I have been an adult for coming on eighteen years so I feel like my body has had plenty of time to settle in and be what it is. I’ve be fortunate to not have any surgeries, significant illnesses, or put my body through childbirth – unless my own nearly 36 years ago counts? It doesn’t.

When someone asks me what fashion or style mistakes I’ve made in the past, I usually comment on wishing I bought things I didn’t – especially in this flexible retail world of doing a simple return if one changes their mind – instead of buying something. I do, however feel regret for things I have worn.

My a-type personality has proven helpful in many ways. I can colour sort three racks of clothing with oodles of garments faster than I can make a grilled cheese. My template building skills should warrant another side hustle. And former roommates have told me after living with me at first it’s a bit like living in a beautiful prison, but all of the order and systems and organizing start to feel like home after a while.

It’s not often that I find myself at a loss for words. Maybe it’s the looming autumn, perhaps work is taking a giant share of my mental load, or maybe I’m entering a new phase of this pandemic. All could be true at the same time. More simply put, I don’t have something succinct to share with y’all.

I can’t help it. For seventeen years straight I went to school every fall. While there are some years before school and certainly many more since graduating university, I still have the urge to shop. For back to school everything.

Full disclosure: what I’m about to bumble on about could be considered a textbook first world problem. That said, I’ve heard writers say – and movies and books about writing – that one will have the best success in coming across more authentic if you write about what you know.

I love winter, I do. That said, a few days into this ultra-cold snap and all I can think about I how delicious it would be to slip into a bathing suit, walk along a sandy beach, and jump into the ocean.

It’s a bundle of excitement around here as I’m deep into preparation for my first, at home pop-up shop. It’s been a tizzy getting everything ready and as per usual I’m sweating a bit crossing off the seemingly insurmountable list of to-do’s while also taking sweet, delectable joy in the work along the way.

Do you ever catch yourself imagining a special trip for a special reason? Although you have never been to this particular place within a destination or the reality of actually going seems slim, do you fantasize about it anyway? That’s my current major crush situation with New York Fashion Week (NYFW).

Something I have struggled with but haven’t identified fully, until just now is my trouble with packing for a visit to my hometown. As I prepare to whip a bag together for a quick weekend trip I am at a bit of a loss on what I’ll pack.

When it comes to romantic relationships I’m at a bit of a loss. Since I was a young kid I questioned a lot of the traditions and norms set before me. Especially when it came to heterosexual romance. Sophisticated queries like, “But, like, why?” tumbled from my mouth at an annoying pace. This is the reality of someone who doesn’t get it.

It’s confession time. It’s not so much a secret as more of an oddity. My stomach is a bit in knots because I feel a bit like a traitor. See, these days, I’ve been rocking underwear that I didn’t get at a ladies store. Nah. I’m wearing the tight white variety that I purchased in the men’s section.