Sara

Author: Sarah

  • Why You Dress The Way You Do

    : The Psychology Behind Your Fashion Choices.

    Consider the morning ritual: a half-awake creature, one sock on, one sock missing, staring into a wardrobe that suddenly seems hostile in its abundance. Shirts that felt bold in the shop look clownish in daylight. Jeans betray their shrinking waistband conspiracy. Somewhere, a jumper smells faintly of last winter. This scene, repeated across bedrooms worldwide, is less about “outfits” and more about psychology in action.

    Exhibit A: Identity, or the mask we willingly wear

    Fashion theorists remind us that clothes are “the most public form of self-expression,” while psychologists whisper that they are also armour. A leather jacket does not merely cover the torso; it implies rebellion, or at least proximity to it. A neatly pressed shirt murmurs of order, competence, control. And the hoodie, beloved of students and freelancers, mutters: I would rather be comfortable than legible.

    Even “not caring” is, paradoxically, a choice. Research in social psychology confirms that rejecting norms (say, showing up to a business meeting in trainers) can signal power and confidence — provided you get the balance right. This is known as the “red sneakers effect” (Harvard Business School, 2014): breaking dress codes on purpose makes people assume you’re important enough not to care.

    Exhibit 2: Enclothed cognition

    In 2012, a study in the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology revealed something extraordinary: clothes don’t just change how others see us; they change how we see ourselves. Volunteers wearing a white coat described as a doctor’s performed better on attention tasks than those told it was a painter’s coat. Same fabric, different mind. The term for this is enclothed cognition — the theory that garments can alter our psychological state.

    Perhaps this is simply a fancy way to say, dress to the occasion. If you wear your pyjamas to that zoom meeting, you’re going to be tired, but if you wear the blazer to your meeting, confidence will follow. There’s a reason we feel good when we look good, use it to your advantage.

    Exhibit 3: The social mirror

    We dress not in solitude but against the reflective gaze of others. The funeral black, the interview blazer, the festival glitter — these are costumes for rituals, recognisable signals to the tribe. The anxiety of Freshers’ Week is less about fabric than about belonging. Fashion, in this sense, is language: silent but widely understood.

    Psychologist Adam Galinsky puts it this way: clothing carries “symbolic meaning” that the wearer absorbs. But it also broadcasts those meanings outward, into the judgments of strangers. One could argue we are all walking billboards, with messages too subtle or too obvious to ignore.

    Exhibit 4: Memory, emotion and the wardrobe Time Machine

    Clothes are archives. A scarf holds the scent of a person you miss. A dress recalls a party you’d give anything to re-live. This is why “clearing out” a wardrobe feels more like mourning than tidying. Psychologists link this to autobiographical memory cues — physical objects that store and trigger emotional recall. We keep the jumper not because it fits, but because it carries a version of us we’re not ready to discard.

    All the more reason to rewear outfits with these memory cues. It matters more that you feel as good as you did at your birthday party on a random Thursday night than if people will recognise the outfit on your Instagram and point it out. If they’re noticing what you’re wearing, it’s because you look happy in it because, and say it with me ladies, looking uncomfortable is not chic.

    The why of it all

    So, why do we dress the way we do? Because fabric is never just fabric. It is armour, costume, diary, billboard, talisman. It shapes how we think (enclothed cognition), how others see us (the red sneakers effect), and how we remember who we were.

    Tomorrow morning, as you face the wardrobe and its silent chorus of choices, know this: you are not just “getting dressed.” You are negotiating identity, memory, power, and belonging. And sometimes, yes, you are just trying to find the sock.

    xoxo Sara

  • Six Things That Instantly Make You Stylish

    The question of the day, what makes someone stylish? It’s a question that sparks endless debate in fashion circles and among everyday observers alike. Is it money, access to designer brands, or simply good taste? In truth, style has little to do with how much you spend or how closely you follow the runway. The people who turn heads on the street or stick in your mind after you meet them usually have one thing in common: a distinct point of view.

    Style isn’t about fitting into trends—it’s about cultivating a signature that feels lived-in, personal, and deeply intentional. It’s the difference between wearing clothes and owning them. And often, it comes down to small details rather than sweeping overhauls. Here are six things that, in an instant, can elevate someone’s look and make them appear effortlessly stylish.

    1. The Power of a Statement Piece

    Few things are more chic than outfit repetition—especially when it revolves around a single, bold item. Think of icons like Iris Apfel with her oversized glasses or even Carrie Bradshaw with her tutu. These aren’t passing trends; they’re fashion signatures. In a culture obsessed with constant novelty, the mantra “I don’t outfit repeat” has always rung hollow. Why wouldn’t you want to wear something you love over and over again? In fact, repetition is where true style emerges. To me, not repeating an outfit or only wearing an item once just tells people that you don’t like your own clothes all that much.

    Wearing a standout piece so often that it becomes associated with you—be it a fluffy bucket hat (like @amandaxquach on Instagram) , an embroidered jacket, or a pair of dramatic earrings—signals not only confidence but commitment. It tells the world: This is me. This is my style. That kind of consistency, far from being boring or cringy, creates a lasting impression in an instant.

    2. Jewellery That Tells Stories

    If clothes are practical, jewellery is purely emotional. It serves no functional purpose other than to decorate, and that’s what makes it powerful. The rings, chains, and earrings someone chooses are more than shiny accessories—they’re a window into who they are. Curated jewellery stacks, in particular, speak volumes. Each piece takes time to collect, and together they form a visual narrative that feels almost autobiographical. And while fast-fashion jewellery has its momentary appeal, nothing compares to pieces that last—those bought thoughtfully, worn often, and imbued with meaning over time.

    There’s also an alchemy in mixing metals. The ability to blend gold and silver without hesitation is its own kind of style statement, one that suggests both nonchalance and mastery. Humans, after all, are a little like crows: we are drawn to the beautiful, the shiny, the collectible. Jewellery plays into this instinct, elevating outfits not just visually but emotionally.

    In person and online, a jewellery stack is always eye catching and leaves a lasting impression on the people around you, so save up the money you would have spent on those 20 Urban Outfitter’s necklaces that only lasted two months and get something high quality and long lasting that actually speaks to you, and those around you.

    3. Bags With Character

    A bag is more than just a container or a carrier; its a part of your outfit and an expression of your personality. And the most stylish bags aren’t pristine displays from a shop window—they’re lived-in, customised, and loved.

    There’s a special charm in a bag that has been curated over time. A keychain picked up on holiday, a ribbon salvaged from packaging, or a charm repurposed from a broken necklace—these small, seemingly insignificant details accumulate into something that feels utterly personal. It’s the difference between a bag that anyone could buy and a bag that only you could carry.

    The best bags look like they’ve been through life with their owner—scuffed slightly, spilling with possessions, adorned with the odd trinket. They tell a story before the wearer says a word. That sense of individuality is what makes them so stylish.

    Wear your bag, don’t let it wear you.

    4. Hairstyles That Accessorise Themselves

    Hair accessories—be it barrettes, scrunchies, or headbands—bring a playful, intentional touch that suggests effort without overstatement. They’re also endlessly versatile. A tortoiseshell clip can lean classic, while a bright silk scarf feels whimsical and free-spirited.

    What these details communicate is attentiveness. They show that style extends beyond clothes into the way you present yourself from head to toe. And when hair is treated as another canvas for expression, it takes an outfit from good to unforgettable.

    Once again, style doesn’t require endless amounts of money. @linmick on Instagram elevates her outfits just by adding ribbons, clips and intentional small braids into her hair and it always looks incredible. Doing a slick back? Why not try parting your hair differently like in a zig zag? It really is that simple, and people will notice.

    5. Layers, Layers And More Layers

    Layering is fashion’s secret weapon. It introduces dimension, texture, and character to even the simplest clothes. A collared shirt beneath a jumper. A scarf draped casually over a coat. A blazer thrown over a hoodie. Each layer adds complexity, making the outfit more intriguing to look at.

    The best part? Layering is democratic—it requires no new purchases, just creativity. It’s about looking at your wardrobe with fresh eyes, experimenting with combinations, and embracing the happy accidents that occur when pieces interact in unexpected ways.

    Layering also conveys a sense of ease. When done well, it doesn’t look laboured—it looks as though someone simply knows how to dress. And that quiet confidence is one of the hallmarks of true style.

    6. The wrong Shoe (that’s actually the right one)

    Finally, let’s talk shoes. Footwear is often the anchor of an outfit, but the most stylish people know how to subvert that expectation. Enter: the wrong shoe theory.

    Like a sporty trainer with tailored trousers or loafers with joggers. We are all walking contradictions that truly don’t make sense. Use it. A T-shirt and jeans with a pair of Adidas Sambas is a good outfit, there’s nothing wrong with it, but there’s also nothing special about it. When you change those Sambas out for a pair of Kitten heels, maybe with an open or pointed toe, all of a sudden the outfit is elevated and chic and much more interesting to look at. Or you can go the other way, a relatively elevated outfit with tailored trousers and a button up top, but with leopard print trainers. If you can make juxtaposition work and look good, you are stylish.

    The Bottom Line

    Instant style isn’t about buying into every micro-trend or owning the latest luxury item. It’s about how you use what you already have—how you repeat, accessorise, layer, and play with contradictions until your clothes start to feel like an extension of yourself.

    Style is about having your own unique personality and using visual language to communicate that to other people. Live your truth and don’t be afraid to wear something a bit out there because the people around you don’t dress the same way or because people might judge you. Let them. People are always going to judge you, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. The most stylish thing you can do is be comfortable in what you’re wearing and the way you’re presenting yourself.

    Because at the end of the day, style isn’t just about looking good. It’s about being memorable.

  • For the freshers

    (Dispatch from the Front Lines of the First Year)

    The beginning is loud. Not in volume — though, yes, there will be music pounding through thin flat walls — but in texture. A hundred overlapping invitations, WhatsApp groups, welcome emails, and the whispered terror of making a wrong move before you’ve even unpacked your toothbrush.

    The university experience is marketed as a sprint: race to make friends, race to join societies, race to “make the most of Freshers’ Week” before the clock runs out. But like most races, it’s worth asking whether you actually want the medal.

    But as one seasoned survivor advises:

    “Don’t force yourself! You don’t need to go to EVERY event to make the most of freshers! Go to the ones you feel up to.”

    You will be told — repeatedly, and with a sort of manic cheer — that these are “the best years of your life.” This is partially true, but also a pressure cooker. Your best years do not expire at twenty-one, and if you spend Week One quietly finding the library rather than headlining the club circuit, the ghosts of university past will not haunt you.

    Friendship, for example, is not a speed sport. You might not “mesh with your flatmates” immediately (or ever), and that is not a tragedy. One respondent offered the quiet comfort of perspective:

    “You will always be able to find other people who you can go out with and find best of friends. Everything will work out… you don’t have to join them to enjoy your uni life. If first year wasn’t your favourite, don’t just quit — you will probably find your place in second year.”

    The first weeks will be strange. You are away from home, possibly for the first time, trying to assemble a new identity from IKEA furniture and a kettle you’re not sure belongs to you. There will be wobbles. There will also be small, startling proofs of your own resilience:

    “Whilst it’s such a scary feeling being away from home for the first time, it is also such an experience that teaches you a lot about yourself, your own strength and resilience. So when it feels rough, just keep going and keep sticking it out.”

    Practical wisdom also emerges from the pragmatic:

    “Jump into absolutely every opportunity you get! Make the most of everything. Build a super good routine early… it really helps in the colder months to have a habit. Never be afraid to ask for help.”

    The moral, if there must be one: Freshers’ Week is not an exam. You are not being graded on volume of events attended, number of people in your phone, or intensity of your enthusiasm. The task is not to “win” university. It is to find your own way through it — slowly, if you must — and to make space for all the unsolved, unfinished, unpolished parts of yourself.

    Or, in the words of those who have already crossed the starting line: take it slowly, keep showing up, and don’t forget to breathe.

    For those who prefer their advice in the less cryptic and poetic format, here’s a list of advice from me, and others who have survived the freshers battle.

    • I would advise you join at least one society, you’re gonna have more free time than you realise.
    • Don’t worry too much about putting yourself out there, if you’re staying in halls, a bored flatmate is bound to come knocking on your door at some point during freshers
    • take every opportunity, you won’t regret it
    • don’t be afraid to have a quiet night in, you will get ill if you don’t let yourself rest

    And finally:

    “Be careful, the woman outside Dorothy’s is actually a bloke.”

    And she’s kinda mean.

    xoxo Sara

  • What Rainer Maria Rilke Taught Me

    I didn’t meet Rainer Maria Rilke in a classroom. Not really. He didn’t arrive with footnotes or flashcards or a neatly formatted reading list. He showed up quietly, in a reading recommendation on Kindle. So I indulged.

    “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart
    and try to love the questions themselves.”

    I wasn’t looking for a life lesson that day. But there it was — gently radical, like most truths are.

    Rilke taught me that not knowing is not a failure. That living in the in-between — the ache, the stretch, the fuzziness of not-yet — is not only tolerable, but beautiful. Necessary, even.
    That’s a hard thing to accept when you’ve grown up craving clarity. When your search history reads like a crisis, when your heart aches for answers in neat bullet points. When your life feels like a draft you’re too scared to submit. But Rilke wasn’t interested in quick resolutions. He wrote with the slow grace of someone who understood that people are not puzzles to be solved. We are fields to be tended. He wasn’t promising comfort. He was offering permission.

    Permission to be without rush, to write without haste and to exist and feel in the now.

    “I want to beg you… as well as I can,
    to be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart…”

    It’s the “beg” that undoes me. The urgency in it. Like he knows how hard it is to be soft with yourself. Like he knew I’d read that line at 2 a.m., jaw clenched, wishing someone would just tell me what to do with myself.

    He taught me that solitude isn’t loneliness. That there’s a difference between being alone and being with yourself. And that “with” is the harder one to learn.

    He taught me that art doesn’t need to be loud. That feeling deeply doesn’t have to look dramatic. That your inner life — your questions, your longing, your quiet — is worth tending to even if no one claps for it. Above all, he taught me this:

    “The point is to live everything.
    Live the questions now.
    Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it,
    live along some distant day into the answer.”

    There’s no map. Just the walk. No answer key. Just the aching, luminous, bewildering now.

    And if I’m honest, that sometimes scares me. But at other times, it feels like a kind of grace.

    So I’m trying — slowly, imperfectly — to live the questions. To sit in the fog. To hold space for the not-knowing. To let life unfold without needing to narrate every twist and predict every plot. To be a little more like Rilke. And a little bit more like myself.

    Rilke’s writing is not a big flashy book on a shelf. When I found him, he was the only copy, small, beige, almost unnoticeable. It must have been fate or God or whatever you believe in, that saw I needed someone to teach me how to live slowly. To let questions sit and simmer. To let the answers come to me instead of chasing them.

    I don’t need to know right now what job I want after Uni. It will come to me.

    I don’t need to know right now where I want to live in the future. It will come to me.

    I don’t need to know anything right now other than where I am, who I am and what I am doing. It will all come to me.

    Thank you Rilke.

    xoxo Sara

  • Becoming Uncool (and Loving it Anyway)

    At some point — quietly, without ceremony — I became uncool.

    It happened slowly, the way plants grow when you’re not looking, or the way your handwriting changes over time. One day, I’m in year 11, posting the same filtered selfies as everyone else on Snapchat and Instagram, and the next I’m sat in my pyjamas, writing short commentaries on life, annotating books for the fun of it and journaling like some thirteen year old girl.

    I don’t know exactly when it happened. Maybe when I realised that the grasps for online attention my friends were posting were actually embarrassing. That I didn’t want to be like them. When I started finding more joy in writing for the four people I reach with each post than I ever had while watching Instagram likes light up my phone. Or maybe it was when I started going out clubbing and established that I never want to be one of those girls that wears as little as possible in public. If it’s cool to get male attention in public, then I’m okay with missing out.

    I used to think coolness was about detachment. Curated mystery. The right eyeliner, the right taste in music, the right kind of disinterest in everything. Now I think it’s about comfort — in your body, in your skin, in the outfit that doesn’t quite match but make you feel like someone who doesn’t need impressing, which in my opinion, makes you impressive.

    So in the nature of being comfortable in mismatched outfits, not sticking to an aesthetic and doing whatever makes you happy, here’s some uncool stuff I’ve done lately.

    1. I read a romance novel with a cartoon cover and zero shame.
    2. I delete apps when they make me anxious.
    3. I cry, then I tell people I cried.
    4. I say “I love you” first sometimes.
    5. I get excited when my friends find success.

    Uncool, in the best way, is just honest. It’s sincere. It’s ditching the armour and saying “I like this” and not needing to explain why. It’s owning up to your emotions and ditching the ‘I don’t care’ performance.

    I no longer need to be the most interesting person in the room. I just want to be kind. And curious. And calm. I want to be the person who brings snacks and remembers birthdays and says “text me when you get home” and means it.

    I think I used to mistake cool for cold. Now I think warmth is way more impressive.

    So yeah, I’ve become uncool. My playlists are soft. My clothes are chosen for softness, too. I spend more time thinking about how things feel than how they look. I repeat stories. I nap. I tell the truth when I’m tired. I compliment people more than I used to. I’m learning how to take one, too.

    And I love it here.

    In the warmth.

    Where not being cool is being comfortable.

    And I can feel and express and live without worry.

    I like being warm.

    xoxo Sara

  • Learning to Rest

    Somewhere amongst the exams, deadlines and performance goals, rest became a receipt. As if to say: You may lie down, but only if you’ve done enough to justify it. But what is enough?

    An undefined number of tasks, emotional labour, mental contortion, social smiling, inbox clearing and maybe – if time allows it – a small mental breakdown before dinner. Then, and only then, may you rest. Briefly and with much guilt. Probably with your phone still in your hand.

    This, of course, is not sustainable. It is also, not rest.

    I grew up in the Cult of Productivity. The society in which busy is always good and burnout means you’re really trying. Rest was something other people earned: Olympic athletes, company CEO’s, my parents.

    Me? I hadn’t earned it yet, so keep moving and keep achieving.

    But bodies are inconvenient, they wilt and they ache, they turn of whether you give them permission to or not. And lately, mine has been. Experiencing joint pain at a young age is frustrating and limiting, so since moving away for Uni, I’ve started allowing myself softness. No pressure to be constantly moving, constantly doing. Just… a break.

    Trying to practice rest without receipt is difficult when you’ve never given yourself the space to do so before. It comes with a lot of guilt and ‘I should’ve been doing this instead of watching that movie’ or ‘this could’ve been done ages ago’. My brain, in its capitalist choreography always wants to know what I did to deserve that 10am lie in or the 3 extra episodes of Bob’s burgers before starting my essay.

    The answer?

    I exist.

    That’s it.

    I woke up this morning, I felt what its like to live in a body that’s really trying, and that alone is worth the rest.

    You don’t have to do a million and one things to justify sitting down for five minutes because the smartest people know when to listen to their body and just rest.

    Yes, the Olympic athletes and CEO’s do more than I ever will in a day, but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve the same rest. It doesn’t mean I’m failing or I’m falling behind, we live our lives at separate paces.

    I don’t mean to glorify doing nothing. Rest is not glamorous or aesthetic. It’s not a foamed iced coffee in a cute lounge set with lo-fi music in the background. Sometimes, rest is lying on the floor in the same clothes you’ve worn all day with the same song playing over and over just because it doesn’t try to make you feel something. Rest can be ugly and boring, but its necessary. And slowly, I and many others like me, are learning that rest doesn’t have to be earned, it can just be taken. Like a breath. Like a seat on the bus. Like unpredicted sunlight. Just take it.

    You are simply growing, just like everyone else. And that is enough.

    xoxo Sara

  • June, and all the media I consumed in it

    As a chronically online 19 year old and someone who needs background noise for just about anything, I consume a lot of media. Here’s the games, books, movies, tv shows and YouTube channels I consumed.

    I – Games

    Having finished Uni quite early, I currently have a lot of time on my hands. Time that, last month, I used to play the sims and Disney Dreamlight Valley. Both of which I have in and out phases of finding them entertaining, which I think is quite common. I’ll play the game intently for 3 or 4 weeks straight and then won’t touch it for a month or two.

    The Sims for me is very therapeutic, It’s calming – most of the time – and its mindless. It also makes time pass very quickly which was exactly what I wanted. Some people don’t understand the the enjoyment and I honestly couldn’t explain it. It actually kind of odd if you think about it. It’s a life simulator, but most people never make themselves, build houses they would never live in, and do things they would never do. But then is that the point? To experience the unimaginable through fake little characters on a screen that you can control? To become the werewolf or mermaid or vampire you always wanted to be? Either way, it’s fun and I’ve been playing it since 2019 so I’m very acquainted.

    Disney Dreamlight is a similar concept but you have less control over what happens. It’s a good time waster and a decent break from the sims because instead of having to chose the pathway of each individual character in an elaborate story, you play as yourself and complete quests to develop relationships with other characters and complete the storyline.

    The graphics of both games are very pleasing to me, I prefer this semi-cartoonish look to the realism that they try to go for in other games. Overall I just like playing games as a time passer, even tried to play F1 23, was very bad, crashed lots and wouldn’t really claim to have ‘consumed’ it as a media so it only gets a mention.

    II – Books

    June’s reading list was a bit spotted and speckled, it had a mixture of non fiction, poetry and romance. A bit like shopping for fruit, wine and a mystery skincare item.

    I started and finished ‘Cowboy’ by Kandace Siobhan Walker as a part of a poetry book swap with a friend from Uni. Her debut collection felt a bit like someone whispering secrets into a tin can and the end of a string. I was sad to part with this book after reading and annotating it because it was just so good. It was elliptical, sensual, and sharp enough to cut paper. She makes so many comments and arguments about neurodivergence, sexuality and girlhood that just makes any girl my age feel seen and heard. I might have to get a second copy for myself because this was a 5 star.

    I also started reading ‘Come Ride With Me’ by Simone Soltani — a romance that unfolds like a long drive with a stranger who might just change your whole internal weather. I can’t say much about this book since I’m only 90 pages in but so far so good. The main characters are witty and funny, and their first encounter had me in giggles one second and mouth-open shocked the next.

    The last book I started in June was ‘Bitch: A Revolutionary Guide to Sex, Evolution & the Female Animal’ by Lucy Cooke — a science book with claws. She talks about the zoological aspect of what it means to be a female in the animal kingdom, correcting myths on evolution and calling out the male scientists that chose to ignore the complex beauty that is the female form. Again, I can’t say much because I’m not that far in yet but I have high hopes for this book.

    Movies / Tv –

    This was, unexpectedly, the month of Jeremy Clarkson. I watched Clarkson’s Farm Season 4 and The Grand Tour. The man just has a charm that works perfectly as background noise.

    ‘Clarkson’s Farm’ was unexpectedly tender. There’s something disarming about seeing a man yell at cows while trying to save his soil. It’s actually the first season of the show I’ve watched and thankfully you don’t really have to have watched the earlier seasons to figure out what’s going on. I love the personalities of everyone involved and – hot take – I admire everything he’s doing for British farming. His farm has been a bit of a controversial topic, but I think that his mission to only sell British grown products and all the awareness he’s brought to the struggles of British farming is incredible. Increased awareness always puts the government in a difficult position which is exactly what we want if there’s a chance at policy reform, but even then, it probably won’t be enough. Either way, I think its amazing all that he’s tried to do and people need to give him less hassle for making a profit from all the awareness he’s raising, because at least he’s doing something. Plus if you watch the show he spends a lot of money on this farm so he can’t be making that much profit.

    I also rewatched ‘Bob’s Burgers’, my comfort show of choice. There is no problem in my life that cannot be temporarily softened by the basic animation style and funny little scripts. It’s good background noise, funny, easy to follow, and occasionally actually gets kinda deep with the messaging.

    And then there was ‘The French Dispatch’ — viewed not for the first time, but with renewed appreciation every time. Wes Anderson’s little museum of melancholy and whimsy felt more relevant than ever. I watched it slowly, like sipping tea in a room full of strangers who all secretly know your favorite poem.

    Some films you watch.

    Others you inhabit.

    The Internet –

    This month’s YouTube consumption was a patchwork of low-stakes joy and long-form parasocial companionship.

    Life with Hope offered gentle, blurry domesticity — perfectly imperfect mornings, quiet skincare, confessions made in bedrooms lit only by fairy lights. It’s not about watching someone’s life; it’s about remembering how to romanticize your own. I especially love her pocket and regular filofax, they’re so pretty that I want to make my own, hopefully she’ll come out with some kind of tutorial as to how she got it to look that way.

    Lilsimsie continued to scream her way through builds in The Sims 4, occasionally unleashing chaos upon unsuspecting digital families. I watch a lot of her videos, there’s just something about her big energy that’s oddly calming.

    Sydney Graham and Amazingishgrace both delivered content that made me want to rearrange my furniture, re-curate my bookshelf, and journal in cursive. They are archivists of soft-girl living — content creators who make “being alive and slightly tired” look like a spiritual aesthetic and I’m always here for it.

    Wrap-up –

    June was a month of curated joy — games played in quiet hours, books started with hope, shows rewatched like comfort food reheated just right.

    Nothing revolutionary happened.


    But something important did.


    In the midst of deadlines, long-distance longing, and uneven weather, I made time to delight.


    And perhaps that is enough.

    See you in July. Bring snacks

    xoxo Sara

  • Coming of Age Online

    I – On the Invention of the Self

    The internet, once a tool, now a theatre. We – unsupervised and emotionally unprepared – wondered with such youth amongst naivete of pioneers, building personalities from online profiles. Adolescence is an age old performance, we had found a bigger stage.

    The curtain rises somewhere between a landline phone and the chat function of a game. The first generation to treat selfhood like a graphic design problem.

    What version of myself do I want people to see.

    No rehearsals. Only updates.

    II – The Sacred Ritual

    Logging on was spiritual. Sacred. A private passage to a very public realm. Our passwords – despite providing no security – held great personal significance. We entered them with reverence, fingers dancing across the keys as we tap into digital spaces more comforting than that of the dining room table.

    Friendships formed without eye-contact.

    A friend request as a declaration.

    A message left on ‘seen’. A silent war.

    Private lives, lived in public inboxes.

    Three dots triggering anticipation, heartbreak, salvation. Or just LOL.

    III – Observations on Teenage-hood

    I remember a time in which a bathroom mirror selfie was the height of digital portraiture. With the flash on so bright your insecurities are hidden, the bodies of our youth plastered on Snapchat stories and Instagram feeds. Horrific really, to think that at the age of 13 we knew what angles made our stomachs look flatter and our bums bigger. We connected captions to these displays, like artists naming their masterpieces.

    Private expressions compressed into 12-point font under a picture, shared to friends, family, and the strangers added through Facebook games.

    Not so private anymore.

    But we weren’t embarrassed.

    It felt natural.

    IV – On Loving Ghosts

    Somewhere along the way, we developed crushes on people who didn’t know we existed. YouTubers. TikTokers. Twitter comedians who posted daily about iced coffee and despair.

    We watched the same three-minute video of someone applying lip gloss in their bedroom every night before sleep.
    We followed the romantic breakups of influencers like distant relatives going through divorce.

    We called it content.
    It was company.

    We knew these people intimately.
    They did not know us at all.

    But that didn’t stop us from writing 500-word comments under their posts, or defending them in arguments with strangers, or crying when they posted an apology video in grayscale.

    We weren’t friends.
    But it felt like friendship.
    And the feeling was enough.

    13 year old girls are toxic. Liars. Backstabbers. They haven’t learnt the need for their peers. Haven’t felt the desperate desire for company, and so they claim deep love for their ‘besties’ and then neglect their relationships in favour of attention from teenage boys and likes on Instagram.

    So we turned to content for comfort. The sound of a makeup tutorial or a ‘what’s in my bag’ lulling us to sleep.

    V – Public Diaries

    Coming of age online meant narrating our every thought in real-time.
    Our pain, our joy, our McDonald’s orders—all shared.

    We didn’t just experience adolescence; we live-blogged it.
    We documented heartbreaks as they happened.
    We posted vague quotes that hid the name but not the identity.

    ‘He knows what he did’

    ‘If you know, you know’

    We had public breakdowns at 2 a.m. and posted selfies at 3.
    We woke up in the morning to see our classmates had done the same – crying for attention, crying for help – by posting pictures of tears running down their face. One tap, and a sudden blanket of ignorance is thrown, the struggles hidden.

    And when the feelings passed, we deleted the evidence.
    Or we didn’t.
    And the internet remembered.

    The internet always remembers.

    VI – Memory in the Age of Screenshots

    Coming of age used to mean forgetting. Forgetting classroom conversations. Forgetting year 4 science projects. Forgetting the aches and pains of primary school romance.

    Now it means archiving. Every message can be screen-captured. Every photo can be retrieved. Every mistake can be quote-tweeted with the caption: “This aged badly.”

    We live inside a memory palace made of glass and pixels, visible to anyone who tries hard enough. Some doors we locked ourselves out of—lost email passwords, expired domains. Others were left wide open, inviting ghosts to visit unannounced.

    We scroll back through our timelines and meet previous versions of ourselves.
    The 2012 us with too much blush.
    The 2015 us who was scared to lose friends.
    The 2019 us who believed the world was ending (it sort of was).

    It’s all still there, waiting, remembering. Holding onto our memories for us until we’re ready to relive them.

    VII – Post-Growth Reflections

    Now, we hover in adulthood.
    Not quite influencers. Not quite anonymous.
    Still refreshing. Still typing.
    Still hoping our posts mean something to someone. That the memory of our adventures will be cemented in the algorithm, for us to look back on.

    We’ve learned to read between the lines:
    The friend who posts memes about burnout is likely burnt out.
    The person who vanishes from socials probably needs someone to notice.
    The silence, too, is a kind of post.

    Coming of age online was not great.
    It did not happen in three acts.
    There was no music swell at the end.
    Just a quiet understanding that we grew up while the internet watched—and sometimes clapped.

    We are still logging in.
    Still learning what to share, what to save, and what to delete.

    Still learning what we want people to see and what we don’t.

    Still coming of age.
    Just with better lighting and worse attention spans.

    Xoxo Sara.

  • Rhodes Travel Diary

    After months of uni deadlines and working on a stuffy poolside with the occasional bout of boredom , the first trip of the summer was very much due. With beaches, ancient ruins, and enough cocktails to sink a small boat, our five-day trip to Rhodes was the perfect start to my summer.

    Day 1 – We landed and went straight into relaxation mode. Our first full day was all about the beach—we hired loungers at a beach bar, soaked up the sun (and maybe burnt a little), and took several dips in the sea. There’s something unbeatable about being on a beach, in mainland Europe, with water that doesn’t make you feel hypothermic.

    Around 7-ish, we swapped swim suits for something more presentable and headed to Rhodes Old Town. The medieval walls, narrow cobbled streets, and souvenir shops are so different to the everyday sights at home that it felt almost unreal.. We wandered without a plan, then found a restaurant for dinner followed by a round of cocktails. Bliss.

    I truly believe that the happiest times I’ve had have either been at uni, or on holiday. I couldn’t tell you what it is, but this trip was just a 5 day serotonin high. It was my first taste of independence since coming home in April and I was loving it. I was also loving the infinite number of cats roaming around but I think that all comes in second to finally seeing my boyfriend again.

    Day 2 – We started the day at a fancy little breakfast spot that looked like something straight out of a rich girl Instagram post. We devoured a full English, then it was back to the beach with our newly purchased pink swim goggles in hand so that we could look for fish (got to keep in touch with your inner child).

    After dinner, we made another cocktail bar trip and tried something called “Holy Water.” All I drank that night was a glass of prosecco and one of these and I think being home from uni has turned me back into a lightweight. In my defence, the Holy Water had 4 different spirits in it and barely any mixer.

    Day 3 (the favourite) – This was our adventure day: we caught the bus to Lindos (after much difficulty) to visit the Acropolis, sat dramatically above whitewashed buildings and a beautiful sea. The views? Absolutely worth it. The heat and humidity that made me sweat horrifically? A lot less romantic.

    We bought handheld fans when we first got off the bus thinking it would help— they did nothing. It was that hot. So after dragging ourselves back down to the beach, we cooled off in the water and tried to recover from the climb. There were so many stairs.

    That night, we treated ourselves to a dinner and, naturally, more cocktails. Let’s call it cultural immersion. The night ended sitting on the balcony, wating the street below, soaking up as much of our holiday together as we could. It honestly felt like a fever dream.

    Day 4 – With a few hours to kill before our flight, we visited the Rhodes Aquarium right at the end of the island —mostly to stay out of the sun in air conditioning. It wasn’t huge and honestly wasn’t worth the money, but it was a fun way to waste time while it lasted.

    Then it was off to the airport, slightly sunburnt, and already missing the lazy beach days and warm evenings.

    Next stop, Madeira…

    xoxo The Bueno Dispatch

    Ps. to see some pictures I took go to my Tik Tok @the.bueno.dispatch

  • Wes Anderson, The Artist

    Its no secret that I love a Wes Anderson movie, I’m not even there for the plot, they’re just the most beautiful thing to look at. The colour palettes, the symmetry, the dialogue, its all just so visually pleasing, I could go the rest of my life only watching his movies. Now, I am not claiming to be a film expert in any way shape or form, but I do have some form of analytical skills and I have watched these movies many times.

    Let’s start with the obvious, Wes Anderson’s cinematic style is iconic. Every frame is an art piece within itself, the pastel pink hotel, the mustard yellow tracksuits and the dollhouse-like sets. The symmetry, overhead shots and slow pans create a sense of order within a film that deals with quite complex emotions, he uses this visual control to pull together multiple chaotic narratives.

    This shot from The French Dispatch, for example, pulls together two quite different characters who, for most of their scenes, are battling against each other in a political war. Yet in the picture, Anderson uses the symmetry to create a cohesive image without taking away from the character’s personality. To me, its perfect, their postures, the colour grading, the use of the jukebox light to pull the eyes to the front of the shot. Just from this you can see how well Wes Anderson draws you attention exactly where he wants it to be with the simplest touches.

    Wes Anderson movies, at their cores, are about people falling apart, lonely geniuses, dysfunctional families and misunderstood misfits, all damaged in the most human ways possible. Even in the more whimsical settings of Moonrise Kingdom and Fantastic Mr Fox, the character’s emotions are painfully real. Two kids trying to find a place in a world that doesn’t understand them and a father and son both trying to be more than people say they can be… almost too relatable? I mean, don’t we all have moments in which we feel misunderstood… that overwhelming dread that the people who doubted you were right… the want to be more… but maybe that’s just me.

    His characters often speak in a flat, almost rehearsed tone, like they’re reading straight from a script without processing what they’re actually saying. But that’s what makes it work. The emotional detachment in their voices contrasts with the rawness of what’s being said, creating a kind of vulnerability. The lack of dramatics gives you space to feel the weight of the moment on your own terms. When someone in a Wes Anderson film confesses love, regret, or loss, they don’t usually cry or raise their voice. They drop their feelings into the conversation like they’re commenting on the weather, and somehow, that hits harder than any emotional outburst ever could.

    Another thing Wes Anderson mastered is creating nostalgia without sentimentality. He doesn’t make films about the past, he makes them through the past. Using old record players, vintage clothes, outdated letters, all to create a world that feels timeless and just out of reach. It’s nostalgic without being rose-tinted and the stories often focus on characters trying to recapture something they’ve lost, and failing. He manages to create this sense that time is moving forward without the characters, and they’re aware of it, and it kinda hurts. It reminds me a lot of the feeling grief brings, like your world has stopped but everyone else’s keeps going… and it hurts.

    Overall, watching a Wes Anderson movie is almost like intruding on someone’s personal dream, they have so much heart and emotion without the dramatics of big acting. As someone who struggles with watching movies because I either find them too overwhelming or not stimulating enough, Wes Anderson is perfect. They even have the autism seal of approval from my friends. The scenes are beautiful and moving and I just cannot get enough, thank god he keeps making more.

    xoxo The Bueno Dispatch