sunglasses. top. pants (no longer being sold by Zara).
I’ve written and re-written this post too many times over the last two years. I didn’t wake up one day and decide that I would leave my blog with a love letter to a Lush body scrub. I never knew what to say. I kept paying for the domain. I kept putting it on my resume. But slowly, the fashion blog I so badly yearned for in my teens faded and faded away. I used to post every single day, then once every other day, which slowly shrunk down to once a week, once a month… and once every two years.
I started this blog at the ripe old age of eighteen. We followed Facebook pages, X was Twitter, and TikTok was a Ke$ha song I first heard in eighth grade. I wanted to be the next Courtney Shields, Dani Austin, or Rach Parcell. I wanted to take over the fashion writing world. I joined every Facebook group for bloggers, signed up for all the side-hustle newsletters, hopped on the daily follow trains.
The social media landscape has changed immensely since then. Not many people read blogs anymore. They’re looking for the next Charli D’Amelio, the cute girl popping up on your feed to show you a fun dance or the best way to wear a claw clip. So, I went all in: I did all the viral trends, honed my photography and video skills, and became an expert at Reels and TikTok transitions. I put all my energy into an algorithm no one really understands.
Don’t get me wrong - I LOVE social media. I love a challenge! Putting together visually appealing content to grow my audience and brands gives me a high I can’t really explain. I’m incredibly proud of the skillset I’ve developed - I’m actively working on turning social media management into a career for me. But over the past two years, I lost sight of my first love: writing.
I watched the movie Set It Up recently. Zoey Deutch’s character is a writer who doesn’t write. She keeps talking about this article she would write if only she were given the chance, if she wasn’t so exhausted all the time, if someone actually believed in her - until her quirky sidekick of a roommate gives her a wakeup call that apparently I needed to hear too: you need to write the worst article ever to get the best first draft.
my very first OOTD, circa 2016. my favorite part is the American Girl dolls in the background.
I’ve always struggled with not feeling good enough, in work and in life. Over the past few years, I’ve realized just how much my perfectionism has actively hurt me. What I once thought was a superpower holding me to my highest standards slowly turned into a demon on my shoulder. If it’s not good enough - a makeup video, an outfit post - I freeze up. My brain shuts down. I compare myself to the Ash Levis and MJ Heddermans of the Internet, forgetting that sometimes you have to post the worst video to make the best video. So, I didn’t post on my blog for two years. Two! Years! That’s a whole Senate term!
Each time I sat down to make my grand return to the blogosphere, I cringed at what I wrote. My excuses, my aspirational plans for the comeback that I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up. I told myself that no one cared about the words I had to say. I forgot that I cared about the words I had to say.
Going back to that ever-changing digital landscape - no one really types URLs into that little bar anymore. I’ve always loved email newsletters, and it looks like the world is falling in love with them again. So here’s my comeback tour: I’m forcing myself to write again. I’m ignoring the voices in my head that tell me I’m not good at what I do. And as I update this website, I’ll also be sending out all my musings via Substack!
Exciting? Yes. Scary? Hell yeah! But I’ve been trying to do more things that scare me. It would mean so much to me if you joined my journey over on Substack, but regardless, I’m so thankful that you’re here reading my words. I’m excited to keep putting myself out there. I promise it won’t be another two years.
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