Greta Thunberg v. the Trolly Problem (November 17, 2025)

Not sure what inspired this idea, but I stand by my curiosity on what she would say. Maybe she wouldn’t even touch the lever, but instead beg the question of why the trolley exists at all. And suddenly, what might feel like a neat philosophical exercise becomes an emblem of structural failure.

Or something like that, I don’t know. I wish I could ask her. I love you, Greta!

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The beat drop in the gym right now is, “Everybody’s someone in LA” (February 27, 2025)

I wrote this at the gym the day I forgot my headphones at home, which any gym-goer knows is a twisted, conniving degree of torture. For those unfamiliar, gym music is usually some iteration of techno with lyrics that are either incredibly general or far too specific — same vein as reality-show soundtracks. “Everybody’s someone in LA” to a dubstep instrumental at 8 am in my local gym was the most LA-piece-of-s**t moment I’ve had living in LA thus far.

Called his mom a b***h and said he wouldn’t cry at her funeral… do I still go for it (September 12, 2022)

Wowwwww, tough to read back! This was from when I was interested in a guy who I deemed “a bad boy” who was so clearly just an a**hole. If you think I’m exaggerating, his exact line was, “My mom is a b***h and I won’t cry at her funeral.” Little room for interpretation; hard to save. And so naturally I thought: OMG, he’s perfect. He’s pushing up against authority! My very own anarchist. But 2022 was crazy for everyone, right?

“Lox” is salmon’s drag name (May 4, 2026)

This is a special feature from my best friend, Ava. She declared this the other day on FaceTime, and she’s completely right. Would love to see Lox perform. Smokin’, probably. Get it.

Mom and I are at Pirates of the Caribbean and she just hit me with, “I wonder if Jonathan Beauregard Depp is here” (October 5, 2025)

My mom is the biggest Disney fan I’ve ever known. She always insists we hit the road at 6 am to make it to the rope-drop, she knows where all the secret bathrooms are after years of memorizing the layout of Anaheim Disney, and we have a collection of cut-outs of our profiles from that one little boutique towards the entrance of the park. With these adventures comes my mom’s many joyous one-liners, such as this one, in reference to the time Johnny Depp was actually in the Pirates of the Caribbean ride for fun, replacing the animatronic replica of his character in the movie. As a side, I’m almost positive Depp’s middle name isn’t Beauregard, but it should be; rolls off the tongue.

Read along to get a glimpse into my creative process designing fashion for the upcoming year. Enjoy!

Fall-Winter 2026/27

I’m into: muted blues, patterned tights, lace work, silver jewelry

This baggier look has a drawstring sleeve, creating a bulbous arm. I’m interested in the shape of this dress resembling an orchid before blooming, something bud-like amidst lively transition. A baddie mom wears this to a darkly lit dinner in Manhattan, styled with MM6 tabi boots that hit slightly below the knee, dramatic silvery jewelry, and her bangs slicked to her forehead with the rest voluminous and flowing down her back. Buy that girl a drink!

I’m into: low-waistlines, pops of teal blue with predominantly warmer colors, sheer fabrics

This look features a low waist before sheer panelling to the mid-calves. Styled with silver cuffs (anklets, bangles, hoops), teal peak-a-boos, and a blow out, this look is fabulous for a post-beach dinner with the girls. Hello! Styled down in flip flops and a loose bun, this silhouette is perfect for a book by the pool — and she’s likely reading a dog-eared copy of My Year of Rest and Relaxation. Don’t mess with her.

Spring-Summer 2027

I’m into: plaid, deep purple with olive green, heavy necklace stacks

The basic pattern for this dress includes a low-neckline, low-waistline, and a thin-classic strap — this is likely also open-back. Both variations are reminiscent of Vivienne Westwood’s print-use and color-scheme in the Autumn / Winter 2026/27 collection. When styled with royal blue bead work, patterned kerchiefs woven through the hair or around the arm, and a massive mink (faux, of course), this look will turn heads in Manhattan’s hottest spots.

I’m into: pops of red and pink, front-ties, bodice lace work, hand-sewn fabric detailing

This short summer dress features hand-sewn lace detailing above the breast and at the bottom hem trailing up towards the waist. With a red lip and a chic boot, this twenty-something is ready to turn heads and steal your girl. Werk!

Thanks for tagging along for my creative process! Peace babes. Wage love.

Based on the show Sex and the City, this column is about my dating life. So personal, I know. I contemplated staying anonymous, but on a more serious note, I think we as women need to work together to destigmatize discussing hookup and dating culture — what works, what doesn’t, why we deserve better, and how we can help one another out. The world often puts us down for how we engage with relationships and sexual expression, and I’m done with it. So we’ll talk dates, shoes and sex (gender, I mean. I’m not about to air it all out on Substack). Anywhom. Happy reading!

My sweet mother Erika sat me down the other day and informed me that, according to some doctor she follows, there are four steps to a healthy mind and body: fish oil, turmeric, walking, and not listening to everything your brain tells you (curveball on the last one — like great, sounds like I’ll never be healthy!).

This checklist got me thinking: with clear regimens to keep us physically well, is there an equivalent protocol we can follow to keep our relationships healthy, too? Something methodical we can follow to ensure staying safe from emotional harm, maybe something as simple as a couple omega-3 capsules and a daily jaunt through the park? Or is each romantic pursuit a complete gamble that could leave us shattered at any moment, no matter what we do?

Let’s analyze a case study: my freshman year winter fling. Deep breath!

It was mid-January at that uncomfortable time of day — the horrifying, existential stretch between 3 and 5 pm — and yet, I was completely content. I was cuddled up with the guy I was seeing, laughing at “Family Guy” and eating grapes like royalty; I do believe the Sunday scaries are best met with fruit and the insensitivity of one Peter Griffin. It was the perfect afternoon, at the end of a perfect first month with this guy who was now holding me. We’ll call him Petey.

But of course, I decided to ruin the moment by bringing up the one topic that can single-handedly derail any remotely enjoyable dating experience: the future. Expect nothing after acknowledging it, apparently!

“So, um, what do you want out of this?”

Petey paused the TV and peeled his arm off my shoulder. He looked ahead at the frozen frame of Stewie and Brian slow-dancing in black-tie. I remember thinking it was us (I, of course, was Stewie: the unsettling, vocal baby in a pink gown), which cast a humorous shadow over what was about to be the end of something that could have been great.

“I’m not ready for anything serious,” he said, almost bothered. I informed him that I agree, even though I don’t think I did. Like, at all. Despite this, I told him honestly that my biggest concern was that I’d “eventually” develop deeper feelings while he remained emotionally unavailable.

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The question became: how could we continue seeing each other in a way that guaranteed I wouldn’t get hurt, and he wouldn’t inadvertently hurt me? We brainstormed for a while. We asked ChatGPT, before it was common knowledge that it’s killing our environment. I texted my mom, who always has the answer and is rarely speechless. But she quickly responded with, “That’s tricky,” and left it at that.

Petey and I sat there nodding in silence until we decided to pivot the conversation to Reels (specifically the ones about obscure methods of exercise popular among middle-aged white women).

Despite never deciding how to continue seeing each other in an emotionally durable manner, I realized that having that brutally honest conversation about our individual wants and emotional availability was actually the first step towards protecting myself from getting hurt — the fish oil, if you will. Each person clearly disclosing how they’re feeling — even if the only feeling one can identify is confusion or uncertainty — is essential to staying emotionally healthy.

In a 1998 study by Jean-Philippe Laurenceau on “intimacy as an interpersonal process,” researchers found that genuine intimacy between partners emerges through mutual self-disclosure, which reduces ambiguity and clarifies each partner’s expectations, intentions, and feelings. While this honesty doesn’t guarantee a lasting relationship or prevent hurt, it makes the dynamic easier to name and navigate, even when the outcome remains uncertain, as it was for Petey and me.

One thing led to another, and we ultimately went our separate ways. I was pretty distraught for a stretch there. Showering was hell: I would listen to “Cigarettes After Sex” in the last stall of the dorm showers and wail in utter despair — I’m sure I was a nightmare floor-mate, my God. Running into him on campus — thrice in the two days directly following our “break-up,” I might add — was an entirely different level of intense.

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All of this to say, despite taking the precaution of openly discussing our feelings with one another, we both still ended up getting hurt by the circumstances of our involvement (me more so than him. What fun).

With this, maybe my mom’s claim to health only applies to the body; maybe romantic relationships are just a shot in the dark, no matter what you do.

But then I did more thinking: fish oil and walking improve health; they don’t ward off illness. Taking my mother’s suggested precautions would likely better physical health, so that if I was to contract something more serious, my baseline health would help combat it. Perhaps this idea can be similarly applied to romantic excursions.

Staying healthy in a relationship may not mean preventing getting hurt. Maybe “healthy” is learning to build up our baselines — our relationships with ourselves and our closest friends — so that when we inevitably do get hurt, we are able to bounce back with the help of our appreciation for ourselves, our friends, and our already-satisfying lives.

In the classic 1985 buffering model by Sheldon Cohen and Thomas A. Willis, researchers found that friendships and support systems reduce the psychological impact of stressors like breakups or even physical ailments. Research by George Bonanno shows a similar idea in which social resources and the continuity of everyday life domains — work, routine, and relationships (platonic, in this case) — are vital components that support resilience from a loss of varying degrees (like a relationship ending, a death, etc.). My personal theory is that investing in activities you adore also yields that same resilience, in addition to Bonanno’s findings.

So while there may not be a clear checklist we can follow to prevent hurt in relationships and in life, investing time in ourselves — spending time with the girls, honing in on a class you love, reading the “Harry Potter” series for the eighth time because you love it — ensures stronger resilience and stability.

As for Petey and me, it’s gone with the wind, girls. He was nice for sure. But enough of that — I’m off to invest in my baseline at the Free People at Century City.

Peace babes. Wage love.

Men put on nice coats and go out for coffee at 2 pm on Mondays here (March 24, 2025)

I was in Paris on spring break my freshman year of college, and my love life was in complete shambles. I had just been broken up with (and booked the flight to Paris out of misery and despair — my finances obviously took a hit, as well). I believe this note had been written with the intention of both insulting American men and also declaring my utter disbelief in such openly “frivolous” behavior from men. How beautiful it was, I thought, for a man to be able to do nothing with his day but meet his equally stylish and dapper friends for a matinée brunch. In America, you’d be called gay, because for some reason we’ve decided that’s an insult. But maybe they’re also homophobic in Paris. I don’t know.

My ear hasn’t popped for four days is that ok (March 31, 2025)

This was after I got off the plane from that same Paris trip. I learned that, yes, it’s “ok” for your ears to take a while popping after a long flight, but I also learned my ears were actually clogged with mucus from a later-diagnosed severe case of mono, RSV, and the flu. Paris: You did me dirty, but I love you despite it all.

I’m seeing this guy going to UCLA tonight, should I put in a good word for you? (May 13, 2024)

I certainly believed I was texting someone. Nope, hun, that’s your Notes app, and you’re on frat row. Freshman year was fabulous in such a skewed and horrible way.

Everything is fine (Aug 27, 2023)

When I wrote this, I was actively getting my heart broken. Probably. Well, to be honest, I don’t remember. In high school, I felt like I was getting my heart broken every five minutes, so it would make sense if that were the context. Some say I was dramatic, others say I was emotionally attuned and ever so wise (no one said that).

Band names with Mom: Maxi and the Pads, Julie and the Merkins, Hamster LLC, We Are Apples (Nov 18, 2023)

My mom and I went on a college-touring road trip filled with forest diners and countless NYT games. As we drove up the West Coast to visit the University of Oregon, we decided to come up with band names, which started after my mom expressed great distress at the band name “Tame Impala.” “Okay, give me one that’s better,” I urged, which, in hindsight, had the same tone as a middle school boy forcing a girl to name three Drake songs to see if she’s “worthy of love.” Mom looked at me with a straight face and pronounced, “Polly Purebred and the Hydrants.” And so it began.

Based on the show Sex and the City, this column is about my dating life. So personal, I know. I contemplated staying anonymous, but on a more serious note, I think we as women need to work together to destigmatize discussing hookup and dating culture — what works, what doesn’t, why we deserve better, and how we can help one another out. The world often puts us down for how we engage with relationships and sexual expression, and I’m done with it. So we’ll talk dates, shoes and sex (gender, I mean. I’m not about to air it all out on Substack). Anywhom. Happy reading!

The other day, one of my close UCLA friends, whom we’ll call Gabby, called me with an update on her latest man (Grant will be his pseudonym). When I picked up the phone to the sound of my custom 2011 Pretty Little Liars ringtone, Gabby was fuming. Apparently, Grant had attempted a compliment and brutally missed the mark: he said something along the lines of, “Thank God you’re not the prettiest girl at UCLA. I don’t want a Hollywood actress.” So close but yet so incredibly far, Grant!

When we ended the call, I began thinking (and so did Gabby; she ended things with Grant two hours after our call). Obviously, Grant’s comment was in incredibly poor taste: the guy clearly needs to reassess — hit a retreat, maybe. But beyond Grant’s obvious need for a talking circle and some incense, I couldn’t help but wonder: how does men’s exceptionalization of women — the act of assigning value to those who “aren’t like the rest” — affect women’s understanding of our self-worth?

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I once went on a sushi date with a curly-haired surfer whom we’ll call Bryan. Midway through lunch, he leaned back and said with great triumph and a grin full of rice, “You’re actually so chill. You don’t seem high-maintenance like most girls.” Breath-taking compliment, Bryan. He gave me an approving nod — the kind you give a first grader who stays quiet through math and earns a gold star on the way out to recess.

At first, I felt incredible: he liked me. “You’re sweet,” I blushed. “Yeah, I try to stay pretty level.” (Right….)

But as I sat there in this knock-off Pacific Catch with a man who thought ordering albacore tuna made him cultured, I realized his compliment was not really a compliment at all. I fiddled with my gold-silver ring stack and zoned out, his bleach-blonde coils going blurry.

There were two key issues with Bryan’s understanding of a compliment. First, he was seemingly amazed at enjoying a woman’s company (“You’re actually really chill”), and second, the pleasurability of that company appeared to be contingent on how palatable he found me based on patriarchal standards of femininity (“You’re actually really chill”).

After revisiting one of my favorite movies this past week, it occurred to me that “chill” is just a modern synonym for “Gone Girl”’s (2014) definition of the “cool girl.” Played by the ever-fabulous Rosamund Pike, Amy Dunne explains in the Cool Girl Monologue that “cool girls” are the women who men deem palatable, securing this validation by minimizing their needs, muting their emotions, and molding themselves into what men find easiest to love (beer and blowjobs, according to Amy).

With this in mind, Bryan’s interest in me no longer felt flattering, but more conditional — as if at any moment I could regress into the category of “most girls” that this random surfer had already decided was lesser-than, all dependent on whether I could maintain a go-with-the-flow energy.

Meanwhile, I’m human: I agonize over my writing; I’m particular, even demanding, when I want a dinner party to go well; I’m beyond passionate about Meryl Streep and will cry at the mention of her performance in “Doubt” (2008); and I delve into researching the history of fashion, pop-culture, and feminism each night. What about any of that is “chill”?

The waiter dropped the check, Bryan graciously insisted we split it despite having ordered his own bottle of sake, and we went our separate ways. A real catch! (Fish pun.) Hope you’re “chilling” out there, Bryan.

The most insidious thing about all of this — the offhanded remarks, the backhanded praise, the quiet reward for being “different” — is how easily it alters how many women, myself included, filter ourselves in the presence of men, whether or not their offense is intentional.

Research on gender norms in heterosexual relationships shows that women are often socially compensated for being accommodating and emotionally restrained, even though that suppression is linked to higher stress levels and lower psychological well-being. In essence, we are rewarded for shutting the f**k up.

And consequently, sometimes we do, hence my “chill” response to Bryan’s prejudiced remark.

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In short, to feel and express is not to be a “cool girl,” and “chill” seems to embody the same covert misogynistic rhetoric. Thus, maybe being “chill” was never a compliment in the first place; I’d rather find myself intriguing and authentic than a man find me even remotely palatable.

And the more I think about it, the less palatable I want to be: I want to be incomprehensible and unpolished. I want to express my opinions, be inconvenient, change my mind mid-conversation.

To put it plainly, I want to be the kind of free that I can only sheepishly express as Anthropologie-fall-ad-core (bear with me): running around barefoot in a wheat field or something with neon toenail polish and a feather boa, maybe a cartwheel out of nowhere that leaves everyone confused, I don’t know. “Permission to play” vibe. You get it; I’m not concerned.

All jokes aside, the crux of it is that we must recognize we are special because of who we are and the passion we express (blah blah, I know, but really think on it), not because we fit some skewed idea of what a woman should be in comparison to another. If a guy — romantic, friend, or other — can’t see that? I’m convinced that’s a him problem, and we just need to curb ‘em the Gabby way.

Peace babes. Wage love.

Based on the show Sex and the City, this column is about my dating life. So personal, I know. I contemplated staying anonymous, but on a more serious note, I think we as women need to work together to destigmatize discussing hookup and dating culture — what works, what doesn’t, why we deserve better, and how we can help one another out. The world often puts us down for how we engage with relationships and sexual expression, and I’m done with it. So we’ll talk dates, shoes and sex (gender, I mean. I’m not about to air it all out on Substack). Anywhom. Happy reading!

Last winter quarter, I was spending time with a guy from UCLA who listened to Massive Attack, wore silver rings on every finger and fashioned Timberlands, no matter the occasion. He sported wired earbuds and walked around campus with purpose and not a single care in the world — he was like the human embodiment of an A24 movie scored by Ecco2k and Thaiboy Digital.

I, with my ballet flats and long-standing belief that a well-timed cigarette with a red lip is feminist, saw him and decided we needed to know each other. Despite our polar-opposite aesthetics — my New York chic and his Silver Lake alternative — we spent a ton of time together.

They say opposites attract, and Mr. Massive Attack proved they do, but the question isn’t just whether sparks fly; it’s what those sparks teach you about yourself and what you actually need in a partner.

Which brings me to the inevitable question: can opposites actually last?

Sorry, girl — science says probably not. In a 2017 study from Wellesley College and the University of Kansas, research suggests couples who share similar values, interests and personality traits are significantly more likely to report long-term relationship satisfaction. The study found that while initial attraction often occurs between contrasting people, long-term compatibility is correlated with shared core values and lifestyle preferences. In other words, differences can spark initial attraction, but shared characteristics are what sustain longer-term relationships.

So no one’s surprised when I say it didn’t last with Mr. MA, which was disappointing because I loved dishing my limited knowledge about cloud rap whenever I felt him getting distant. “Yeah, and like, Bladee and everything.” While we never explicitly discussed it, I believe the chasm between our worlds was likely the primary reason we didn’t work out. Exhibit A: the grapevine tells me he is now in a long-term relationship with someone who probably also listens to Massive Attack.

It’s possible that in blaming it all on our different worlds, I’m gliding past the fact that maybe it was something else that separated us: where we were in our lives, what we wanted, who we wanted to become. But then I look at my other encounters with people who are my opposites, and the trend is there.

One time, I dated this guy who worked in sales — an aspiring model in Westwood who believed in optimizing his REM cycles. He spoke in startup jargon and logged his skincare on Google Sheets each night without fail — him and Medicube were tight, you guys, I’m serious. For the first week, I found this organization admirable. But then the spell wore off, and I realized I was scheduling time with him through Google Calendar invites titled “Vibe Check, Time with Woman.” Our schedules never aligned, and our routines felt incompatible. Also, don’t call me “woman.”

Then there was this graduate with great hair and an appetite for spontaneous adventure. On our drive up the coast one afternoon, he claimed he didn’t “like to commit to anything,” including relationships, because “what is time, even?” I thought it was poetic and free-willing until I realized that his “plan to get a job” had been in the works for upwards of three years, and that his interpretation of time was more of an excuse than a paradigm. Our goals didn’t match, so it was unsustainable.

Vogue columnist Eileen Kelly wrote, “There’s a line between intriguing difference and fundamental incompatibility,” and I think she is absolutely right. When we connect with someone who shares our interests and values, it feels safe. But often those relationships can be stagnant, offering little room for a growth in our knowledge of what we like and what we don’t. It’s the differences — the things we don’t immediately understand about each other — that open the door to new perspectives.

But let’s not just run with it. A touch of novelty can certainly broaden our world, but significant differences in daily routine and core values can have an overwhelming impact on long-term compatibility — I can only pretend to be invested in “how the quality of ingredients in CeraVe facewash is depreciating” for so long.

With that said, there still seems to be merit in spending time with people dissimilar to myself, despite the stark differences in our perceptions of the world. Even fleeting flings provide more than just a sad, ice-cream-filled afternoon the day it ends: they serve as mini case studies on perspective. Getting to know people who live in different worlds can force us to confront our own needs: what we cling to and what we might be able to let go of. In a 2022 study by the American Psychological Association, results show that couples who are from different cultural backgrounds come out of that relationship with an increased sense of self-awareness.

That’s not to say you should only mess around with preppy blue-bloods if you yourself wear clogs and only drink turmeric tea, for example (not bashing country-club goers or clogs, I love sailing and own a pair of Danskos). But there is something to be said for moving out of our comfort zones to encourage learning and growth, both in relationships and in life.

Peace babes. Wage love.