll into town, and for my photos, of course. There is a particular feeling to being somewhere with that much history on a warm summer night. It’s exactly the kind of simple thing I treasure on these trips — that, and the ease with which its residents seem to live, an ease we Americans find harder to replicate. What the Italians call il dolce far niente: the pleasure of simply existing, savoring the moment. It’s something I took seriously during our stay, and it showed.

La Residencia, Deià

A visit to the elevated countryside village of Deià and this gorgeous Belmond property would have been a must do regardless of whether or not I secured the El Olivo reservation. La Residencia is perhaps one of Mallorca’s most prestigious hotels although there are quite a few on the island, this one is most certainly a dream stay with its sweeping views of the tiny hilltop town and mediterranean sea. Deià itself is absolutely adorable and everything you’d want from a European hilltop town but with the added benefit of the ocean just a steep drive down and five star amenities you’d expect with Belmond that remain in keeping with the quaintness that surrounds it. Before our highly coveted dinner we enjoyed an aperitivo on the terrace, boasting exceptional views of the village, mountains and sea. We watched with our faces in the sun, nibbled and sipped while a guitarist played one too many American hits. The golden light pouring greatly onto every guest, the servers just as omnipresent as the sun, ready to source a smoothie Parker had ordered at Gran Folies. Being here instantly felt luxurious, albeit slightly touristy, as if Mallorca was delivering every charm it possessed to us on a silver platter — our dinner at El Olivo proving the pinnacle.

This trip I basked in my slow mornings everywhere and indulged in Mallorca’s maximalism. Arthur and Parker remained their lively vacation selves. We all fell in love with Mallorca while drenched in light and luxury. Some might call it paradise found. I’d call it paradise, created.

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This outfit was a dream because I actually did dream of it.

Meant for another evening with another backlit backdrop per slide 4 on my Canva-made Mallorcan itinerary, I was supposed to wear this sparkly see-through number on the swanky rooftop bar of Hotel Jumeirah. However, to avoid a hike up the hillside and a meltdown from my five-year-old, we settled on a well-reviewed paella spot along the pedestrian pathway, savoring the golden hour with gelato afterwards, my extended arm serving as a protective barrier between Parker’s delicious cioccolato and my designer dress. Meanwhile, Arthur snapped some shamelessly elegant photos of me while reluctantly dodging tourists and perhaps breaking his no-photos-in-traffic rule. Meanwhile, I broke the golden rule, putting my face in the sun in exchange for that golden-hour light.

After Parker finished his gelato — in Spain, nonetheless, but I don’t believe the Spaniards themselves know a true equivalent — and I felt sufficiently captured in my chic “fit,” as the kids say, we headed to a seaside playground, because why wouldn’t I wear a sheer, silver-disc-adorned, midriff-baring frock to play pirates with my child? After the sun went down and Parker refused to let language barriers interfere with his newfound friendships, we headed back to our hotel way past bedtime, swapping reading time for a movie on the iPad, falling asleep to Sing 2, dreaming of my future double-shot espresso solo on th balcony the next morning.

In a world now obsessed with #LifeMaxxing, this is the beauty of simply #living.

As a self-proclaimed recovering perfectionist, I’ve spent many years living in fear of being out of bounds, especially when it comes to travel. My interest in avoiding uncertainty has eclipsed my own instinct, my desire to document it online upping the ante. However, I’ve been pursuing peace ever since I turned 30, and now, nearing 37, I’m quite keen on the undertones quietly baked into our various cultural trends. When we asked for body positivity, we were essentially begging for self-acceptance; the push for work-from-home, an attempt at meeting the needs of our families (mothers especially) and lives outside of work; and now, with Lifemaxxing, it’s an attempt at perfection, under the guise of so-called physical and psychological wellness.

The trend is not surprising, given our cultural focus has shifted more toward themes around health and wellness, more people have become open to therapy — yay — and therefore terms like boundaries, organic, and strength training have become part of society’s general vernacular. To be clear, I am in support of all this information being shared, and I, like the rest of the world, have turned towards the new media landscape of podcasts, social media, and now AI to obtain it. The conversation around non-traditional media’s impact is ripe for an entirely separate essay; however, my point remains clear: most concepts are simply repackaged.

A century ago, we called it physical culture — “weakness is a crime” — and a barefoot magazine tycoon named Bernarr Macfadden sold Americans fitness, clean eating, and distrust of doctors through the mass media of his day. His messaging was close to what we see today: some legitimate questioning of institutional medicine and some genuinely interesting ideas. His methods, however, were not based in science. Some of what he promoted was completely disproven and wild — barefoot magnetic-earth walking, curing illness by fasting, or refusing all medicine — which seems to parallel many of the viral fads in 2026. We’ve simply swapped his magazine for the algorithm.

I also feel the dissatisfaction in our food and general healthcare system, and I would argue many of our current trends are moving in similar waves: the desire to know where our food is coming from, what we are feeding our kids, and the impact of hormones and preservatives on our health outcomes and overall wellbeing. We’ve even romanticized the idea of growing our own vegetables, ditching the big city for farm life, or making food from scratch. All of these concepts are born out of a very legitimate desire most of us hold, myself included, to feel better physically, emotionally, and spiritually. And I will be honest with you: after two nights in a row surveying Palma’s croquettes, my favorite Spanish tapas, of course, there’s a part of me longing for an overpriced Erewhon smoothie.

The question remains: how do we realistically get to feeling better — and enjoy a greasy paella on vacation? And my answer to this will forever remain the same: learn to listen to your body. Intuition will always outweigh counting macros, heart rate, and cucumber juice (ugh, remember that?). How we feel each day is the truth. Oftentimes this remains a major challenge, especially if we are fully addicted to sugar, live with chronic pain, or suffer from anxiety. Regardless, the answers are always within us. Starting with “what can I do” versus “what should I be doing” is always going to take us further. Using the trends as tools can be helpful; however, “insider info” will never replace gut instinct.

And my gut instinct on this trip was to prioritize feeling good — hence my runs each morning, my avoidance of alcohol during the majority of the trip and the gallons of bottled water I made Arthur lug to our hotel room from the supermercado. I didn’t make these choices to follow the “sober-curious movement” or to “stimulate blood flow,” but rather because they just made sense at the time. Lifemaxxing, or over optimizing your health is simply perfectionism repackaged. Control is essentially a false attempt at managing fear. Fear we might not get what we want or face adversity along the way. I completely support the concept of a healthy lifestyle, but in a world where the sun sets at 9pm, the paella is simmering after a long swim in the ocean, and industrialization has led us to mass production of Toblerone ice cream — yes, I found out on this trip that my favorite candy bar makes an ice cream; they were out of the pints, but they had the most delicious bars, which I am still thinking about now — we must not forget that we are the experts of our own experience, not the other way around.

Living always > Lifemaxxing.

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It’s half past four on Friday afternoon, the day before our big euro summer adventure begins. After having spent the last year building the trip and the last two weeks tightening it; searching amazon reviews for the most engaging workbooks for 5 year olds, ferociously tracking last minute additional lewks from Net-a-Porter that had just gone on sale and a kid friendly emergency kit — I even sent flowers to the concierge that helped us score an impossible reservation at the storied El Olivo — I wondered how long I could resist nagging my husband to forward me the check-in email for our flights. We were set to depart at 4:30pm the next day and these emails always arrive exactly 24 hours in advance. Naturally I was eager for my chance to check our two-pieces of luggage, download the boarding passes and secure our seating arrangements before the dinner and bedtime routine ensued. I had a laundry list of tasks to do the following morning, such as a bikini wax at 8am (which was as bad as it sounds), pickup the final alteration at the tailor who of course couldn’t get it right the first time and somehow find a mani/pedi that could start before 10am. In addition to the final touches on our pack list, that sound machine always goes in last unfortunately, oh and I also wanted to get a really good night of sleep before taking off.

The clock struck 4:47pm. Major sigh, before I kindly nudged him, “hey, can you forward me the check-in email?” to which he followed with, “yeah I can’t find it. Maybe let’s just check-in at the airport.”

Several hours on the phone later, I uncovered the real problem which was that a ten minute flight departure delay set our trip into the “must rebook” category as the connection time would now be too short, an issue I had flagged initially when we booked, however, we had already compromised on a later departure time, for which I had heavily advocated for to avoid jet lag.

After a long and stressful call with British Airways we were of course rebooked, made our flight on time and made it to Mallorca.

Once landed on the island, rental car packed to the brim and all our luggage brought up to our suite, we finally got to take a seat at a tapas bar in a quaint little square our hotel room balcony perched over. My husband then smiled at me and said “nice.”

Nice, for him.

About 9 canva slides worth of outfits, booking references and revised itineraries for me. About one full year of research, flight tracking, hotel research and a last minute emergency dose of Norethisterone to delay my period for the best “vacay vibes.” Three close call amazon hauls, a final run to CVS and several loads of pre-trip laundry. A plane ticket crisis averted the evening before, sinus scare on the long flight and endless immigration line we thankfully cut as a family and voilà!

We have arrived at nice.

Somehow getting this trip together felt more like a long awaited thesis presentation than a scene in a romantic comedy that magically came together. Yet the more and more I plan these trips, parties and holidays the more I realize how much goes into making something appear smooth. Considering timelines and budgets and preferences, this is an actual art and one many people make careers out of as a result. It’s something I truly enjoy doing, despite working a full-time job outside the home. Somehow I still always muster the desire to make these things happen and I see other women doing the same.

It’s the mental load, in the business of making memories for their loved ones. It’s an extension of the most highly prized feminine quality, nurturing. The act of considering others’ needs and prioritizing them. It’s taking on the emotional and physical wellbeing of those closest to us. Seeing the world from their vantage point and making decisions with that regard.

Nurturing isn’t exclusive to women. But in a man it’s a bonus feature — praised, remarked upon. In a woman it’s the baseline, noticed only when it’s missing. From how we dress, to how we feed our babies, how we keep the home we share with others, whether or not people think we’re nice.

Nice.

Nice is the polish that sits on top of the labor of everything we do. Like I always remind the couples I see in therapy, consistency of time together is what allows for those magical moments to unfold. We must create the circumstances for something wonderful to happen. This is what women silently do, and often without hesitation. In fact, I mostly find joy in doing so — in putting together a killer outfit I “just threw on” but that really took several versions to pop, a candlelit dinner for family or friends straight out of a Nancy Meyers movie in which you didn’t see the crew and vision boards required to set up, an invitation that looks simple yet excites people and took me countless small hours adjusting the line spacing to mimic handwritten calligraphy.

Martha Stewart didn’t just appear with her festive pinecones. She hosted a daily television show teaching us how to make them, published over 100 books on the art of homemaking itself, and scaled her company’s valuation to $2 billion. Martha’s work was not only seen, but quite literally, valued. Most of us women do it every day, for free.

In this moment I couldn’t help but feel a bit small in my efforts — aside from a $2 billion valuation, I just wanted to feel valued.

And I love the small details, I think it’s art and it’s love and it’s time you spent thinking about yourself and others all together and that is beautiful. I often joke that I do these things solely for myself and that is not untrue — I love making small moments special, pushing the bounds of my creativity, memorializing life. However, living is never about one person, we are in many ways just as happy as the company we keep and it’s always reciprocal. We want to see our loved ones possess joy, be comfortable, feel seen. For many women like me this is not just an obligation, it’s sort of the whole point.

As I watch my husband sitting comfortably in the quaint town square, looking around with amusement, enjoying his Spanish cerveza and the array of well-priced tapas laid out in front of him, our son entertained by the commotion of the square and the acrobatic street performers — I remain conflicted. On one hand, I’m exhausted and a touch annoyed to have done all that work only to land — literally and figuratively — on nice. On the other, I feel I see it more clearly than he does. Because of the work I put into designing this trip, I also understand this trip. I see the value in having chosen our hotel over the tourist trap next door; I bask in the quiet pride of having scored this seat at this particular table. I am honestly proud of myself.

I realize these events aren’t happening to me — I chose them, for considered reasons. Perhaps this is the joyful part of control. Autonomy, if I reframe it. A choice I actually got to make. Perhaps I remain here, within the tension of my conflict between being seen for my work and holding its significance all for myself. Perhaps I might even bask for bit, within it.

More to come on Mallorca, xx

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You Don’t Need a Party

You know I love a birthday — my own especially, being a Leo (of course) — but really, I love the ritual of celebrating. A birthday is an anniversary of a life, and like any anniversary, it can be both inspiring and overwhelming. As a therapist, I know they quietly prompt reflection, introspection, motivation, and sometimes loss. As a hostess, friend, mother, and daughter, I know they come down to one thing: making someone feel seen.

And feeling seen is something you can give with or without balloons, a massive party, or over-the-top gifts. It’s something we most often do over a meal — a few close friends or family, something pared down that still manages to be beautiful.

Over the years I’ve planned many a birthday celebration, most of them in restaurants, with no private room and no special connections. Most recently it was my mother-in-law’s, at Gemma. Along the way I’ve learned a handful of things that aren’t hard to do, yet make all the difference.

Send a real invitation. You need to know who’s coming anyway, so why not get everyone excited while you’re at it? I use Paperless Post — the selection is elevated and the tracking is excellent, so you can ask about dietary preferences and include the details that make a night run smoothly: location, menu, parking. Small dinners deserve all the bells and whistles too.

Call ahead — actually call. Picking up the phone these days can feel like crossing a desert; everyone defaults to texts and emails and a little less human connection. But a real conversation with the restaurant is often the whole difference in how the night goes. Don’t just say it’s a birthday — say whose it is, and what they love about this particular place. Kindly push for your seating preference, and ask which staff will be on that evening so you can follow up the day of. Get people’s names, and remember them. A small kindness goes a long way.

Bring one beautiful touch. Always ask first, but most restaurants will happily let you bring in a small floral arrangement, place cards, or a sweet party favor (Sugarfina candy boxes are my go-to). Balloons are trickier — ask. And if you’re bringing your own cake, confirm the cake-cutting fee and policy in advance.

Consider the light. Everything, and everyone, looks better at golden hour — especially somewhere with a view. The new rooftop at the Waldorf Astoria Beverly Hills is a golden-hour dream for exactly this reason. Do your homework: ask the manager when the light is best for that time of year. It changes the whole experience, and your photos.

Make the toast the centerpiece, not the cake. A toast is one of the most underrated ways we have to make someone feel loved. Don’t wing it, even if you have a way with words — take the time beforehand to think about what this person means to you, and ask a few other guests to do the same. And if the birthday girl is a nervous speaker, pour it into a thoughtful note in her card instead.

Plan for photos — then put the phone down. If parking is tricky, or the birthday girl (hi, it’s me) will want a few pretty pictures, build in the time: at least twenty minutes before the reservation, with a spot or two already scouted. You might even set the invitation time thirty minutes early — just saying. But there’s a balance between capturing a memory and actually making one. Ask her ahead of time what she truly wants — the group shot, the photo with the cake — so you get it, and then get to be present. If you catch her trying to take a picture herself, offer to take it. If she hates photos, put the camera away entirely. In a world this online, let the birthday girl have the final say.

The older I get, the more I’m certain that intimacy is the real magic. Scaling a celebration down to the quality of the conversation, rather than the quantity of guests and things, is the whole secret. We want to remember these nights as meaningful moments with the people we love — and that’s something you can build at one small table, with good food and even better company. xx

We all know what a trigger is by now — the term has fully escaped the therapy room. A trigger is a cue that drops your nervous system into threat: the tone in an email, a certain song, the smell of a hospital. Your body reacts before your mind has voted on the matter.

The lesser-known truth is that the same system runs in the other direction. The polyvagal researcher Deb Dana gave that direction a name: glimmers. A glimmer is a micro-moment of safety, calm, or quiet delight — small enough that you’d miss it if you weren’t looking — that cues your body toward ease instead of alarm. The first sip of coffee in my Ginori mug while everyone else is still asleep. Sparkling afternoon light. My five-year-old son asking me to marry him.

Kidding, not kidding!

The way I feel when I see all my friends aglow at a dimly lit table.

None of these will change your life — but I believe they are part of what makes you alive. A glimmer isn’t a peak experience or a milestone. It’s a flicker. And your nervous system, it turns out, is keeping score of them.

I think about this constantly, because I am a person who has spent years being made to feel — by our culture, mostly — that the way I live is frivolous. That caring about a beautiful tablescape or the right light in a photo or a green gemstone-encrusted collar on a white blazer is reduced to vanity, a distraction from the serious business of being alive. I want to gently argue the opposite.

This is what I actually mean when I talk about romanticizing your life — a phrase that has been flattened into a marketing slogan. It is not about performing for an audience. It is glimmer-collection. It is the deliberate practice of noticing the small, good, safe and beautiful things, because what you attend to is what grows. The brain has a well-documented bias toward the negative — threats kept our ancestors alive, so we are built to scan for them. Glimmers are the gentle correction. They don’t deny that hard things are happening. They simply refuse to let the hard things be the only things. They act as a buffer to the heaviness of life.

You don’t manufacture glimmers. You just pay attention to them — and maybe even name one or two each day. Like the cookie you managed to keep for the next day’s coffee. The five extra minutes you spent in the steamy shower. Over time the noticing becomes the disposition. You become a person whose body has learned that the world is, in small and frequent ways, safe — all of it depending on how you choose to look.

So this week, I challenge you to catch three glimmers. Whether you photograph them or not—just noticing that they happened is how this all starts.

That’s the practice I live by. One I can’t imagine my life without.

“Anne Hathaway outbids rights on novel about a trad wife influencer who gets sent back to the 1800s” —My fingers couldn’t hit the “purchase” button fast enough.

Spoilers ahead — I get into all of it.

It’s clear as day this buzzy new novel, Yesteryear, written by Caro Claire Burke, has piqued extreme interest based on the subject matter alone. It’s become a New York Times Bestseller and I can see why, part commentary on a highly polarizing subcategory of female influencers and part psychological thriller, the novel’s premise alone is ultimately sparking a larger conversation that I would argue we’ve already discussed.

The Trad-Wife and Culutre War

What makes Yesteryear so compelling, is that the topic of “trad wives” itself has been so polarizing. If you’re unfamiliar, the definition of a traditional wife is loosely referring to women in modern day America who are choosing a life in which they embrace more traditional values in wifedom and motherhood. The oversimplified stereotype depicts women who are intentional in their choice to make food from scratch (aka the homemade sourdough trend), carry themselves more modestly (prairie dresses vs mini skirts) and essentially succumb to the needs of their husband and children over their own. Obviously there are many variances in this definition, and I would argue they trigger a legitimate longing for nostalgia amongst us all, however, the rise of more digital creators who embrace some or all of these more “traditional values” is in step with the larger culture war occurring in the United States. Similar to what we are seeing with the rise of identity politics, women are once again being encouraged to sort ourselves into one of two categories; instead of working mom vs stay at home mom, it’s now becoming angry mom vs submissive mom.

For the record, I refuse to be classified into either and I imagine most women would agree.

From the book summary alone the author is clearly referencing real-life influencer Hannah Neeleman as inspiration for her fictional protagonist, Natalie Heller, Neeleman herself securing 10 million plus followers on Instagram under the handle @BallerinaFarm, and becoming the subject of much of the recent “trad wife” scrutiny. Neeleman describes herself as a “Juilliard School graduate—city folk turned ranchers” while fictional Natalie Heller attended Harvard before dropping out to marry the son of a wealthy politician, move to a ranch and similar to Neeleman, have many children, while successfully branding the aesthetics and nostalgia of a pioneer’s lifestyle in her online persona.

I will admit Burke’s writing and storytelling in Yesteryear is excellent, she had me hooked from start to finish and my appetite for the truth was strong. Natalie, as we’d expect, is unlikable, full of contradictions and ultimately the arbiter of her disdain—but what’s worse is that Burke fails in delivering a motive behind all the ridiculous things Natalie thinks and does. Instead, you realize she is in fact the disruptor of her life. Not her husband, not her father, not even her power-hungry father-in-law. She yields the power, she falsely interprets her relationship with God, she is the abuser, she is mentally unwell.

Once again we have a female protagonist who could have commanded our curiosities about the complexity of womanhood, but instead Burke just commanded us to call her crazy.

The author might have thought she was being a feminist in making the case for women having choice in their own disempowerment, or perhaps believed we would see it differently if a woman was held responsible for the pitfalls of her own misogyny, but ultimately I’m afraid she is doing something worse—blaming women.

This is tired. And I am so tired of this.

Motherhood and Influencer Culture

You see, this is actually offensive to me, a woman who has almost absolutely nothing in common with Natalie — a lifelong city dweller of mixed ethnicity, a liberal feminist, millennial working mom who despite earning an income still takes on the majority of unpaid domestic labor in my household. Despite how differently I may be marketed to on Instagram than more “traditional wives” and despite the fact that I don’t follow any of this content, I myself still feel deeply connected to so much of this character, and the women she is supposed to ridiculously represent.

I too am a mother, wife and influencer who has felt both the disillusionment and absolute joy of this role. I’ve turned on the TV to distract my child while I make a gorgeous charcuterie board, I buy organic groceries, I fully embrace cooking things from scratch when my husband does it, I edited my one and only viral TikTok video while nursing my son, I have wished naptime would both end early and stretch a bit longer, I want a full career outside of being a mother and while being a mother. I want to make my own money and I want to be room mom one day and be at all the school events, and I believe in God and I believe in protecting your family and marriage at all costs. I know women are oppressed and yet I still love being a woman. I am angry at our administration, I am mostly joyful at home, I get frustrated as a parent and I love my child and being a mom more than anything else in the world. I’m conflicted about having a second kid and I worry about my freedom and happiness, I want it all and am fully aware I can’t have everything all at once.

And while I have never left my child in the car by accident, thank God, I actually had compassion for Natalie when she did. I would have compassion for any mother who has suffered the consequence of being overwhelmed as it’s no secret that motherhood can be overwhelming. But Natalie doesn’t seem to enjoy any aspect of being a mother and Burke leaves us with no premise for why she chooses to continue to bear multiple children. And while I will never condone or minimize child abuse, I can confidently say as a therapist that the majority of parents who abuse their kids still have love for them. Yet Burke starves us of any depth here and I believe that to be so unfair and so unbelievable.

What I like most about Natalie, is that she is full of contradictions. She is self-righteous, judgmental and angry at the world in an unhinged way, which is interesting in the beginning. However, the payoff I was looking for, the depth of her dissonance between her adherence to the traditional role as a mother and her rage towards the people picking apart her life online and in-person, doesn’t ever materialize into a deeper understanding, albeit respect, for what she has actually accomplished.

But ultimately what Burke fails to do here is use the complexity of womanhood to tell her story. Capture the true tensions of wanting to be both a traditional wife and mother, in addition to an aspirational storyteller and businesswoman. Perhaps the author didn’t want to go there because that would in fact turn the entire argument she makes on its head, forcing her to recognize the reality I have made mention of before, here, which is that female influencers are actually aspirational.

Material success can’t distinguish between a suit in a skyscraper or a prairie dress in your kitchen—feminism isn’t aesthetic. That is the point being missed in this discussion. The author seems to believe that the way to make this phenomenon interesting is to sensationalize and debunk the concept of what we consider traditional female roles, but I would argue it’s a great miss in what is actually interesting here. The same tension that remains in motherhood since the 1800s is what is interesting to me. The idea that no matter which way you slice it, being a mother, even just being a woman, is not just good or bad, it’s complex, it’s dynamic, it’s powerful.

Marriage, Religion and Power

The author sets the stage early on for a power dynamic in Natalie’s marriage, one we are expected to assume her husband Caleb holds against her based on the stereotype of the trad wife who often succumbs to her husband. We are also clued in on a sexual assault allegation in their household, which we assume must have happened between Caleb and Natalie’s assistant. Ultimately we come to find out it was Natalie who sexually assaulted her assistant and who clearly yields power over her husband who by her standards fails in owning his masculinity. When Natalie “travels back in time” the version of her husband, whom she refers to as “old Caleb” fits the bill as a toxic, abusive male; commanding her to obey him, slapping her across the face and forcing her to have sex with him.

The marital rape scene starts with Natalie clearly conveying her fear of being raped by “old Caleb” having believed she had traveled back in time and that this was not her husband. However, the scene ends with Natalie finding the sexual authority he yields over her to be quite satisfying, euphoric, orgasmic in the end. She feels connected to God and her womanhood afterwards. Her husband has finally stepped into his masculine power so she can now fully embrace her femininity.

What the actual f***.

This is dangerous. I see what this author is attempting to do here and it angers me. She thinks that if we see toxic masculinity through the lens of the trad wife who commands it we will digest it differently. Natalie asked God for her husband to become a “real man” and he delivered.

Again this author is blaming women, and God, for marital rape. She loses every opportunity to utilize the complexity of marriage by blaming Natalie, by blaming women.

As a couples therapist I am acutely aware of how oversimplified the conversations about what constitutes a “good marriage” tend to veer. The arguments have all been made but the research only points towards one. Marriage is about two people joining their lives and thus, sacrificing full independence. It also requires people evolve further into their individual selves and allow their partner an opportunity to bear witness. Secure attachment is essentially co-dependence, a home base so secure that the partners within the relationship can go off into the world and take from it what they want, all the while knowing all roads lead back home.

Descartes said, “I think, therefore I am” and I like to say, “I am, because we are.”

True partnership is not based on control, but it is based on healthy interdependence. We are pack animals as humans, we must rely on one another for survival, even in this modern world. So the concept of loyalty goes both ways and is based on mutual respect.

It’s easy to say that women who stay home with their kids are better mothers while ignoring the fact that high quality, affordable childcare is inaccessible for many families.

It’s easy to say that women who prioritize their careers will fare better in case of divorce, instead of creating financial safeguards for women who want to prioritize taking care of their families.

It’s easy to say that men who are breadwinners have more control in a marriage because we don’t value the significance of the unpaid domestic labor women provide in most households, regardless of their earning power.

It’s easy to argue religious ideologies dictate limiting gender roles for men and women, rather than focusing on how faith can strengthen one’s individual sense of self and provide community rather than commandments.

The author fails in my opinion to provide any good use of the “traditional marriage” she is attempting to scrutinize, instead she botches the entire thing and essentially blames Natalie for everything. The interpretation is so heavy-handed, we as readers feel we have no autonomy in our conclusions about what a traditional marriage really is and that was disappointing.

The Angry Women

Natalie often references “the angry women” who routinely scrutinize the lifestyle content she shares on her social media platform and this is perhaps one of the most interesting throughlines of the book. Natalie faces similar criticisms as real-life influencer Hannah Neeleman (@BallerinaFarm) has in sharing her nostalgic homemade meals and homestead-inspired content online. Natalie frequently laments how this swath of liberal-leaning, angry women enjoy tearing her down as a result of their own shortcomings in finding fulfillment. And while I’ll admit Burke does a good job in conveying the pitfalls of paths mothers have in life, she is just repeating the obvious—women struggle regardless of whether they prioritize their careers, motherhood, wifedom or their own personal fulfillment.

And then what?

Burke doesn’t offer us any alternative perspectives I’m afraid. Which is annoying because influencing and female entrepreneurship are prime examples of a so-called third choice for women if you will. It’s not a perfect and easy path, I discuss this in more detail here, but unlike the corporate maze referenced in the book, women who build their own businesses online have more flexibility in prioritizing motherhood, financial autonomy and personal fulfillment. Natalie is actually a prime example of this; she has built a successful business, is home with her family and is doing something fulfilling for herself. Why couldn’t Burke explore this in more detail, examine the real challenges of this kind of life, the reality of the finances and labor behind building a brand? Bring us readers into that tension and let us decide how we feel about it.

Now that would be interesting.

My Final Thoughts

I was beyond excited to read this book. I will admit the plot had me engaged until the very end, however I was left disappointed, frustrated and longing for something deeper. I wanted to leave this book feeling conflicted, provoked by the complexity around the impact of faith and culture on a marriage, the dissonance between our online personas and real life, and as promised in the book description, the grand performance of womanhood.

Unfortunately, all of this went unexplored in the author’s determination to humiliate, shame and reduce the protagonist to another crazy, angry woman with no apparent motive. There was no context for Natalie’s abhorrent behavior for us to reconcile, no tension for us to explore — Burke seems to have done that already for us.

Well, I do love cheese.

Making pirates chic isn’t easy — but someone has to.

My friends instantly said “Pirate’s Booty” and I instantly said “no.”

After a few deep breaths I decided to focus on a few things I could wrap my hosting aesthetic around—treasure chests, gourmet grilled cheeses and accents of the Caribbean. After a few rounds of Pinterest searches I settled my nervous system on a bountiful buffet of brie, truffle and cheddar blocks with a neutral muslin cloth sail display that would be both beautiful and delicious.

Of course putting together children’s parties is no easy task for any parent, let alone people like me who treat hosting as an extension of oneself, very much invested in both the aesthetic and functionality. I cherish the planning process (for vacations as well) as it’s honestly half the fun for me. Hence my challenge in letting go of creative control and really tuning in to what my child was asking of me; to feel extra special that day and honor his own desire for autonomy and pride over this party.

Telling from his reaction after seeing everything we put together for that day, I felt really proud of my own growth as a parent. Letting go of control is something I’ve worked on over the years, recovering from my perfectionism has been challenging, however, I was a lot more at ease this time around, some reflections below.

First, I had to see it before I could make it

I always make an inspiration board full of colors, ideas and elements first to see how what I am imagining in my mind actually looks like all together. I spend a lot of time tightening the board so it’s cohesive but not exact. Often what I end up with varies a bit from the original idea but this board always serves as my anchor.

I stopped trying to control “pirates”

Playing with these things before you start buying will help you. We couldn’t find a cute pirate ship so we made one, same with the sheet buffet sail. I couldn’t really find the marble tablecloth I wanted, I instead used a similar pattern in the menus and then tried to add dimension to these simpler sage green ones by adding a shell display for the limes, silver trays and tropical fruits. I chose paper plates that resembled my beloved Ginori china and swapped out the traditional black and red pirate-esque color scheme to softer greens to match our surroundings, a neutral muslin texture on the sail and kept traditional gold accents with the candelabras. A Captain Jack Sparrow attends garden party kind of vibe.

I thought about everyone, not just the birthday boy

I spent a lot of time figuring out how to best use my backyard which is tricky because the sun hits so hard in the most prime spaces. I wanted everyone to mingle, but still have areas that were distantly kid friendly so I put the kids tables near the play structure and away from the food and bar. I added adult tables nearby in some shade and warned people to bring hats. I centered the party around the grass below the deck to add space for our wonderful entertainer to play games while parents ate, drank and mingled. The cheese buffet remained under the shade of our grapefruit tree, a little bit away from where the kids played. The goal is always to make everyone feel comfortable and I think I did a better job this year despite the high temps and little shade!

A birthday party is never just about the kids

We tend to focus on the kids, which is great and having some form of entertainment is ideal for them as well as the adults. I see a birthday party as a celebration for the whole family and community surrounding them, not just the kids. So whether it’s a bar or coffee cart, adult seating area or an adult friendly grilled cheese option, considering all your guests always wins.

The hardest thing I did was ask for help

Hosting parties can be very overwhelming and I have been practicing over the years how to plan, delegate and actually enjoy myself. For this party the main key was in the delegation. Instead of taking all the prep work on myself, this year I asked my husband to takeover the craft table and build the pirate ship. I hired a bartender, caterer and entertainment for the kids, in addition to having my housekeeper help manage our house throughout the event—a privilege that honestly made the biggest difference in how I host, allowing me to actually talk to my guests and enjoy myself. Obviously it’s not always feasible to hire help, but even asking small favors from friends and family to take turns manning the craft table or create a menu, bring a bottle of wine, can make all the difference in how you as a host experience the party.

We all know parenting is challenging, but it’s also very joyful. Birthdays are as special as you make them, regardless of how much time, money or stress you pump into them, the energy you bring will always show. The most important part is having your kid feel special and seeing the people they love come together for them.

Later on my son let me know the pirate is a mouse, hence the cheese. Fortunately I was already on board, no pun intended. Argh!

Party Items Linked Here

Travel truly reinvigorates us, and despite my penchant for finding the most storied and beautiful places around the world, most of what I am looking for actually exists less than two hours away.

Short excursions are an underrated luxury I find as I scroll through Instagram, my eyes dazzled by yet another glamorous beach off the rugged coastline of Italy with the promise of the best linguine alla vongole you’ve ever had. And while I might sound like a complete and total hypocrite as I too swoon over a slice of la dolce vita come summer, I have to admit some of the most memorable travel moments I can recall have come from exploring my own city and the many wonderful towns, cities and beaches surrounding it. Whether a park, a beautiful hotel, or a walk through a new neighborhood; going somewhere new is a good way to reset ourselves. It’s truly the goal of travel, whether near or far.

So for the long holiday weekend, sans Arthur who was away for a bachelor party, my mother and I set out with my 5 year old son Parker for a 90 minute drive up to Santa Barbara and Montecito, side-by-side cities I’ve been to a number of times but always feel a renewed sense of calm after I leave.

Santa Barbara is the larger city, Montecito a sleepier suburb, but my favorite nonetheless. We recreated a shorter version of what we did on my birthday last year, to make it back for an early bedtime. Starting with a visit to the Santa Barbara Zoo, which is honestly my favorite given its relatively small size and pristine attention to detail. With bougainvillea rimmed arches, Spanish tile work and a coffee cart setup in the children’s park that can make me a vanilla almond milk latte—I am sold.

Oh and did I mention the giraffe feedings?

Can’t forget that one.

And the size of the zoo always seems to fit the number of guests they allow in, even on a busy Memorial Day Weekend the place didn't feel too crowded and it was extremely kid friendly. Parker loves the train ride and my mother swooned over the stunning rolling hillside backdrop and ocean views. We saw almost everything within about two hours, although you could easily make a much longer day out of it with its picnic grounds and various programming.

After leaving the zoo we drove a stone's throw into Montecito. Despite my obsession with San Ysidro Ranch less than three miles away, we pulled up to the oceanside resort at Rosewood Miramar. What I love most about this hotel is how truly New England-like it feels. As you enter through the gates and into the formal living room, a wide spiraling staircase to your left and views of the Pacific straight ahead; you instantly feel like a guest at someone’s summer estate. With restaurants ranging from an ocean deck to a glamorous dining room, elegant shops tucked into rooms off the lobby and surrounding cottages and a sprawling well manicured lawn with white Adirondack chairs and soccer balls for the kids—it’s hard not to feel at home here.

I spent the afternoon lounging on the lawn while Parker kicked around some soccer balls with the other kids and my mom browsed the shops, chatting with other parents who were equally grateful for the family friendly setup. Parker offered himself into a few football games and learned the fundamentals of cornhole before we headed to the beach bar for a late lunch overlooking the ocean. I enjoyed my colorful fish tacos almost as much as Parker did his quesadilla and the weather remained a perfect temperature throughout our time there.

It was truly an Arnold Palmer kind of day.

On our way out after lunch we walked the grounds slowly, Parker in need of a few more soccer drills on the lawn and me a light browse through Goop and The Webster. We all admired the yellow beach buggy parked outside, quite similar to the spiagginas we came across in Italy last summer. Another reminder of how great things show up in all kinds of places, regardless of how far away you might be from home. We all left feeling a bit more relaxed on the easy ride home straight down the 101 as the sun wound down, excited by the prospect of being back in our beds before the full sunset.

A little adventure, a little relaxation, a little temptation at Chanel—truly a perfect day for us all.

Growing up in Chicago I lived for summer.

For three months out of the year we could reliably count on good weather—along with some humidity and summer storms but also genuinely warm nights spent completely outside. Come June all the sudden everyone is Chicago had a convertible, every restaurant boasted patios larger than their insides and boats on Lake Michigan magically appeared along the sparkling city skyline. I’m also an August 12th baby and so everyone always was eager to celebrate my birthday. When I was younger we’d swim all day long, capture fireflies outside and devour an ice cream cake to cool ourselves down. As I became a teenager, our summer tans were well established and there was always a social event to attend, often the last hurrah before the school year started and all the glories that come with what we call summertime chi.

Fast forward to my adult life in Los Angeles for the last 15 years, and one can beg the question;

“Summer” in Los Angeles, now why is that special?

Weather wise everyday in Los Angeles is a treat considering my midwest roots. You can always count on sunshine at some point in the day and theoretically one could make anyway here a beach day anywhere else. However, I soon realized while living here that Los Angeles does in fact have seasons, just a milder version of them. And while I can’t argue its’ residents take the summer months as seriously as we do in Chicago, I do cherish these warmer and longer days in Los Angeles.

What I love about LA Summer

Long evenings hosting al fresco will always be my anchor to summer in LA. Our home at Citrus Court has offered me unparalleled access to true outdoor living and entertaining. What could be more magical than a summer night with friends, under the glow of waxy candles burning, flowers and citrus blooming in natures’ beautiful backdrop? I’m living a Nancy Meyer’s meets Martha Stewart fantasy over here.

The idea of the beach. LA is not really a beach city but ocean views and the Mediterranean terrain is what I love. Unless there’s a cozy chair and cocktail I didn’t make being offered to me, I am not that enthused for a beach day. So I prefer to see the ocean on my drive up the coast to Malibu, enjoy the views from an oceanside restaurant or pack my bags for Euro summer.

The Malibu Country Mart, The Hollywood Bowl and The Ivy at The Shore. Rarely does any place here come alive in summer but for me these are few that do. To be fair, the Hollywood Bowl is only open during the warmer months because it’s an outdoor music venue where guests can bring picnics, enjoy the LA Philharmonic’s summer residence and sway into the night under the stars. The Malibu Country Mart is a year round destination for my family, but especially for those summer afternoons post beach (or instead) boasting well manicured retail and a family friendly setting. It’s also selfishly the home of one of my absolute favorite restaurants in Los Angeles, Taverna Tony, a traditional Greek cuisine and isle-inspired setting that will always be synonymous with LA summer for me. Ivy at the Shore is a more elegant Southern California staple for fancy lunches by the beach and romantic sunset dinners. We go year round but those Ivy Gimlets will forever invoke a summer mindset.

This Summer at Citrus Court

Now that Memorial Day Weekend is upon us I am excited for a summer filled with post dinner gelato runs and slightly later bedtimes for Parker. While we have plans for a European summer I'm also hoping for another day trip to Montecito. But most of all I am yearning for some lazy afternoons at our home that fold into beautiful evenings hosting at Citrus Court.

The harvest has proven bountiful with our orange tree blooming and apples reappearing five months earlier than last year. And while the jasmine always slows down this time of year, and the camellias leave too soon come spring, random roses tend to pop-up in various colors along the courtyard. I’m excited to see what inspires my summer hosting this season, perhaps an orangery themed soirée or some simple low lit wine and rotisserie chicken dinners with the family. Regardless, I’m ready.

Wishing you all a relaxing and fun first weekend of summer.

xx, Monica

I sit here this morning, writing at 5:30am on a Wednesday, before my son wakes up, and I start seeing back to back therapy patients. This is the only time of day I have the wherewithal to form a fully fledged thought and make a plan for my weekly content on now several social platforms including Instagram, Substack, Shop My, Pinterest and my original blog turned brand website, MonicaGisele.com.

The things I like to share range from detailed accounts on why I chose a hotel room in Provence who’s wallpaper matched my vacation wardrobe, ideas for re-creating a 60’s set I had my tailor completely re-work, or dreamy images of a low-lit tablescape with a creamy bokeh. It’s a mix of both the highlights from my actual life, and the more fantastical ones I have no trouble dreaming up.

Since I work full-time as a psychotherapist in private practice, raise a young son and primarily cover most of the unpaid domestic labor in my household (cooking, laundry, scheduling, etc.) finding time for this creative outlet is limited, but somehow I always find my way back to it and have been doing it since 2011.

My content has always oscillated between personal style, chic places, entertaining and my therapist-led opinions on everything from pop culture to politics, which I love to share for the world to see. With the advent of so many forms of content and platforms, I often feel overwhelmed and discouraged, however, I have never ever once considered stopping. The creator part of myself will always be there, just in the same way I will never not be a therapist, forever, engaged and energized by stepping into someone else’s world.

Becoming a blogger (in the early days of blogging) gave me a tangible place and tools for which to start pursuing this interest. Ever since Pinterest and Instagram, the world has been blessed with an avalanche of female content creators online, “influencers” as we now refer to them, denoting their power in turning content into commercial success.

Somewhere along the way, however, the narrative seems to have shifted, and I would like to explore that here.

What you tend to see on social media is a moment, but I would argue we’re building something much more deep.

My thoughts on “influencer” below,

How did we get here?

Like the magazine spreads I grew up with in the early aughts, content on the internet these days seems to just magically appear. We arguably have the most choices in what we consume digitally, with nonstop access to an algorithm that could predict pregnancy faster than our best friend, delivered directly to us, for free.

Unlike the days of Vogue, Better Homes and Gardens and Veranda, you no longer need a magazine subscription or a morning ritual to consume something great. You can access multiple forms of content across an array of various platforms, without a green light from the three largest media conglomerates. You can experience places, ideas, recipes, parenting tips, fashion and meaningful information that wasn’t approved by Miranda Priestly and the other “people in this room.”

Of course with any level of change comes concerns. The advancements in digital tech are riddled with danger, addiction and legitimate moral dilemmas to be solved, our children’s wellbeing at front and center of this conversation as I identify here.

And despite those concerns, one can argue either way which is better—having a highly curated group of knowledgeable experts hand select the information you receive on any various topic, or seeing the value in allowing anyone, whether expert or amateur, whether fact checked or fiction, have the opportunity to share their ideas freely to the entire world online. But those criticisms I would argue are a result of technology’s rapidly increasing role in shaping the thoughts, minds and pocket books of our culture.

Somehow in the male dominated social and digital tech space, influencers have been blamed.

The Original Influencer

As a fashionable, female millennial who grew up on monthly magazine subscriptions, the E! Network and movies like The Devil Wears Prada—the idea of working for a magazine was a well-established dream of mine. The industry had always seemed so elusive, until reality shows like The Hills, America’s Next Top Model and Project Runway added more access into how careers in fashion actually work. The truth being you needed an insider network to break in to the industry and a trust fund to support your life in NYC while there, the entry-level pay so low and the opportunities so scarce.

The average American woman often relied on the expertise of fashion editors to help bridge the gap between Paris Haute Couture Week and the options available to her at a local boutique or department store. We relied on famous actresses and supermodels representing a brand to tell us what was stylish or a pop star turned ambassador for a heavily marketed acne company to sell every 13 year old at school a skincare routine. Finally we were blessed with the likes of Martha Stewart, Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian, who weren’t just representing a company, but instead, representing (and selling) themselves.

The advent of the internet created a path for stylish people like me to create a mini version of that. Which is to share our direct and unvetted takes on fashion, culture and the development of one’s personal style, originally in the form of blogs such as my own in 2011, Gisele Chic. These blogs would often mimic that of a full-scale magazine including content ranging from daily style, travel diaries and links for recommended products; similar to what you see now on social media. However, creating this content was and still is time consuming, and most often relies on the work of one woman doing the job of several, a personally funded budget and no guarantee or recourse for fair and equal compensation/recoupment.

Where we are now

Fast forward ten years and social media has transformed our OG bloggers into “influencers” denoting the impact these women have had in the business of promoting and selling mainly female-centric goods and services via their social media platforms. But a term that had perhaps originated with the intent of crediting this new industry, built off the backs of female-led entrepreneurship, has now taken on a much more generic, and I would argue disrespectful, sentiment.

At its most basic definition, the term influencer is essentially meant to convey one’s ability to convert their personal style, brand or point of view into commercial success. The concept of this is nothing new, we’ve been using human connection, aspirational lifestyles and marketing to sell fashion, travel and home products for years now. The only difference is who has the creative and financial control. Martha Stewart had to court the favor of players in the space to prove her influence, whereas women like Aimee Song and Hannah Neeleman, are able to provide more direct-to-consumer content, goods and services.

The idea that anyone can become successful using a singular tool we all have access to should not water down the significance of achievement via said tool. People throughout history have tried and failed whilst attempting to break into new industries and fewer have succeeded. A tale as old as time.

Female digital creators have tapped into something extremely unique and I would argue extremely feminist, in that women have benefitted the most from the advent of this industry. Offering us accessibility and autonomy over our own careers in an unparalleled way since the Tupperware parties of my mother’s generation.

It’s easy to question the legitimacy of influencers, because the term is insufficiently defining the scope of the internet-led entrepreneurship it actually represents, but in my opinion, more often because it’s an industry built for women, and one that in many ways, women benefit from the most both in entrepreneurial access and information sharing.

Since the beginning of time, women have relied on their social relationships with other women to survive our evolutionary roles as nurturers. We are the most interested in knowing one another and forming strong relationships with one another, in-person and now, online. The content that gets shared by women is overwhelmingly made for us women, offering resources, entertainment and relevant cultural commentary. And while the dangers of comparison, negative influence and impact of social media on low self-esteem are entirely legitimate problems, I would argue it’s the responsibility of lawmakers and the people running these platforms to provide safe guards to harmful content, just like we have oversight in every other industry such as farming, manufacturing and traditional television.

Being critical of digital technology is not a crime, however, when you denounce influencers, you are in fact, denouncing women.

Yountville is officially my favorite place in the Napa Valley! I have been to Napa twice before, both times the main purpose being a wedding and so didn't really get the chance to explore much. So when Parker's spring break came around I figured the drive north into wine country would be an esay retreat and I am happy to report it truly was. Since Arthur has been busy with work, my mother and I decided to take Parker ourselves to Napa Valley, to explore the charming town of Yountville.

Hotels I love in Napa Valley

For context, Napa is the main city in the Napa Valley region, which also inlcudes smaller towns like St. Helena, Calistoga and Yountville, to name the most known. Most of the places I love were in either St. Helena or Yountville, so I looked at a lot of hotels in the area and ultimately decided to stay at Napa Valley Lodge. Other spots in the area I seriously considered were Le Petit Pali in St. Helena, Auberge du Soleil, Maison Fleurie and The Estate Yountville. Meadowood is another stellar option for an extra special stay, however, it’s not the same layout as I remember before the fire, so just keep that in mind! I also loved my last stay at Silverado Resort if you want to be closer to the city of Napa.

All the hotels were great and Le Petit Pali was a close second due to how cute it was but ultimately we wanted both a resort feel and the proximity to everything in Yountville by foot which ended up being such a great choice and I would most certaintly rebook again! Napa Valley Lodge was the perfect size for Parker to run around in, swim and play bocce. My mother was very happy with the courtyard and all the nearby spots to eat and wine taste. I lvoed how easy the trip felt with nearby parks we could walk to and the entire aesthetic of Yountville! It was completely Nancy Meyers’ movie coded and in fact we need her to film a Parent Trap sequel here stat!

In addition to being so well landscaped, charming and chic; Yountville is home to some of my favorite restaurants in the area, all of them, and my favorites from St. Helena, listed below,

Yountville and St. Helena Restaurants

Bouchon // this place is a must, Thomas Keller’s classic french menu is always rotating for what’s in season and reliably delicious. My mother loved her rainbow trout and I love the mussels, french onion soup and oysters. The vibe inside is romantic and very traditional Parisian style but outside is a little more classic cafe and a must during good weather for lunch or a sunset dinner.

Bouchon Bakery // equally as important as visiting Bouchon bistro and just next door. Don’t miss the excellent french pastries, my favorites are the lemon tart, macarons and exquisite danishes! Parker went to town on his chocolate croissant and sitting outside with my coffee each day in the morning was honeslty the highlight of the trip!

Under-Study // The most chef-forward cafe in town where you can find gourmet everything: sandwiches, coffees and artistic desserts.

Bistro Jeanty // A beloved french spot that’s a bit more relaxed than Bouchon, the vibe wasn’t as chic for me but everyone raves about the food.

French Laundry // The most sought after high-end dining in Napa Valley and worth every penny. We did not go this trip given we had Parker with us but most certainly a very special place for serious foodies!

Forum at Meadowood // We came here for a neautiful lunch and it to enjoy the lush green surroundings. My mother’s fish tacos were amazing and I loved the energy of the place, Parker kept inisisting we were back in Mammoth!

RH Restaurant and Wine Vault // This place is beautiful and despite being a chain, I always find myself visiting the RH in whatever city they exist in and loving the ambiance and lobster roll. They are consistently delious and beautiful and this Yountville location exceeding our expectations in terms of service. Also the wine vault next door is a seperate, open seating, al freco spot you must check out around sunset/dusk, the vibe is absolutely magical and not stuffy!

Woodhouse Chocolate // The best chocolatier in St. Helena!

The Restaurant at Auberge du Soleil // An excellent choice for an extra special pre-fixe lunch or dinner that feels very European countryside similar to our time in Gordes. If you aren’t excited by the formality but still want the view, they also have a nice bar you can enjoy with an a la carte menu.

Clementine // The cutest new restaurant that we went to for brunch. The food was pretty good but the decor was exceptional, I will dedicate an entirely new post to the interiors because it was that great, I recommend going for a cocktail at the very least, both the indoor and outdoor bars were excellent!

V. Stattui Winery // A very nice winery in St. Helena we chose over everything else because unlike most, they have a huge market, wine bar and restaraunt on site with various spots you can sit, sip and eat. Most wineries don’t serve food, this was the perfect place to bring Parker so he could get some energy out while we sat at the picnic table and nibbled on the amazing deli selections; a delectable cheese plate, truffle arancini and the pesto sandwich were my favorite!

Charter Oak // A wonderful restaraunt in St. Helena with a chamring courtyard and delicious food. All the European cpuntryside vibes you want are here!

Ciccio // Great Italian food and such a relaxed vibe, it was literally across the street from out hotel and so quiant to sit outside.

Model Bakery // Amazing quality coffee and pastries in St. Helena and a true classic spot. I still dream of the cookie I had last time and fortunately they opened a “mini model” spot in Yountville for those of us who need our fix nearby!

Napa Valley Wine Train // Another great option for lunch or dinner, on an old fashioned train, it’s very Orient Express meets Wine Country! I was devastated that the timing didn’t work out for us to bring Parker aboard, he would have LOVED it and it’s definately going to be a must next time we are in town.

Kollar Chocolates // A fancy and delectable selction of chic chocolates I had to keept far from Parker this trip because we spent so much time at Bouchon bakery!

R+D Kitchen // If you know me this is one of my favorite go-to restaurants in Los Angeles and it was fate to see it across the street from our hotel, along with a Hillstone Home and Market. I know that Napa Valley has some of greatest cuisine in the country but all Hillstone restaurants are consistently amazing and I love seeing them (and my cherished dip duo) everywhere I travel, especially their Aspen outpost, White House Tavern.

Like photography, floral arranging is something I’ve been taking amateur shots at for a while now. And I can’t imagine I am the only one! It’s both a practical and beautiful skill to have, a practice you can completely immerse yourself in—no screens required!

So I decided to throw a floral arranging party for my son’s school fundraiser and the other moms and I had such a great time gathering with one another and learning new skills from the talented Jelena from Viola Floral! Jelena is a superstar florist and instructor, based in Santa Monica, with a studio dedicated to luxury arrangements and flower arranging workshops. I had the pleasure of hosting her for our class and everoyne left having learned some great foundational skills in addition to the most beautiful bouquets!

Here’s how the whole event came together, enjoy! xx

My day started with a 5am trip to The Original Los Angeles Flower Mart, my third visit now, and some strong coffee. My mother was excited to join me and instead of helping reign in my flower budget she just further encouraged our joint obsession. I wrote a whole post about how to navigate the flower mart here, but in short, you just can’t beat the selection and wholesale prices. Obviously my knowledge is super limited, but conidering the flucuating market rates of flowers by season, any seasoned florist knows what’s considered a “good deal” and so if you are planning to make more than 1-2 small arragnements I believe it’s well worth the trip!

I am happy to report we did very well sourcing our showstoppers: anemones, coral peonies and rannuculas; the supporters: pink daisy spray chrysanthemums, garden roses, and pink rice flowers; and the fillers: Queen Anne’s lace, pink yarrow, Italian ruscus and privet berries for a little texture. Jelena recommended I go the day before so they have a full day to sit in water and shade, however, the morning of seemed to work fine too.

For the party setup I knew we would be outside but I had no idea it would be so hot in March! So I made sure to keep the beverages simple—champagne and rosé, served over lots of ice if you’re like me! To make snacking easier during the class, I made individual trio appertivo bowls: olives, truffled marcona almonds and chips for each guest. I also made individual crudités coupes with a dollop or two of tzatziki so it would be easier for everyone to socialize!

Jelena had us all choose stems from my selections, so the guests could “go shopping” for blooms if you will! We each got our own opportunity to create an arrangment following her lead and it was really helpful to better understand the general mechanics I have been missing. Perhaps I need a photography lesson next!?

After our stunning arrangements were complete we sat down for dinner à la Arthur around Jelena’s stunning demo arrangement. We sipped rosé and caught up, while enjoying Arthur’s famous crab cakes and potato au gratin. By then the sun had moved over just enough for my lovely murano table lamps to glow. After everyone left Parker came home just in time to enjoy the cake I forgot to serve, proving it a perfect evening for everyone. xx

Shop the Party

(all linked here)

A good friend’s wedding brought both Arthur and I to New Orleans for the very first time I couldn’t have been more excited; planning this trip (and all trips) is always half the fun. Whenever I’m looking for somewhere to stay I ask myself two questions;

1. How close is it to all the places I’ve pinned on my saved google map (which, yes, I do for every city I travel)?

2. Will it instantly transport me to the place I’m in?

New Orleans has quite a long list of asethetically pleasing boutique hotels, see my full list at the bottom, and despite the relatively reasonably Four Seasons (in comparison to most other cities) I truly enjoyed my search for something special and for lack of a better word, southern?

To be clear, I have absolutely no ties to the American South, being born and raised in Chicago and having spent my entire adulthood in Los Angeles, I am a tride and true city girl. I have been to Austin, Texas once for a bachlorette party (who hasn’t) and Charleston for a weekend with my sister, again, obviously. So what I consider “southern” perhaps just means historical and charming.

And that The Celestine was just that.

The Celestine was the only hotel I could truly find that did that for me. Particulary for it's old world charm and Spanish, French and Afro-Carribean aesthetic and spectacular courtyard. The former French Quarter mansion has played host to many notable people, such as Antoine Amedee Peychaud, the inventor of the famous Sazerac cocktail and Peychaud bitters, and his wife Celestine, who inspired the property's current name. It was also thought to be place Tennessee Williams wrote A Streetcar Named Desire, while the property served as the famed Hotel Maison De Ville.

And I am so happy for my choice because once I entered into the former French Quarter mansion I quite literally forget about the bevy of cheesy daiquri bars and drunk tourists on neighoboring Bourbon Street. We truly felt like residents upon entry into a elegant foyer with a bold mural-like wallpaper on one side and an animal print staircase on the other.

I had originally had my eye on the Henrietta Suite but it wasn’t available for our time there so we found a very similar design in Room number 3, a Toulouse King (with balcony). The four poster bed, Spanish style iron wrought balcony and preserved iron-adorned fireplaces instantly inpsired all kinds of excitement that any noise couldn’t compete with.

With only 14 rooms, a central courtyard and cozy bar, we really didn't hear much at night from our room if I am being honest. But perhaps I am just wired differently since having a child and can quite literally sleep through any noise that's not my responsibility to attend to!

Regardless we loved our room facing Toulouse Ave and particulary the light that poured in each morning, making our coffees together on the balcony and in the courtyard extra special. I truly loved everything about our stay and would head back in a heartbeat!

Other Hotels I Considered in New Orleans

(and why I didn’t choose them)

Maison Metier // I really wanted to book this hotel, beacuase it’s super chic; some historic elements but luxuriously designed by Studio Shamshiri and I loved the lounge SalonSalon so much that I came back the next day to see it in the light. An amazing breakfast room but the guest rooms themselves seemed to lack the maximalist design I loved in every other space. And being located in the warehouse district would be too sobering next to the French Quarter or Garden District, both of which were just oozing southern charm!

Hotel Saint Vincent // The grounds and location of this hotel are hard to beat but again I could not get past the guest rooms. With dark gray/blue painted walls and a stark, funky coral pattern in the bathrooms I just couldn’t sign on. Again, the most beautiful bar that unbeknownst to me had been sitting on my inspo board for quite some time so I paid a nice visit and moved on.

Hotel Peter and Paul // Arguably the most design forward hotel in the city, I would have loved to stay here but being in the Marigny neighborhood would have been too far from where we needed to be for the wedding. But I am so happy we had a chance to walk there from The French Quarter and sit for a little aperitf at The Elysian Bar, which was incredible. Formerly a Catholic Schoolhouse and Church, the natural colors of the original structure are only enhanced by the design which felt almost Provençal in all the best ways!

No. 1 // This set of Murano glass table lamps I purchased without the cord so I can use them on tablescapes and will use battery powered light bulbs. I love the vintage look and I want them in every color!!

No. 2 // I saw this ”a place of wonder” straw bag from the mini shop at Passalacqua on our way out and immediately regretted not purchasing so I had them ship it to my house at the end of our trip! Unfortunately this one isn’t available on Sense of Lake but a lot of other wonderful shop items are that have been created just for the gift shops at both Passalacqua and their sister property, Grand Hotel Tremezzo.

No. 3 // Ginori coffee saucer plate, also a bread plate size, I was able to snag the last one at Rinascente Milano in the vermiglio colorway which I STILL CANNOT BELIEVE THEY ARE DISCONTINUING!

No. 4 // colorful champagne coupes from Anna + Ninathat I first found Rinascente in orange and blue and then couldn’t help but complete the set!

To preface this conversation…

These tips are from my own experience, including this last supper on our trip to Italy in the most beautiful of places in Verona, Ponte Pietra. This is not intended as parenting advice, just things that have helped us along the way. Whatever you choose is always best for your kid!

I believe that restaurants are not designed for children and I wouldn’t want to go to a restaurant designed for them either! We bring him because we want to go and are always weighing the risk/benefit of doing so, hence why I didn’t over book reservations this time, despite my ABSOLUTE LOVE for a strong vacation itinerary! Of course Parker has his moments, he literally flipped a stroller at the Ritz and we had to leave before our long awaited tea reservation so please don’t be fooled, even kids with the best of temperaments are still KIDS!

Tip No. 1 Manage expectations

Have an exit plan, whether it’s a walk outside, ipad, or requesting the check right after you order to get out easy, make a plan and trust your gut. If they scream try not to reinforce the behavior by overreacting but instead let them know they are inside and need to use their inside voice and offer a new activity.

Tip No. 2 Request the highchair in advance

Put in the dinner reservation note that you will need a highchair or booster and/or space for the stroller. This will help smooth the process when you arrive by letting the restaurant prepare a good spot for you hopefully with more space, an available highchair that’s clean and perhaps a location that’s say, more kid friendly?

Tip No. 3 Pack a restaurant bag

Filled with toys, books and coloring sheets. Make this a special bag only for restaurants so they are excited! Maybe they can even pick one of the toys just for this bag. Screens are also great in a pinch but I try to hold off for as long as possible so he can participate with us and take in more of the value in being at a restaurant before we defer to the iPad to avoid a meltdown!

Tip No. 4 Go early!

Around 5pm fits with most kids typical mealtime and restaurants tend to be less busy and more kid friendly given nobody aside from other families dine that early! They are also easier reservations to snag so it’s a win win for everyone.

Tip No. 5 Plan their meal

Whether you bring food or order it there plan the meal out to coordinate with yours so they are incentivized to wait for dessert or stay seated. If you have an appetizer before an entree, make sure they do as well! And don’t hesitate to make special requests that you know will work, for example butter noodles or grilled chicken, even if it’s not on the menu. Try to order things your kid is more likely to try so they get to feel a part of it!

Tip No. 6 Curiosity that’s safe

Whether it’s letting him take a sip from a real water glass, play with a napkin, look at the menu, or even grabing real silverware (we ask for a seafood fork) let them explore as much as possible. We can also try to position him with the best people watching view as he finds everyone else much more entertaining than his toys or a screen.

Tip No. 7 Consistency is key

If you go to restaurants often, your kid will likely become more comfortable going. And you can also prep them for the experience by talking about it beforehand, for example: “did you know they will have yummy pasta to try and I’m bringing a new coloring sheet for you to try?” Half the fun is always the anticipation!

Tip No. 8 Interact

Talk to them about what’s going on and what they think. Offer them to try your food or ask questions about what they are observing. Praise the little things they do, even something as simple as using a fork, even if they have mastered it at home, this is a new and often overwhelming environment for them!

It’s also perfectly okay to go without your kids and enjoy your hard earned time in peace! Your kids won’t be missing out by leaving them at home but you might by taking them with you!

Trust your instinct!

Sincerely,

Monica, xx

Restaurant and Outfit Linked Here.