Shopping used to feel like flirting; now it’s starting to feel like small talk.

Nothing costs more than looking unimpressed.

The word iconic once implied consensus achieved over decades; now it’s shorthand for whatever dominated the feed last Thursday.

Some people wake up and get dressed for the weather. I get dressed for the internal climate.

The new luxury doesn’t explain itself. It doesn’t even introduce itself. It just exists—minimal, ambiguous, perfectly expensive.

The Met Gala made it obvious: female contemporary artists are completely left out of the picture.

Not everything needs to make sense. But it should make you look twice.

What used to signal rebellion now reads more like resignation. Cool has become passive.

It’s prestige disguised as restraint. Scarcity wrapped in craftsmanship. The kind of object that carries meaning far beyond its material