Everyone has their own unique personal struggles. For me, as long as I can remember, it has been my weight.

For most of my childhood, I was the chubby kid. The “healthy one.” The girl who was always a little bit bigger than everyone else. It wasn’t necessarily something I thought about every single day, but it was always in the background. A quiet awareness that my body looked different from some of the girls around me.

The funny thing is that as a kid, I was never particularly inactive.

I skied. I ice skated. I played soccer. I ran cross country. I did track. I tried swimming, although I have to admit, I still can’t swim because the water absolutely terrifies me. I rode my bike. I did karate and even made it all the way to my brown belt. I did gymnastics. I went to dance and ballet. A true Coloradan.

If I am being transparent, I didn’t love every one of these activities. Some I quit, some I tried once and never looked back, and some I genuinely enjoyed. But I was always doing something.

Through peer pressure from my parents (just kidding, of course),movement was always a part of my childhood.

And yet, somewhere along the way, I started to absorb the idea that my body was something that needed to be fixed. By the time I was eleven, I was told to start working out to lose weight. Eleven. Looking back now, that feels incredibly young and unjustifiable.

I wasn’t working out because I had discovered a profound love for fitness. Quite the opposite, actually. It wasn’t training for a sport or a competition. Before I could even understand what was happening, I was trying to make my body smaller than it had always been.

And that became a recurring theme throughout my adolescent life. By the time I reached high school, I started to understand that my height wasn’t going to go past 5’2, and that I needed to get my weight under control.

At sixteen, I started experimenting with different diet trends, such as Keto and Paleo. Whatever the internet was telling me was the newest and most effective way to lose weight, I tried. Halfway through high school, I remember doing it, but it didn’t work.

I shouldn’t have been doing any of this at sixteen.

Shortly after, amidst the global pandemic, I started working with a trainer to help me keep the weight off, but eventually, I started to gain it back. In a way, for as long as I can remember, I have been trying to lose weight.

Because when you believe that your body is something that needs to be fixed, it is surprisingly easy to become obsessed with fixing it. For a good portion of my life, losing weight has always been something I have been excessively trying to do.

Sometimes it worked successfully. Sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes it worked for a few months. Sometimes it worked for a few weeks. There was always another diet, another workout routine, another promise that this time would be different.

And now, I have lost the weight. Again.

Except this time, something feels different.

Every time I walk into a room lately, my weight has somehow become part of a bigger conversation. People notice.

I have been told that I look different, asked what I have been doing, and often hear comments about how much weight I have lost. People tell me that “I look so good.” Sometimes it is subtle. Sometimes it is direct. But suddenly, my body seems to enter the room before I do.

And I have found myself quite conflicted by this new, newfound attention.

Now, don’t get me wrong. A part of me has deeply appreciated these comments. I have spent years trying to lose weight, so hearing that people notice the change is validating in a way. After years of feeling like the “chubby kid,” there is something satisfying about finally hearing people say that I look good.

But recently, a part of me has started to think, Why now?

Why has my body become worthy of conversation? Was this version of me getting a reaction that the previous version didn’t?

The strangest thing about all of this is that I haven’t fundamentally changed. I am still the same person who has spent years trying to figure out her relationship with her body. I am still the same person who spent her whole childhood playing sports. The most obvious difference now is that I am smaller.

And somehow, that seems to change the way people see me. That realization has been difficult to reconcile.

One of the most obvious questions I get now is, So, what did you do? How did you lose the weight?

And honestly, I never quite know how to answer.

It isn’t because I’m ashamed of how I lost the weight, or because I think there is anything inherently wrong with talking about it. I just don’t want to give someone the impression that what is working for me will, would work for them.

Everyone’s body is different. Our circumstances, relationships with food, exercise, and health are all different. I would never want someone to replicate my journey and feel like they somehow failed because their body didn’t respond the same way.

There is already so much pressure to find the answer: the diet, the workout, the medication, the routine, the secret that supposedly changed everything.

But I don’t think there is one universal answer.

My journey is my journey. Someone else’s will look completely different.

We are so quick to turn someone’s transformation into a formula, as though a person’s body is a problem that can be solved if you follow the right instructions.

But bodies aren’t formulas, and someone’s transformation should never become a prescription for someone else.

We often talk about love bombing in the context of romantic relationships—the constant texting—the overwhelming attention from the get-go. The grand declarations charged with empty promises. The feeling that you have known someone your whole life after knowing them for only a few weeks.

Yeah… There is no doubt that we have all been there, unfortunately. But I don’t necessarily think we have thought about what happens when that person isn’t someone you are dating.

What happens when it is your friend? Ever thought about that? Yeah, I didn’t think this was a thing that happened in platonic friendships up until about two years ago.

So to set the scene here, about two years ago during my third year of undergrad, I was still struggling to find my collegiate community. After the past two years of transferring universities, moving halfway across the country to a new city, and school, I still hadn’t found my people. Through a mutual on Instagram, I came across this girl. For privacy reasons, we will call her Harper. Harper, for lack of a better word, was your good ol’fashioned party girl. She was reckless, captivating, and quite hedonistic.

One early fall afternoon in September, I agreed to a spontaneous coffee date with Harper. I had agreed to meet her at the metro station right after my final class on Foreign Policy. I was so stressed that I was going to make her wait. After texting her that I was at the bottom of the metro station, I received a message from her apologizing and saying that she hadn’t even left her apartment and she would be there in twenty minutes. (Should have been my first trigger warning).

A bit annoyed. I texted, “No worries,” and that I was waiting for her. When she finally arrived, I sat next to her, and the first thing I noticed about her was that even though she was extremely tall with sharp features, she also seemed spontaneous. It took us an hour and a sketchy Uber ride to get to our destination. When we got there, we hit it off.

We talked, laughed, and studied. It seemed like I had made the perfect friend. We then decided to get some dinner, which then turned into dessert. When it came time to go home, she insisted that we take the metro.

By this time I was exhausted. I had been up since six am, and the last thing I wanted to do was to spend an hour and a half back on the metro. Her phone was practically dead; mine was hovering around 13%. As she continued to tell me how fun it would be, I obliged and happily went along.

After that, out of nowhere, she had become my best friend, and we did everything together. We would go out almost every weekend, go to uber expensive, out-of-this-world restaurants to have ‘girl-dinners’, but most importantly, I started to feel like I was finding my community after years of searching for it.

And sure, there were major trigger warnings that I happily ignored. The random 90+ missed calls on a Saturday night when she forgot her wallet in my apartment, and got annoyed that I fell asleep—always getting into a drama with someone. The list could go on and on.

Looking back, those six months were pure bliss. Until well…it wasn’t. I remember our falling out. I remember our falling out; looking back, it was ridiculous that it was even a thing, but it happened. In a moment, I was iced out of the friend group that I had helped build; it was terrible.

For anyone who has gone through a friendship breakup, it is really different from a romantic one. It just sucks. It is a terrible feeling.

The next few months felt incredibly isolating to me. I felt stuck. I went from going out every weekend to hardly leaving my apartment. It was so bad that I even dyed my hair for some reason jet black (iykyk), and my natural hair color isn’t even black.

Everyone had seemed to have moved on but me. In a span of a minute, I had gone from eight friends to one.

And looking back, this is where I finally understood something: I had been loved bombed.

Not in the traditional romantic sense. There were no grand declarations of love or promises of marriage. No flowers were showing up at my door with a card reading that I was someone’s soulmate.

But there was an intensity to the relationship.

An almost immediate closeness that made me feel like I had known this person forever.

Within weeks, Harper had become one of the most important people in my life. We were constantly together. We talked all the time. We made plans around each other. I was introduced to her world, and she became deeply embedded in mine.

And because I had spent the previous two years desperately trying to find my people, that intensity felt incredibly validating.

It felt like someone had finally chosen me. That is what I think makes friendship love bombing so complicated.

Sometimes it doesn’t look like manipulation. Sometimes it looks like friendship. It looks like someone wanting to see you every day.

It looks like spontaneous plans, endless conversations, inside jokes, late nights, and being told that you are different from everyone else.

It looks like finally finding the person you can text at any hour of the day.

And when you have been lonely, or searching for a community, that kind of attention can feel almost intoxicating.

You don’t stop to ask whether the relationship is developing too quickly. You are just grateful that it is happening at all. Looking back, I think I confused intensity with intimacy.

I thought because we became so close so quickly, the friendship must have been incredibly deep. But those aren’t necessarily the same thing.

Someone can make you feel incredibly important without actually being capable of maintaining a healthy, long-term friendship with you. And sometimes, the very intensity that makes a friendship feel so special in the beginning is what makes the ending feel so devastating.

Because when the attention disappears, you don’t just lose a friend. You lose the version of yourself that existed when you felt so wanted by them.

That was the part I wasn’t prepared for.

I knew friendships could end. Of course I did.

What I wasn’t prepared for was how quickly someone could go from making you feel like their favorite person in the world to making you feel like you barely existed.

And perhaps that is the part of friendship love bombing we don’t talk about enough.

The beginning can feel so big that when it ends, you are left wondering whether you imagined the whole thing.

And that is what makes my story a cautionary tale.

I don’t think Harper intentionally love bombed me. I think I was simply susceptible to it. I was lonely, searching for my people, and suddenly someone wanted me around constantly. Of course I embraced it.

I ignored the warning signs because I was so grateful to finally feel like I belonged.

Looking back, I confused intensity with intimacy. I thought becoming inseparable so quickly meant we had built something deep. But real friendship takes time.

Sometimes, the people who make you feel the most wanted aren’t necessarily the people who are meant to stay.

And sometimes, losing them is for the better.

One thing about me is that I love to pick up a book and read. Ask me to go to my local Barnes and Nobel or public library, and I will be there studying every genre meticulously. There is something incredibly powerful about getting lost in a good book. To me, reading has always felt like one of the most powerful tools of self-discovery. It challenges our preconceived notions—the way we think, introduces us to new perspectives, and allows us to experience lives far different from our own. Over the years, I have learned one thing: every book leaves you with something, whether it is a new idea, a new perspective, or simply a story that stays with you long after you turn the final page.

So last week, I decided to hit my local library in my hometown. I don’t know about you, but I have felt incredibly bored when it comes to entertainment. Unlike previous summer breaks, it feels like this year there has been a stall when it comes to entertainment. There are just no good shows!

So as I was scrolling around the various literary genres, I happened to stumble upon my favorite authors of all time: Lauren Weisberger. There it was on the shelf: When Life Gives You Lululemon.

I am going to be frank here: what initially drew me to the book wasn’t necessarily the plot. It was the title, and the cover pages (I know, I did happen to judge a book by its cover).

But after reading it, I can confidently confirm that the best books don’t just entertain you. They leave you thinking long after you have turned the final page. And when Life Gives You Lululemon by Lauren Weisberger did exactly that.

As a longtime self-proclaimed fan of the iconic Devil Wears Prada, I was excited to see Emily Charleston return to the plot. This time, navigating a completely different chapter of her life. Gone are the days of glossy halls of runway magazine. Instead, we find ourselves in the polished, materialistic suburbs of Greenwich, Connecticut, where appearances and lifestyle matter just as much as they did in fashion, only now they are hidden behind luxury SUVs, pilates classes, and perfectly curated lives.

The novel is divided into rotational chapters, with each chapter devoted to Emily, Mariam, and Karolina.

Although their lives appear to be picture-perfect, each character is grappling with their own insecurities, disappointment, and a desire for a fresh start. What I appreciate about Lauren Weisberger’s writing is that she truly allows each character to bring their own unique struggles to the story, making their journeys feel authentic and deeply relatable.

• Emily Charlton: struggles with professional reinvention. Once a high-powered image consultant with an enviable career. She finds herself losing clients, left, right, and center, and questioning her place in the industry she practically created. However, beneath her confidence and sharp wit is a woman who is relentlessly trying to prove that her career isn’t behind her.

• Karolina Hartwell: struggles with public perception and reclaiming her identity. A former world-famous supermodel turned into a stay-at-home mom. Her life begins to unravel after her powerful Senator husband becomes embroiled in a national scandal. She must navigate intense media scrutiny while fighting to protect her reputation and rebuild her life on her own terms.

• Miriam Kagan struggles with the pressures of motherhood and feeling invisible. As a stay-at-home mom, she has sacrificed much of her own identity for her family. She wrestles with the expectations placed on women to be perfect wives and mothers while longing to rediscover who she is beyond those roles.

What makes the novel so compelling is that although these women come from very different backgrounds, they’re all confronting the same question: Who am I when the life I planned no longer fits? Their individual struggles with career, identity, reputation, and purpose ultimately bring them together, creating a story that is just as much about female friendship as it is about reinvention.

What I loved most about this novel is that the plot really isn’t about fashion. Beneath the designer wardrobes and social satire is a story about constant reinvention. Emily, Karolina, and Mariam are all trying to rebuild their lives and identities. Whether it is career setbacks, public scrutiny, or the quiet realization that success doesn’t always look the way we imagined, each character is forced to define what fulfillment means on her own terms.

Lauren Weisberger has a way of writing characters who feel larger than life while still being incredibly relatable. Emily remains as witty and unapologetically blunt as ever, delivering some of the funniest moments in the book, but she’s also given room to grow. Watching her embrace vulnerability without losing her signature confidence made her one of my favorite parts of the novel.

In a time where it constantly feels like women are perpetually pitting themselves against one another, one of my favorite aspects of this novel was the emphasis on female friendship, rather than mere romance. At the same time, the story is filled with glamour, ambition, and personal reinvention. Its emotional storyline lies in the relationship between Emily, Karolina, and Mariam.

Throughout the novel, I loved envisioning three women from completely different walks of life coming together and embracing change, career setbacks, public scrutiny, and personal challenges. That, in itself, was really refreshing. Their friendship felt genuine, built on trust, and honestly showing up for one another when it mattered the most.

It was a refreshing reminder to all of us that the most meaningful love stories aren’t romantic at all, but the friendships that help us find ourselves time and time again.

If you’re looking for literary fiction, this probably isn’t the book for you. But if you’re looking for something smart, entertaining, and full of sharp observations about ambition, image, friendship, and starting over, When Life Gives You Lululemon delivers. It’s the kind of novel that’s perfect for a weekend by the pool or a long flight, yet still leaves you reflecting on its themes long after you’ve finished.

My Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5)

While I thoroughly enjoyed the novel, it wasn’t without its flaws. At times, the pacing felt uneven, with certain storylines receiving more attention than others. A few plot developments wrapped up a little too neatly, and some of the supporting characters could have been explored in greater depth. Although the satire is clever, there were moments when it leaned heavily on stereotypes of wealthy suburban life.

That said, these shortcomings didn’t take away from what the book does exceptionally well. Its exploration of reinvention, identity, and female friendship is both entertaining and surprisingly thoughtful. It’s a witty, engaging read that offers more substance than its glamorous cover might suggest, making it a book I’d happily recommend to anyone looking for a smart, character-driven contemporary novel.

I have been looking forward to this conversation for quite some time now. Joining me on the podcast today is Kelsey Ireland– a dear friend, mentor, and someone whom I have admired for a long time.

​Kelsey is incredibly brilliant, thoughtful, and relevantly hardworking, and I have been fortunate enough to have known her for the past five years. Throughout her career, she has built a reputation for transforming ideas into impactful brands and creative strategies, and her career trajectory is a testament to what can happen when talent meets curiosity, resilience, and willingness to embrace change.

​Kelsey is currently the Senior Director of Marketing, Creative & Operations at New Belgium Brewing and Bell’s Brewery, where she leads the teams shaping some of the most recognizable brands in craft beer. Kelsey has worked at the intersection of design, branding, and strategy, building creative systems that not only look beautiful but also solve real business challenges.

​What I admire most about Kelsey isn’t just her impressive résumé; it is the way she has continuously reinvented herself. Following opportunities that have challenged her, inspired her, and ultimately shaped her to be the creative leader she is today.

​Today’s conversation isn’t just about careers, milestones, or even titles. It is about reinvention. It is about the unexpected paths that continuously shape us, the moments that ask us to redefine success, and what it means to build a creative life that is authentic to who we are. From trading DC heels for bike treads to leading creative work on a national stage, Kelsey’s journey is a reminder that the best careers are rarely linear.

​I’m so excited to sit down with someone I’ve known for years to talk about creativity, ambition, career pivots, and everything we learn along the way. Follow along as we explore that journey with her: the pivots, the lessons, and the unexpected paths that have defined her career.

​So without further ado, here is my conversation with Kelsey Ireland.

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Okay, so for some of us, air travel across international waters isn’t really our thing, so naturally, how do we find the time to watch movies? From a young age till now, I have always been enamored by romantic comedies. When I was thirteen, there was always something magical about them. The grand gestures, the witty banter, inevitable happy endings, and the comforting belief that love somehow always finds itself home.

Give me The Devil Wears Prada, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Bride Wars, 13 Going on 30, Bridget Jones Diary, The Holiday, and I will happily spend two hours on the couch pretending that I have nothing better to do with my life.

If you ask me, there is something so comforting about 2000’s romantic-commedy films. They are predictable, deeply nostalgic, and somehow manage to make us believe that everything will work out in the end.

But every once in a while, I rewatch one of my favorite movies and find myself asking the same question I never considered the first time around.

Why the hell did we think this movie was even romantic?

This is exactly the reaction I had when I rewatched 27 Dresses both times. Once when going to Istanbul, and the other when I was coming back home on my return flight to Denver.

Here are my critiques:

1. Marriage is portrayed as the ultimate goal for women.

While there is nothing wrong with marriage, the plot continuously portrays marriage as the ultimate goal for women. Nearly every major storyline revolves around engagements, weddings, or the pursuit of romantic fulfillment, leaving little room for conversations about career ambitions, personal growth, or individuality. Jane’s entire identity becomes intertwined in helping other women achieve their happily ever after. At the same time, her own happiness seems dependent on finding a husband. It seems like the film subtly reinforces the outdated idea that a woman’s life is incomplete until she finds “the one.” Watching it today, it feels less like a celebration of love and more like a reminder of how often women’s identities were once defined by their relationship status.

2. George Is a Walking Red Flag

For most of the film, he is completely oblivious to Jane despite relying on her loyalty and kindness whenever it benefits him. Rather than taking the time to truly know her, he falls for her younger sister, Tess, after being presented with a carefully crafted version of who she is. He is more captivated by the image of Tess than by her actual character, and he barely questions the inconsistencies in her stories. George also fails to recognize the emotional labor Jane has invested in both his life and his company for years. While the film portrays him as charming and desirable, he comes across as emotionally unavailable, superficial, and remarkably unaware of the woman who has been standing beside him all along. Frankly, Jane deserved better.

3. Jane Is the Problem, Too

As much as I sympathize with Jane, she is also part of the problem.

Jane is the definition of a people pleaser. She spends the entire film putting everyone else’s needs before her own, rarely speaking up for herself or establishing healthy boundaries. She says “yes” when she wants to say “no,” suppresses her own feelings to avoid conflict, and quietly hopes that one day her sacrifices will finally be noticed and appreciated. While the film presents these qualities as admirable, I found them more frustrating than inspiring. There is a difference between being kind and constantly neglecting yourself, and Jane repeatedly crosses that line. Her biggest obstacle is not George or Tess. It is her inability to advocate for herself. Fortunately, by the end of the film, she begins to realize that being a good person does not require sacrificing her own happiness.

4. Kevin Is the Antagonist Who Becomes the Hero

One of the most interesting aspects of 27 Dresses is that Kevin is initially positioned as the antagonist of the story. When we first meet him, he is not Jane’s savior. He is someone who exploits her vulnerability for his own career advancement. As a wedding reporter, Kevin sees Jane not as a person, but as a story. He uses her personal life and her collection of bridesmaid dresses as a source for his article without considering how humiliating or invasive it might feel for her.

What makes this complicated is that the movie eventually asks us to view Kevin as the person who truly understands Jane. However, the foundation of their relationship begins with him exposing something deeply personal about her without her consent. While Kevin later challenges Jane to stop hiding behind her role as everyone’s helper, his initial actions raise questions about whether the film excuses behavior from a charming male character that would be criticized if the roles were reversed.

In many ways, Kevin’s character represents another romantic comedy trope: the man who sees a woman’s flaws, calls them out, and ultimately “saves” her from herself. But Jane’s growth should not come because a man finally recognizes her value. It should come from her recognizing her own.

5. Tess Is Boring, But the Movie Lets Her Off Too Easily

Tess is arguably one of the most frustrating characters in 27 Dresses because she represents the opposite extreme of Jane. While Jane spends her life giving too much of herself, Tess takes too much from others. She is selfish, dishonest, and willing to manipulate situations to get what she wants.

The most problematic part of Tess’s storyline is the way she pursues George despite knowing Jane’s feelings for him. She does not simply fall in love with him; she actively constructs a false version of herself to appear more compatible with him. She lies about her interests, personality, and values, essentially creating a persona designed to win his affection.

What makes this especially complicated is that the film eventually gives Tess a relatively easy redemption arc. While Jane spends the majority of the movie carrying emotional pain and learning to stand up for herself, Tess faces fewer consequences for hurting her sister. The movie quickly moves past the betrayal, leaving viewers to question whether Jane was expected to forgive too easily simply because she was the “good sister.”

Tess also highlights an uncomfortable dynamic often seen in romantic comedies: women are frequently placed in competition with one another for male attention. Instead of exploring why Jane and Tess have such different relationships with validation, the film turns them into opposites, the selfless woman and the desirable woman, and makes romance the prize they are fighting over.

6. The Film's Obsession With Weddings Rather Than Marriage

Perhaps the most telling aspect of 27 Dresses is its obsession with weddings rather than marriage itself. Throughout the film, weddings are treated as the ultimate symbol of love, success, and personal fulfillment. The dresses, ceremonies, flowers, and carefully planned details take center stage, while the actual foundation of a healthy relationship, communication, compatibility, trust, and emotional maturity, often feels secondary.

In many ways, the film reflects a broader cultural fascination with the wedding as an event rather than the marriage that follows. We have become accustomed to celebrating the spectacle of love: the perfect dress, the dream venue, the elaborate proposal, and the carefully curated photographs. But the reality is that a beautiful wedding does not guarantee a beautiful marriage.

This is especially evident in Jane’s story. She has dedicated years of her life to helping other women achieve their dream weddings, yet she has spent very little time considering what her own version of happiness looks like. She knows exactly how to plan someone else’s perfect day, but she has never stopped to ask herself what she actually wants beyond becoming someone’s wife.

The irony is that Jane owns twenty-seven bridesmaid dresses, each representing a wedding she helped create, but none of them represent a life she built for herself. Each dress symbolizes a moment where she showed up for someone else while quietly putting her own desires aside.

Perhaps that is the deeper critique of 27 Dresses. The film is not just about a woman searching for love; it is about a woman who has been conditioned to believe that love is something she earns through service, sacrifice, and being indispensable to others. It asks an important question: have we become so focused on the performance of love that we sometimes forget to examine the substance behind it?

7. The Dress Symbolism

Perhaps one of the most overlooked symbols in 27 Dresses is the dresses themselves. At first glance, Jane’s closet full of bridesmaid gowns is played as a humorous detail, almost a quirky personality trait that makes her character lovable. However, when examined more closely, the dresses represent something much deeper. Each one tells a story of a moment when Jane showed up for someone else, celebrated someone else’s love, and willingly stepped into the background.

The irony is that Jane owns twenty-seven dresses for weddings that were never her own. Each dress represents a different version of herself that she created to support someone else’s happiness. She knows how to be the perfect bridesmaid, the perfect friend, and the perfect helper, but she has spent so much time playing a supporting role that she has forgotten how to be the main character in her own life.

The dresses also symbolize the emotional labor Jane carries. They are physical reminders of every time she organized, planned, comforted, and sacrificed for the people around her. What appears to be a closet full of beautiful gowns is actually a collection of moments where Jane prioritized everyone else’s dreams over her own.

There is something almost tragic about the fact that Jane has dedicated so much energy to creating other people’s perfect wedding days while having no idea what she wants her own life to look like. She has mastered the art of making other women feel special, but she has rarely allowed herself the same attention.

In a way, the dresses represent the many roles women are often expected to play: the supportive friend, the reliable daughter, the selfless partner, and the person who always shows up. The problem is not that Jane is generous. Generosity is a beautiful quality. The problem is that she has confused being needed with being loved.

By the end of the film, Jane is no longer defined by the dresses hanging in her closet. She finally begins to understand that her worth does not come from how much she can do for others, but from who she is when she is not performing a role for someone else.

Perhaps the most meaningful dress in 27 Dresses is not the one Jane eventually wears down the aisle. It is the moment she realizes she never needed a dress to prove she was worthy of being chosen.

There is something deeply exhausting about living in a world where kindness is constantly mistaken for romantic interest.

Somewhere along the way, we became socially conditioned to believe that men and women can no longer simply enjoy each other’s company as friends. Start a conversation, and someone assumes you’re flirting. Give a compliment, and it is mistaken for a signal. Laugh at a joke, and suddenly there is “chemistry.” It is as if every interaction between a man and a woman has to be interpreted through the lens of attraction, leaving almost no room for the possibility that two people simply enjoy each other’s company.

I genuinely consider myself a friendly person. I ask questions because I am interested in getting to know someone. I remember details because I listen with intention. I enjoy good conversations. I laugh easily. I like making people feel seen. None of those things are an invitation to read between the lines.

I have always had more male friends than female friends.

Ever since I was little, I naturally gravitated towards the boys at recess. Family gatherings were no different. I would spend my summer days in Lahore playing with my male cousins, inventing games as we went along and staying outside until we were told it was time to come in. It was never a conscious decision or a statement about who I preferred spending time with. It was simply where I felt most comfortable.

As someone who has always had a tendency to overthink everything, I often appreciated how uncomplicated many of my friendships with boys felt. We could joke, argue over something completely insignificant, tease each other relentlessly, and then move on five minutes later as if nothing had happened. There was an ease to those friendships that I genuinely valued. That is not to say women are inherently dramatic or men are inherently easygoing. I have had wonderful friendships with both. But those friendships reminded me that connection does not always have to be emotionally complicated.

For me, they were never potential boyfriends.

They were simply my friends.

I still remember something that happened to me in high school.

During my senior year, I served as the editor-in-chief of my high school’s yearbook. One afternoon, I was interviewing classmates for their senior superlatives. Some of the students I was interviewing happened to be my friends, so naturally the interviews turned into conversations. We laughed, caught up, and talked for a while before moving on.

Afterward, one of my friends walked over to me and said, “You have a naturally flirty personality. You could flirt with anyone.”

I remember being completely taken aback.

Not because I did not understand what she meant, but because I had never thought of myself that way.

I was not trying to be flirtatious.

I smiled because I was happy to see people. I asked questions because I was genuinely curious. I laughed because I enjoyed the conversation. I made an effort to make people around me feel comfortable because that is simply who I am.

To me, that was never flirting.

It was kindness.

Looking back, I think that comment stayed with me longer than I realized. It made me wonder whether the way I naturally interacted with people was somehow being interpreted differently than I intended. It also planted a question that I still find myself asking years later.

When did warmth become something we immediately confuse with romantic interest?

Then, a summer ago, I interned at an international think tank in Lahore, and that same question resurfaced.

There seemed to be an unspoken assumption among some of the interns that the boys were immature, loud, or simply not worth engaging with. I found myself having the opposite reaction.

I genuinely enjoyed their company.

We joked around. We debated politics, economics, and whatever random topic happened to come up during lunch. We talked about our universities, our ambitions, and the lives we hoped to build after graduation. We laughed over the smallest things. Looking back, those conversations felt refreshingly uncomplicated.

More often than not, I was the one who started conversations or joined whatever discussion they were having. Not because I was interested in anyone romantically, but because I genuinely enjoyed being around people who were curious, funny, and easy to talk to.

And yet, I could not help but notice that my friendliness was sometimes interpreted as something more.

That surprised me because, in my mind, I was not doing anything extraordinary. I was treating them the same way I treat everyone else, with curiosity, kindness, and a genuine interest in getting to know people.

Somehow, that was enough for some people to assume there had to be a romantic explanation.

It fascinated me how quickly friendship was ruled out as a possibility.

Why was romance considered the obvious explanation, but platonic connection was not?

The more I thought about it, the more I realized this was not a Pakistani phenomenon. It was not an American phenomenon either.It is a global one.

We see it everywhere.

We see it in films where the two best friends inevitably realize they have been in love all along. We see it in television shows where every meaningful friendship eventually turns into a romance because apparently that is the only satisfying ending. We see it on TikTok, where every comment section insists that a boy and a girl could never possibly be “just friends.” Spend enough time online and you will inevitably come across someone insisting that one person always catches feelings, that someone is secretly waiting for their chance, or that friendship between men and women is simply impossible.

We have watched this storyline so many times that we have started expecting it in real life.

We have become obsessed with finding chemistry where there might only be friendship.

We have forgotten that emotional intimacy is not exclusive to romance.

You can admire someone without wanting to date them. You can enjoy spending time with someone without imagining a future together. You can care deeply about someone without hoping they become your partner.

Kindness is not code for attraction.

I sometimes wonder if we have become so uncomfortable with platonic intimacy that we have forgotten what it looks like. Somewhere along the way, we decided that emotional vulnerability belongs almost exclusively to romantic relationships, when some of the deepest and most formative relationships we will ever have are friendships.

A true friendship asks for very little beyond mutual respect, consistency, honesty, and care.

That should be enough.

Instead, we have turned every smile into flirting, every compliment into a signal, every late-night conversation into evidence that someone secretly has feelings, and every meaningful connection into the beginning of a love story.

Frankly, it is exhausting.

Not every relationship needs romantic potential to be meaningful. Not every connection needs to end with a grand declaration of love. Not every boy is secretly waiting to date the girl he calls his friend. Not every girl who is kind is trying to flirt.

Sometimes people simply enjoy each other’s company. Sometimes friendship is exactly what it looks like.

Maybe the question is not whether men and women can be friends.Maybe the more interesting question is why we have become so uncomfortable believing they can.

Somewhere along the way, we convinced ourselves that every meaningful connection needed a romantic ending.

I do not think it does.

Some of the most meaningful relationships we will ever have are the ones that never become love stories.

They are simply friendships.

And perhaps we should stop treating that as though it is somehow less meaningful.

Ever since I graduated from high school four years ago, I have gracefully ditched my backpacks. And while that transformation happened oh-so quickly, I soon realized that walking across any college campus meant noticing the same few bags over and over again.

The Polène Cyme Tote (guilty as charged), the Longchamp Le Pliage (also guilty on this one), the Marc Jacobs Tote Bag (this one never spoke to me, thankfully), and the Goyard Saint Louis (a dupe I bought off eBay during my freshman year of college… lol).

Now, don’t get me wrong. These are beautiful bags in their own right. They are practical, timeless, and loved for a reason. But they have slowly become part of the unofficial college uniform.

And while there is absolutely nothing wrong with loving a classic, I’ve always been drawn to pieces that feel a little more personal. The bags that make someone ask, “Wait, where is that from?” rather than instantly recognizing it from across the room.

Like some of you, I am currently in a very transitional era of my life. My twenties have been filled with constant hustle, personal growth, self-discovery, and change. Naturally, that has shaped the way I think about the things I choose to invest in.

At this stage of my life, I don’t think it makes sense for me to invest in ultra-luxury designer bags that I may dream about someday. Maybe a decade or two down the line, but right now, I need something that fits the season of life I’m actually living.

I need a bag that can hold my entire world in one go. My laptop, my water bottle, endless chargers and headphones, my emergency kit, my glasses, and all the little things I somehow collect throughout the day. I need something that works for class, coffee runs, travel days, and drinks with friends. A bag that can keep up with me, age beautifully over time, and still feel like me.

When I think about an investment bag, I always come back to Jane Birkin’s relationship with her namesake bag, which has always inspired the way I think about investment pieces. Her Birkin wasn’t iconic because it was kept perfectly untouched. It became iconic because she lived with it. She carried it through her travels, filled it with her belongings, decorated it with personal touches, and allowed it to become a reflection of her life.

The value wasn’t just in the name on the label. It was in the memories attached to it. That is the kind of investment bag I believe in.

This is my edit of everyday bags that I think are truly worth the investment: beautifully crafted, timeless, and just under the radar enough to feel like your own discovery. These are the bags that go beyond trends, the ones you’ll continue reaching for long after graduation and into every new chapter ahead.

To all my girls and everyone in between, this edit was specially curated for you!

Note from the Editor:

_{None of the links in this article are affiliate links. These are simply my personal favorite finds for the season that I wanted to share with you. I don't earn a commission if you purchase anything through these links, and this post is not sponsored, gifted, or paid for by any of the brands featured. Every item included is here because I genuinely love it.}

1. Maison de Sabré

The first brand on this list that I think perfectly captures the essence of an investment bag for this stage of life is Maison de Saber. Founded in 2017 by brothers Omar and Zane Sabré, the brand was created on the premise of reimagining modern luxury through beautifully crafted leather goods that feel both functional and personal.

Their designs focus on full-grain leather, thoughtful construction, and pieces meant to become part of your everyday life rather than something you can only bring out on special occasions.

For someone in their twenties, especially in a season of constant change. I think this type of investment piece is worth the price tag. It is polished enough for internships, work dinners, and classes, yet practical for everyday life.

Here are my picks:

2. Longchamp Paris

The classic that needs no introduction. The other day, I was trying to pass the time before my next flight at the Istanbul airport, and I was absolutely mesmerized by the collection of Longchamp bags I saw. Beyond the iconic Le Pilage bag, which feels like it is everywhere and has become a staple for so many, I realized just how much more the brand has to offer.

Go deeper into the brand, and you will find that Longchamp has an incredible range of bags that perfectly balance practicality, elegance, and a timeless design. As I looked around the store, I began to realize one thing: there are so many silhouettes that deserve attention. From structured leather pieces to elevated everyday totes, Longchamp proves that a brand can be classic without being predictable.

What I love about Longchamp is that it understands real life. These bags are made to be used whether you are traveling, heading to class, going to work, or spending a full day on the go. They are durable, effortless, and designed to age with you.

The Le Pliage may be the one everyone knows, but the rest of the Longchamp collection is where you find the hidden gems.

Here are my picks:

3. Strathberry

If quiet luxury had a signature brand, then I think it would be Strathberry. Designed in Edinburgh, and handcrafted in Spain, the brand has built a reputation for timeless designs, exceptional craftsmanship, and its signature Music Bar hardware, all without relying on flashy logos.

What I love most about Strathberry is that it feels like a true investment. Every bag is elegant enough for work, dinner, or travel, yet understated enough that it won't feel dated a few years from now. It has that perfect balance of being recognizable to fashion lovers while still flying under the radar.

If you're looking for a forever bag that feels classic, sophisticated, and a little less expected, Strathberry is one of the first brands I'd recommend.

Here are my picks:

4. Saben

One of my favorite under-the-radar discoveries has been Saben, a New Zealand luxury accessories brand founded by designer Roanne Jacobson in 2002. What began in her parents’ garage has grown into a cult favorite, built around the philosophy of creating fewer, more beautiful pieces that seamlessly blend form and function. Every bag is thoughtfully designed to become a long-term staple, with an emphasis on quality craftsmanship, intuitive details, and timeless style.

What I love most about Saben is that it feels refreshingly different. While so many brands chase trends, Saben focuses on creating bags that are meant to be lived in and loved for years. If you’re looking for an investment piece that feels unique, beautifully made, and isn’t already on everyone’s shoulder, Saben is absolutely a brand worth knowing.

Here are my picks:

5. Oroton

One of Australia’s best kept fashion secrets, Oroton has been creating beautifully crafted leather goods since 1938. Known for its timeless silhouettes and exceptional craftsmanship, the brand strikes the perfect balance between heritage and modernity, creating bags that feel luxurious without relying on flashy logos.

What I love most about Oroton is that it embodies everything I look for in an investment bag. The designs are elegant, functional, and made for everyday life, whether you’re heading to work, traveling, or simply running around town. It’s the kind of brand that fashion lovers know and appreciate, yet it still feels like a hidden gem for anyone looking to build a collection that’s a little more personal.

Here are my picks:

6. Proenza Schouler

Proenza Schouler has always been one of those brands that fashion people quietly admire. Known for its modern, minimalist aesthetic and impeccable craftsmanship, the brand creates bags that feel effortlessly cool without relying on oversized logos or fleeting trends.

What I love most about Proenza Schouler is that the designs strike the perfect balance between fashion and function. Whether it’s a slouchy suede tote or a structured leather carryall, each piece feels intentional, timeless, and made to be lived in. They’re investment bags in the truest sense: beautifully crafted, versatile enough for everyday life, and the kind of pieces you’ll still love years from now.

Here are my picks:

7. Deadly Ponies

One of New Zealand’s best kept fashion secrets, Deadly Ponies has quietly built a cult following for its beautifully crafted leather bags and modern, sculptural designs. Founded in 2005 by Liam Bowden, the brand is known for buttery soft leathers, thoughtful craftsmanship, and silhouettes that feel both artistic and incredibly wearable.

What I love most about Deadly Ponies is that every bag feels like a hidden gem. The designs are understated but never boring, with just enough personality to stand out without relying on logos or trends. If you’re looking for an investment bag that feels unique, timeless, and guaranteed to spark a “Where did you get that?” conversation, this is a brand worth discovering.

My picks:

I hope you enjoyed my recommendations as much as I enjoyed putting them together!

Creating this edit was such a fun reminder that the best investment pieces are not always the bags everyone is talking about. Sometimes, the most special finds are the ones that feel a little more personal, the ones that fit seamlessly into your everyday life, and the ones that slowly become part of your story.

Whether you are heading to class, starting your career, traveling, or simply looking for a bag that feels more you, I hope you found something that inspired your next purchase.

At the end of the day, the best bag is not the one everyone else has. It is the one you will reach for again and again, the one that collects memories along the way, and the one that feels uniquely yours.

Happy bag hunting!

xo

ayro

Grief is one of the most profound emotions we tend to experience as human beings. For some it arrives quietly, and for other’s it comes in like a thunderstorm.

Regardless of racial and socioeconomic background, it touches everyone at some point in life. Whether we lose a parent, a grandparent, a partner, a friend, an aunt, an uncle, or even a cherished dream, grief reminds us of one simple truth: We only grieve because we have loved deeply.

Some people come into our lives through blood, while others become family through love, kindness, and years of unwavering presence.

Writing has always been my truest form of worship. As someone who is deeply spiritual, I have often found my peace in the quiet act of writing rather than in spoken prayer. My faith has never been confined to rituals alone. It has lived in the spaces between words, in the stories I tell, and in the moments when I have sat with my own heart long enough to understand it. Whenever life has become too overwhelming to carry, I have returned to the written word. Writing is where I grieve, where I heal, and where I remember.

This is why I am writing this now. A week ago, someone I loved dearly left this world. I lost my Sehar Khala (خالہ). A sentence I never thought I would write so soon.

For the past three decades, she has been one of my mother’s oldest and dearest friends, but to me, she has never been just a family friend. She was my Khala in every sense of the word. She was a woman whose kindness, warmth, and unwavering love made her family long before I understood that family isn’t always defined by blood. She was also incredibly talented, educated, well-spoken, and creative.

She was the kind of person who made family feel bigger than blood. Her gentle spirit made everyone around her feel at home. Growing up, I never thought of her as an outsider or visitor. She was simply a part of our lives. Someone whose presence felt constant, comforting, and familiar.

Today, UpperMall feels a little bit quieter. Gulberg feels lonely. Lahore’s traffic noises have subsided into a collective hum of quiet words, as if the bustling city itself has lowered its voice in grief.

I find it hard to believe that I will never hear her voice again, her laugh, her sitting in my Nano’s living room waiting for me and my mom.

Friends like that truly don’t exist anymore.

Every time my mother and I would land in Lahore, she was the first to call and check up on us. She would often say, are you home? I am coming to see you. Or how jet-lagged are you? Regardless, I am coming over; let’s have breakfast together.

Besides being a gem of a human being, she was incredibly talented. She was a brilliant fashion designer. Before any big event, she always designed an outfit for me and my mom. She designed my mom’s wedding bridal, my first birthday outfit, multiple Eid Outfits, wedding guest outfits, etc. She was the center of our universe in every way.

She might not have been related to me by blood, but she loved me like a family member, and I loved her the same way. That is the beautiful thing about life. It allows us to find people who choose to love us, stand by us, and become a part of our story.

So this is my prayer for Sehar Khala.

Not one whispered with folded hands, but one written with an open heart. Every sentence is an act of remembrance. Every memory is a quiet thank you. Every word is my way of saying that although she is gone, she continues to live in the people who are fortunate enough to have known her.

Perhaps this is what grief truly is: love refusing to be forgotten. And perhaps that is why I write. Because maybe some prayers are meant to be spoken, while others are meant to be written.

So, Sehar Khala, even though life was so incredibly unkind to you, I pray you have finally found the peace that so often seemed just beyond your reach. I pray that wherever you are now, your heart is light, your burdens are lifted, and your soul is wrapped in the mercy and love of the one who knows every sorrow you carried.

You deserved gentler days than the ones this world gave you. Hope eternity has become the home where every hardship has ended, where every tear has been wiped away, and where your kindness is returned to you a thousandfold.

Thank you for loving us so wholeheartedly. Thank you for becoming family, not by blood, but by choice and by heart. You will be missed more than words can ever express, but you will be remembered with every story, every smile, and every prayer.

Until we meet again, may you rest in eternal peace.

Growing up as the daughter of an esthetician, beauty has never been about just makeup. It was part of my everyday life. I have spent years surrounded by conversations about skincare, ingredients, and treatments. But for the longest time, skincare was the last thing I wanted to think about. Throughout my teenage years, I struggled with intense hormonal acne. My mom, the skin care guru, constantly encouraged me to take better care of my skin and even suggested regular facials, but like many teenagers, I resisted. I was convinced I knew better. I didn’t.

Looking back, I think the reason my skin never got ‘worse’ is because of my mom. But somewhere along the way in college, something in me changed. Perhaps it was because I no longer had the time to do a proper, well-thought-out makeup routine; maybe it was that I stopped seeing skincare as a constant chore. I like to think it is a combination of both.

Midway through college, I began to see skincare as an investment in myself. I started paying attention to myself, to the ingredients in my products, started investing in monthly facials and hefty skincare treatments (e.g., microdermabrasion), and learned to build a routine that worked for my skincare. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I began to appreciate the skincare routine my mother had preached for years. Looking back, I wish I had listened to her sooner rather than later. But, I eventually learned my lesson.

Now, beauty has become one of my favorite things to explore. I take a lot of pride in caring for my skin. I genuinely love exploring new products that are both beautiful and effective, and I love sharing the ones that have a permanent place on my shelf. Consider this a collection of those finds.

Note from the Editor:

_{None of the links in this article are affiliate links. These are simply my personal favorite finds for the season that I wanted to share with you. I don’t earn a commission if you purchase anything through these links, and this post is not sponsored, gifted, or paid for by any of the brands featured. Every item included is here because I genuinely love it.}

Mama’s Favorites

If there’s one person I trust when it comes to skincare, it’s my mom. She’s been an esthetician for over a decade, and some of my earliest memories are of watching her care for clients and hearing conversations about ingredients, treatments, and the importance of healthy skin. While I didn’t always appreciate her advice growing up, I certainly do now.

These are the products that have earned her approval over the years. The ones she has recommended time and time again, both to me and to the people who have sat in her treatment room. When my mom says a product is worth buying, I tend to listen.

All affiliate links below you can buy through The Skin Lounge

_{A Note from the Editor}

Welcome to the first edition of Ayro’s Picks. I don’t usually put together style edits, but I wanted to challenge myself to share a different side of Ayro & Co. Fashion has always been one of my favorite forms of self-expression, so this felt like the perfect place to start. Think of this as a curated collection of the pieces I’m genuinely loving this season.

None of the links in this article are affiliate links. These are simply my personal favorite finds for the Summer 2026 season that I wanted to share with you. I don't earn a commission if you purchase anything through these links, and this post is not sponsored, gifted, or paid for by any of the brands featured. Every item included is here because I genuinely love it.

I am loving the fashion trends this summer is bringing. Unlike past seasons, this season feels distinctly different. It feels less about chasing trends, and more about investing in pieces that feel timeless, versatile, and easy to wear. From butter yellow and aqua blue to elevated basics and woven accessories, these are the styles that have stood out to me the most. Below is my personal edit of the pieces and trends I'm loving this summer. Enjoy!

Mood Board

1. Scarf Revival

Scarves are making a comeback, and I am here for it! A timeless accessory is making its way back into summer wardrobes. The silk scarf adds an effortless touch of elegance, whether styled around your neck, tied in your hair, or wrapped around a handbag. It's a small detail that can instantly elevate even the simplest outfit.

2. The Return of Jorts

Denim shorts are getting a relaxed refresh this summer. Moving away from ultra-short silhouettes, 2026 is embracing longer jorts with a vintage-inspired, effortless feel. Paired with a simple tank, oversized button-down, or classic sandals, they are the perfect casual staple for warm-weather dressing.

3. Linen Everything

If there is one fabric that defines Summer 2026, it is linen. Lightweight, breathable, and effortlessly elegant, linen has become the foundation of warm-weather dressing. From relaxed button-downs and tailored trousers to matching sets and breezy dresses, it’s the kind of fabric that looks just as good on a beach vacation as it does in the city.

What I love most about linen is its timelessness. It’s not a seasonal trend you’ll wear once and forget—it returns every summer for a reason. Investing in a few well-made linen staples is one of the easiest ways to build a wardrobe that feels both polished and effortless.

4. The Return of Polka Dots

In my world polka dots were never out of style, and that is exactly what they are proving this summer. Polka Dots never go out of style. This summer they’re making a comeback in a more modern, understated way appearing on flowing dresses, tailored blouses, and lightweight skirts. Whether in classic black and white or softer neutral tones, polka dots add a touch of femininity and timeless charm to any wardrobe without feeling overly trendy.

5. The Rise of Mesh Flats

Lightweight, breathable, and effortlessly chic, mesh flats have become one of the defining shoe trends of Summer 2026. Their barely-there design adds a modern touch to any outfit while remaining comfortable enough for everyday wear. Styled with linen trousers, dresses, or relaxed denim, they're the perfect blend of fashion and function.

Summer break in Pakistan is not what it used to be when I was a kid. Ever since the passing of my late maternal grandmother two and a half years ago, visiting Lahore during the muggy July heat has never been the same.

When I am back home in the United States, I feel perfectly fine, like nothing has changed. But every time I enter her home in Lahore, I feel nostalgic for my childhood, which now exists only in my memories.

In my head, I always try to keep my Nano’s memory alive. So naturally, the other day, I was missing her deeply. I decided to pull out the family photo albums. I wanted to feel her presence, even if only through pictures.

Every photograph I came across left me speechless. I always knew my Nano was beautiful, stylish, and incredibly fashionable throughout her life. But I never realized she had truly been the it girl of her generation

My mama, my grandmother’s daughter, has always been obsessed with makeup, skincare, and beauty for as long as I can remember. She is even a trained makeup artist and licensed esthetician at the Studio Skin Lounge.

When I was younger, I distinctly remember watching my mother get ready with such attention to detail and precision. She was always the girl with the newest makeup products, the niche skincare finds, and the homemade face mask remedies she swore by.

Whenever I watched my mama get ready in the morning or before a formal event, I would ask if all that makeup was really necessary and whether I should ever learn how to do it myself. She would always tell me, “Ayro, makeup is one of the most powerful tools you can use. It enhances your features, allows you to express your personality, and gives you confidence. Every woman should know how to do her makeup.”

At the time, I never fully understood what she meant. Looking back now, some of my earliest memories are not of family vacations or birthdays. They are of watching women get ready.

Watching my Nano carefully apply her MAC lipstick before guests arrived for afternoon tea. Watching my mother stand in front of the bathroom mirror testing out her latest Neiman Marcus beauty counter finds. Watching makeup bags spill over with foundations, blushes, powders, perfumes, and brushes that somehow all seemed to have a story attached to them.

Now, years later, I catch myself doing the exact same thing. I know my love for beauty did not start with me. I inherited it.

We often talk about passing down family recipes, jewelry, and traditions. We rarely talk about passing down beauty. But maybe we should, because beauty rituals are their own kind of inheritance.

My Nano belonged to a generation where makeup was never about chasing trends. It was about looking polished. A swipe of lipstick before leaving the house was never vanity. It was about presenting yourself with care. She did not need twenty different blushes or the latest viral product. She knew what worked for her and stayed loyal to it.

My mama grew up in a different era, one where beauty counters became destinations, magazines dictated trends, and makeup became a little more experimental. There was still a sense of timelessness, but there was also curiosity. She taught me that beauty could be fun, not just functional.

Then there is my generation.

The generation that has more options than the ones before us. Sephora trips feel like pilgrimages. We spend hours watching tutorials on TikTok and YouTube from people we will probably never meet. We know the difference between satin and matte finishes. We can identify a product by its packaging alone and somehow convince ourselves that one more lip gloss will finally complete the collection.

It never does. I have a billion sheer, glittery drugstore lip glosses tucked away in every makeup pouch I own.

Beauty has become an entire ecosystem. There are new launches every week, influencer and celebrity collaborations, must have products, and trends that disappear before you even have a chance to decide whether you like them.

And somehow, I still love it.

Not because makeup makes me feel more beautiful. Not because I believe I need it. But because beauty has always felt creative to me.

There is something calming about opening a makeup bag, choosing a lipstick that matches your mood, blending eyeshadow just because you feel like it, or finding a perfume that reminds you of a particular season of your life.

It is one of the few hobbies that asks nothing of you except to enjoy the process.

Because it was never just about the makeup.

It was the conversations that happened while someone curled your hair. The lipstick recommendations exchanged across a bathroom counter. The perfume your mother insists suits you better than the one you picked The moment your grandmother tells you that a little lipstick can brighten your whole face.

Beauty becomes the backdrop for so many ordinary moments that eventually become extraordinary memories.

Looking back, I do not remember the exact products they used. I do not remember the shade names or the brands.

I remember the rituals.I remember the confidence that seemed to appear the moment lipstick touched their lips. I remember borrowing makeup before I was old enough to wear it.

I remember learning that getting ready was never just about looking nice. It was about taking a few quiet moments for yourself before stepping out into the world.

Maybe that is why I still love beauty today.

Not because I think everyone should wear makeup. Not because I think beauty should define women. But for me, it has always represented something much bigger than appearance.

It reminds me of the women who came before me.

Three generations. Three completely different lives. Three different definitions of beauty.

And yet, somehow, we all found ourselves standing in front of a mirror, reaching for lipstick, and carrying on the same quiet tradition without ever realizing we were passing it down.

The discipline. The workouts. The calorie counting. The diets. The before-and-after photos.

But no one talks about what happens when it’s over.

Last year, I was diagnosed with PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome). Since that diagnosis, I have lost nearly sixty pounds. Getting diagnosed was a journey in itself, but so was losing the weight I had struggled to lose for years.

If you have PCOS, you know that weight loss often isn’t as simple as “eat less and move more.” Many of us deal with insulin resistance, meaning our bodies don’t respond to insulin as efficiently as they should. To compensate, the pancreas produces more insulin, and those higher insulin levels can make it easier to store fat, particularly around the abdomen, and much harder to lose it.

For years, I blamed myself. For the longest time, I convinced myself that this was just my body type, that I lacked discipline, that I wasn’t trying hard enough, that I didn’t have the athletic gene (despite playing sports my whole life). And that every failed diet and trendy workout routine felt like proof that everyone else had a secret that I didn’t.

Getting formally diagnosed didn’t magically make losing weight easy, but it gave me something I hadn’t had before.

More than a year later, after losing nearly sixty pounds, I have realized something else. The hardest part wasn’t the weight loss. It was figuring out who I was after it.

One thing about me is that I’ve always loved fashion. From a young age till now, fashion has been a big part of me. I grew up in a fashion household, where it was normal to talk about trending colors, styles, and designs. But somewhere along the way, during my excess weight gain, something changed. I started feeling extremely self-conscious and anxious in my own skin.

I have always been a chubby kid, but as I got older and things didn’t fit me the way they were supposed too I started rejecting fashion. For the longest time, it just wasn’t fun for me.

For the longest time, I was so focused on losing the weight that it never occurred to me I would face a new obstacle once I lost it. Learning how to dress myself, and my new body.

One of the first things I have realized throughout this journey is that my body changed faster than my mindset did. For months, I had still been seeing the version of myself I had been seeing for years.

Naturally, in the past five to six months, every time I went shopping, I would reach for the large size on the rack. Even though I was losing weight, I had convinced myself that I couldn’t possibly fit into a smaller size. Every time I would go into a fitting room, I would often catch my reflection in the dressing room mirror, surprised at the person looking back at me. Often thinking to myself, how the actual hell did a size small in this mini dress from DVF actually fit me?

One of the biggest challenges I have faced with losing weight is thinking that I was bigger than I actually was.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t see the number on the scale. I could. It was that my mind hadn’t caught up with my body. I had spent a large chunk of my life viewing myself through one lens, and changing it took far longer than changing my weight.

Rediscovering my style has become a part of that process. Once I overcame this regressive mindset, it has been smooth sailing since then. Like when I was a kid, fashion felt fun again.

I slowly began to adjust to my new body. I started shopping more. Something that I hadn’t really done in years, because nothing would fit me.

Caring about trends or constantly buying new clothes didn’t excite me per se, but getting dressed did. In recent years, shopping began to feel like more of a chore than something I enjoyed. I would walk into stores assuming most things wouldn’t fit me the way I wanted. Instead of looking for new pieces, I began to look for pieces that hid me.

Now, for the first time, I found myself lingering in stores for a bit longer. I tried on silhouettes I had never considered before. I became more intentional about what I was buying, paying attention to quality, fit, and how a piece made me feel rather than simply whether it covered the parts of me I was insecure about.

Since then, I have started to become more adventurous with my style. I started experimenting with patterns, shapes, silhouettes, and trends that I never expected to fit me.

For years, getting dressed meant blending in. For the longest time, I gravitated towards oversized clothes, darker colors, and familiar silhouettes because they felt safe. I wasn’t expressing myself; I was trying to hide.

But recently, after losing weight, something shifted. I found myself reaching for pieces I would have never considered before. Strapless, sleeveless, sheer, mini-dresses, maxi-dresses, halter-neck. I realized I stopped asking, Does this fit me? Does this feel like me?

Over time, shopping has become less about buying clothes and more about discovering my personal style. Every outfit I have tried on has taught me something about myself. Some trends didn’t suit me. Some did. Others made me feel more like myself than I had in years.

For the first time, I realized that my wardrobe wasn’t built on insecurity. It was built on self-expression. I don’t think I have changed the way I dress. I changed the way I saw myself.

People often think the biggest transformation in a weight-loss journey is physical. For me, it was deeper. The biggest transformation happened for me the day I stopped dressing to hide myself.

A year later, my closet looks different. My style has evolved. My hairstyle has changed. I have started taking riskier chances with pieces I never thought I could wear, and I have actually enjoyed getting dressed in the morning.

Losing sixty pounds gave me a different body. Rediscovering my style gave me something far more meaningful.

It gave me permission to finally see myself the way I deserved to all along.

I know the following statement I am about to make may not resonate with everyone, but I have always felt my most beautiful and confident with short hair.

Throughout my life, I have done a lot to my hair. And when I say a lot, I mean a lot. I have cut my hair short; I have grown it long. I have cut bangs, both forehead and curtain. I have cut many layers in my head than needed. I have dyed and bleached my hair from blonde to jet black. I have done everything, but one thing that has repeatedly stayed consistent throughout my life is short hair.

Looking back, every version of me has had short hair. The toddler version of me had it because Pakistani summers were unbearably hot. The little-girl version of me had it because my mother refused to spend every morning detangling my hair before school. The awkward middle school version of me had it when I wanted to look different for my biology crush. The overly ambitious high school version of me had it when I tried to look older than I actually was. My young adult self has had it as a way to reclaim my identity.

Somehow, during every stage of my life, my short hair has stayed the same while everything else has changed.

People often talk about cutting their hair after a major life event. A breakup. A new job. A fresh start. In a way, hair becomes symbolic—a way of shedding an older version of yourself.

While there is nothing wrong with that, personally, I have never related to that.

For me, my hair has never represented reinvention, but rather continuity. I have always been the girl with short hair.

It is one of the first things people notice about me. Teachers remember me because of it. Friends and relatives have associated me with it. Even now, people who haven’t seen me in years run into me, and usually laugh and say, “You still have short hair! And it still looks good on you!”

Yes, I do. And thank you.

Because it never felt like a compromise. It always felt like me.

There is a strange assumption often placed by traditional societal norms that short hair is more feminine, more elegant, and more versatile. Growing up, I have heard it more times than I can count.

I think long hair suits you more; you should grow it out.

Short hair makes you seem younger than you actually are. If you want to look older, grow your hair long.

So-and-so’s wedding is coming up. You should grow your hair out so that you have options for hairstyles.

But I never believed any of it. Not because I had something to prove, but because I already knew how I felt.

Short hair has always made me stand a little taller. It has made me more polished without trying too hard. It has always framed my face in a way that felt similar. Most importantly, it has always made me feel like myself.

I think only people with short hair could relate to this, but there is something so liberating about cutting your hair short. Every time I sit in a hair stylist’s chair, I feel like a brand new person. There is a profound sense of freedom in shedding the weight of old hair. Often leaving you feeling lighter, bolder, and completely renewed.

Confidence is funny like that. It isn’t often built through grand gestures. Sometimes it comes from something as ordinary as looking in the mirror and recognizing the person staring back.

As I have gotten older, I have realized that my attachment to short hair was never about the haircut. It was about the consistency.

As someone who dreads change. When everything in my life has changed. Friends, schools, cities, ambitions—there is one thing that has remained unmistakably mine. Short hair.

Over time, my hair has quietly become a part of my identity. Not because it was trendy. Not because it made a statement. But it was the version of myself that I recognized the most.

And maybe five years from now, I will have a different perspective on short hair. Maybe five years from now, I will grow it long. Maybe I won’t.

Either way, I have stopped thinking of my hair as something that needs to evolve alongside every chapter of my life.

Some things don’t need reinventing. Somethings already feel like home. And for as long as I can remember, short hair has always felt like home.

As someone who is not only incredibly indecisive but has also spent the last four years of her early adulthood researching various careers and completing internships specifically in the realms of consulting and high finance, I have learned one thing: Investment Banking and Finance aren’t really that different.

Look, before the ‘career-pretige-police’ come for me, I would just like to say that I know Investment Banking and Big Law are theoretically distinct careers.

For example, one career spends its day creating financial models, building PowerPoint pitch decks, valuing companies, and frequently networking with corporate executives.

While the other spends its day focusing on legal regulations, risk management, reading contracts, summarizing documents, and ensuring mergers and acquisitions comply with the law.

Yes, both careers involve entirely different tasks. But at its core, they are more alike than most people would like to admit.

Both industries require brutal, unpredictable schedules reaching 70-90-hour workweeks. They also both work on the same major corporate events, such as billion-dollar mergers, acquisitions, and public offerings. Both also advise the exact same Fortune 500 companies, private equity firms, and massive hedge funds. Both operate in high stakes environment. And both recruit exclusively from top-tier business and law schools.

Ultimately, they both function as two halves of the same coin. While bankers structure the financial math of the deal. Lawyers draft binding legal contracts to ensure they are effectively executed.

A few years ago, during my sophomore year of college, I became very fascinated with the world of Investment Banking. I think much of this had to do with the fact that I had been invited to quite a few high-finance/IB networking events in the D.C. metro area that fall.

I am going to be honest, the first time I walked through the door of Investment Banking, I didn’t really know what to expect. I had no idea what M&A was. I had no idea how insanely competitive recruiting was for this industry was. I had no idea that my chances of getting into a prestigious firm were low, given that I was coming from a non-target school.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

Fast forward a few months, and I decided, despite my chances, I wanted to try and go for it. I interviewed at a few banks. Passed the first two rounds of HireVue screenings. Passed the third round of behavioral interview with a junior banker.

I made it to superday interviews for only one ‘upper-middle-market-firm.’ I remember I studied for that technical interview like my life depended on it. As a humanities major at the time, the jargon was quite distinct, but I tried my best.

I remember being so nervous before Superday. But in a way, I was prepared for anything that would come my way.

Until I came across my first interviewer, who for lack of words at the time intimated the actual sh*t out of me. He grilled me as I had never been grilled before. The funny part was that it wasn’t even about anything technical.

So you don’t have a good GPA, why? You don’t go to a target school, you could never get into finance? Do you have any relevant experience? I see you have interned at a non-profit, but nothing impressive. But the question that struck me the most out of all of them was this: Why not just go into Big Law? Why would you want to go into finance?

After the interview, I felt so incredibly overwhelmed that I didn’t know what to do but cry. I thought to myself, maybe I am not that smart. Maybe I don’t have what it takes for finance? Maybe this is a dream that is too ambitious for me.

While it’s safe to say that, as I have matured, I have realized that the experience was incredibly valuable for my personal growth. It helped me to effectively assess my career trajectory.

But at the time, I didn’t see it like that.

For months afterward, I felt so discouraged. I viewed that personal interview as a failure. I replayed every question in my head, over and over again. I drove myself crazy thinking I should have prepared more, networked harder, chosen a better degree, or gone to a more prestigious undergraduate institution.

But as time passed, I started to realize something a bit more interesting.

The interviewer had accidentally given me a gift, and I don’t think he realized. Because hidden with all those difficult questions was one genuinely deserved answer.

Why finance?

The more I thought about it, what attracted me to investment banking wasn’t the gruesome hours, the spreadsheets, the evaluation models, or merger transactions.

It was the prestige. The exclusivity. The competitiveness.

For me, it was all about proving something to myself. And that same realization has led me to a bigger observation. The same thing could be said about Big Law.

When people discuss careers in Investment Banking and law, they often focus on the differences between the professions. Yet very few people talk about the similarities between the individuals who pursue them.

Yes, for both, the educational training is uniquely divergent. One requires an individual to hold a Juris Doctorate degree, and the other often requires completing just four years of undergraduate studies at a target school.

But back to similarities, because behaviorally, there are many.

Both attract ambitious young people, who have spent a good chunk of their lives chasing educational and professional achievement.

The students who plan every semester. Those who are obsessed with getting internships. The students who are looking toward the next milestone before they even celebrate the one they just reached.

In many was IB and big law recruit from the exact same personality pool.

The only difference is that somewhere along the line, one person discovered they preferred corporate finance while another discovered they preferred legal reasoning.

Beyond that, the lifestyles are remarkably similar.

Both industries are notorious for demanding extraordinary sacrifices from their junior employees.

Late nights become normal. Weekends become optional. Vacations become interruptions rather than opportunities to rest. The expectation is simple: the client comes first.

What fascinates me most, however, is that despite all of this, neither industry struggles to attract talent.

Every year, thousands of highly educated young people willingly compete for jobs known for demanding hours, stressful environments, and high burnout rates.

Why?

They are selling a symbol. A symbol of intelligence. A symbol of achievement. A symbol of having made it.

And perhaps that is why the interviewer asked me that question all those years ago.

“Why not just go into Big Law?”

At the time, I interpreted it as criticism.

Today, I think it was something else entirely.

I think he was trying to determine whether I was attracted to finance itself or to the prestige it carries.

And truthfully, I suspect many young professionals entering both Big Law and investment banking are still trying to answer that very same question.

The other day, I was clearing my camera roll. It feels like a monthly chore at this point, but it has to be done to maximize storage. Some months, I do a major deep clean of my camera roll. Then there are months I hardly touch my camera roll, just delete a picture here and there.

Over the past four years, my camera roll has become a timeline of different versions of my life. Washington, D.C. boarding passes. Denver airport selfies. Screenshots I accidentally took while walking. Photos I forgot existed.

For example, last summer during my previous internship in Lahore, I made a bunch of friends my age. It was a great time while it lasted. From July to August, we would spend every waking hour together.

We spent nearly every day together. Working, grabbing coffee afterward, gossiping in our WhatsApp group chats, wandering through Gulberg and DHA on weekends, and ending almost every outing with a mirror selfie.

At the time, it never occurred to me that we would eventually drift apart.

Notably, every time before our hangout ended, we would always take a mirror selfie together. Regardless if we were at a restaurant, cafe, or mall. You bet we were taking a picture together.

As I scrolled through, I saw that I had hundreds of the same pictures with this group.

Flash forward a year later. I only talk to one person from that group. She has become my closest friend from that experience, if not my best. I don’t talk to anyone from that internship, yet I have more pictures of them than I do of some of my closest friends. Why?

I have seen this happen time and time again. Truthfully, I have had many friends in my life come and go, and I have begun to notice a trend. The most superficial friends I have had over the years, with whom I am no longer in contact, either over an explosive fight or a mere falling out, I have more pictures with them than I do with my closest confidants.

After some reflection, I have realized something.

I've realized that photographs often document proximity—not permanence.

The people who fill your camera roll aren’t always the people who fill your life. Somewhere along the way, we’ve started treating photographs as proof of closeness.

The people who remain years later are often the ones you photographed the least because eventually your friendship stopped needing documentation.

Some friendships naturally lend themselves to photographs. They’re spontaneous, social, always trying out a new restaurant, or always celebrating someone. Someone instinctively says, “Wait, let’s get a picture.” And out of nowhere, everyone gathers around.

Then there are the quieter friendships.

These are the unphotogenic friendships. The one that no one bothers to document on social media. The friendship is filled with conversational dinner debriefs, late-night phone calls no one even thinks twice to document, friends who come over to each other’s apartment in sweatpants to watch a movie, the friend who listens to you after you have had a terrible day, the friend who checks up on you, and the friend who will hold your hand when you start crying.

They're the friends who pick up the phone, show up when you need them, and quietly make the effort year after year.

Every friendship leaves behind an archive. Some leave thousands of photos. Some leave a playlist you’ll never stop listening to. Some leave behind inside jokes that make no sense to anyone. Some leave habits you don’t realize you have picked up. And some leave nothing tangible at all; just the quiet certainty that someone once knew you completely.

We weren’t trying to preserve a moment. We were simply living in it.

As I previously stated, there is nothing wrong with taking pictures. I personally love looking back at old pictures. In a way, they freeze tiny pieces of life that would have otherwise faded with time. But I have stopped believing that a camera roll tells a whole story.

But I’ve stopped believing that a camera roll tells the whole story. Some of the people I cherish most barely appear in mine.

Maybe that’s because the most meaningful friendships eventually stop needing documentation. You become so accustomed to each other’s presence that reaching for your phone no longer feels important.

It turns out that the people who matter most aren’t always the ones who fill your camera roll.

They’re the ones who make you forget to take the picture in the first place.

A few months ago, I received a text from a distant friend. She and her long-term boyfriend of two years had just introduced both sets of parents to one another. It was the first time their families had met. As she described it to me, the parents really hit it off. She was ecstatic.

Naturally, I asked her the obvious question. “So, when’s the engagement?”

Less than thirty seconds later, my phone buzzed with a reply. “Soon.”

It was about to happen.

I immediately texted back, “Oh my goodness, this is so exciting. We’re really growing up.”

Then I asked what I considered the most important question of all.

“So, do you have a ring in mind?”

Her response came without hesitation.

“Of course I do. I’ve been researching ring designs since we started dating. I want a solitaire band with a halo setting to maximize the sparkle. I’m still deciding between a cocktail ring or something a bit simpler. Oval or round. Five carats or eight. But one thing is certain, I want a diamond.”

I remember staring at my phone, completely bewildered.

What on earth had I just read?

It felt like she’d spoken an entirely different language. The only word I understood was diamond. Everything else sent me straight to Google. What exactly was a halo setting? Was a cocktail ring more practical than a traditional engagement ring? How many different styles even existed?

After spending the next hour trying to piece together my friend’s dream ring, I had a realization.

While the rings she described were undeniably beautiful, they weren’t necessarily unique.

The ring she had spent years researching looked remarkably similar to the ring everyone else wanted.

Now, let me be clear.

I have absolutely nothing against diamond engagement rings. They’re timeless, elegant, classic, and for good reason. As an April baby, diamonds are even my birthstone.

Over the years, diamonds have become the universal symbol of love, commitment, and luxury. Their popularity isn’t accidental.

But if you asked me to choose between a traditional diamond ring and a statement ring, I’d choose the statement one every single time.

Not because it’s more expensive.

Not because it’s trendier.

Because it says something.

The oversized emerald. The vintage cocktail ring. The unexpected gemstone. The unusual shape. The piece that starts conversations rather than simply meeting expectations.

Some of the most unforgettable engagement rings in history aren’t memorable because they followed convention. They’re memorable because they didn’t.

Think Jackie Kennedy’s Van Cleef & Arpels Toi et Moi ring.

Think Kate Middleton’s sapphire engagement ring.

Think the emerald ring worn by Eleanor Young (Michelle Yeoh) in Crazy Rich Asians.

The list could go on and on.

None of those rings is remembered simply because they’re beautiful.

They’re remembered because they tell a story.

And if you ask me, that’s exactly what an engagement ring should do.

It should reflect the couple wearing it. Their personalities, their memories, their culture, and, most importantly, their love.

Maybe that’s a sapphire because it reminds you of where you first met. Maybe it’s an emerald because green has always been your favorite color. Perhaps it’s a vintage family heirloom that’s been passed down through generations. Or maybe it’s a bold statement ring that no bridal magazine would ever recommend.

Who says engagement rings have to look like everyone else’s? If they’re meant to symbolize your love, shouldn’t they be as unique as your relationship?

Love has never been one-size-fits-all.

So why should the ring be?

For years, we’ve been told that diamonds are forever. They’re the epitome of elegance, luxury, and timeless style.

And for many couples, that’s exactly what they should choose.

But somewhere along the way, I think we’ve mistaken “timeless” for “expected.”

We’ve become so accustomed to seeing the same cuts, settings, and designs that we’ve forgotten there are countless other ways to celebrate a love story.

The most meaningful jewelry has never been about following trends or meeting other people’s expectations.

It’s about wearing something that no one else could wear.

A statement ring isn’t just another accessory. It’s personality cast in metal and stone. It’s a reminder that the person wearing it chose meaning over convention.

That doesn’t mean every engagement ring has to be bold. Nor does it mean every couple should reject diamonds.

If your dream ring is a classic solitaire diamond, then wear it proudly. After all, the best engagement ring is the one that makes you smile every time you look at your hand.

My point isn’t that everyone should choose a statement ring.

It’s important that everyone chooses their ring. Not the one social media tells them to buy. Not the one that’s currently trending on Pinterest. Not the one they think other people will approve of.

The one that feels theirs unmistakably. Because the truth is, engagement rings aren’t meant to impress strangers.

They’re meant to symbolize one relationship. One story. One promise.

So yes, diamonds are beautiful.

But in a world where everyone and their mother owns one, I’d rather wear the ring that starts the conversation, not because it’s different for the sake of being different, but because it’s a reminder that the most meaningful love stories have never been ordinary.

And perhaps their rings shouldn’t be either.

If you ask me, I firmly believe that today’s modern woman has completely transformed the world of dating.

We know what we want. We know what we don’t want. We know what gives us the ‘ick.’ We know what doesn’t. We know what green flags are. We know what red flags are. We have negotiables. We also have non-negotiables.

If you ask any one of us to show you our list of qualities we hope to ‘manifest’ in our future partner majority of us will do one of two things.

We will either show you the physical list in our journal or in our notes app, or we will tell you verbally, just in case you know someone you think will click with us.

He needs to be tall. He needs to be handsome. He needs to be ambitious. Career-oriented. Family-oriented. Well-rounded. Out-going. Knows how to have fun. Funny. Fashionable.

Okay, I am going to expose myself for a second here… some of the attributes I have listed above are just a few of the many qualities I hope to possess in a partner one day.

However, I feel like, and I am also guilty of this, we tend to miss a very vital characteristic: emotional availability.

Sure, in a perfect world, we all want someone who is ambitious. Who is educated. Who has a good job. Who is handsome. Who is tall. Who has a strong work ethic. Who is well-rounded. Who can make anyone laugh in a nutshell. Who knows how to have fun.

But this is a problem that I think we tend to have. We are always looking for a partner who will be with us through the good, but what about the bad?

Look as much as social media tries to make it look, nothing is perfect. And for that matter, no relationship is perfect.

You don’t want someone who will look good just on paper. You want someone who can see you at your lowest and still choose to love you.

You want someone who will willingly stay up with you when you’re sick and can’t sleep at night.

Someone who makes you breakfast on the mornings when getting out of bed feels harder than usual.

Someone who notices you are struggling before you’ve found the words to explain it.

Someone who sits beside you during moments of uncertainty instead of disappearing when things get difficult.

Someone who offers you comfort when you need it, support when you ask for it, and patience when you don’t quite know what you need in that very moment.

Because life is not always made up of celebrations, promotions, vacations, and happy milestones. Eventually, everyone experiences heartbreak, disappointment, grief, stress, illness, and loss.

And when those moments arrive, the person standing beside you matters more than anyone else. But because they are willing to face those challenges with you.

That, to me, is what love looks like. Not grand gestures. No dramatic declarations. Not fancy gifts. Just someone who stays.

I firmly believe that, before physical features, career ambitions, and personality traits, we should look for character.

We spend so much time looking for instant chemistry, attraction, ambition, intelligence, and potential that we often tend to overlook the one thing that determines how someone will treat us in the long run.

Because if you really look at it realistically, careers eventually fade into retirement. Attractive physical features turn old. Chemistry eventually becomes subtle. Circumstances shift.

But character and emotional availability are the two things that always stay consistent.

I suppose my track record isn’t the best for making such a grandiose statement about emotional availability, because in the past, one of the most prevalent deciding factors for me has always been the most impressive person in the room.

But the older I get, the more I realize how regressive that mindset actually is.

Because, while yes, being with someone who is impressive not only on paper, but also socially, is a big deal. But if that person doesn’t have the emotional capacity for you. Then, not even the impressive attributes, features, and career are worth fighting for in the relationship.

If someone’s character isn’t right. If they don’t have the emotional capacity for you. If they use your lowest points against you. If they verbally abuse you. Then is it worth it? Then can you even say that you are in a relationship?

I have said this on here a great many times, and I was just watching a TikTok from a fellow content creator who was talking about it as well: that, as women, who we choose to marry. Who we choose to spend the rest of our lives with is such an important decision.

We don’t realize it now. But who we choose to marry will greatly influence our lives and decisions for years to come.

That is why we need someone who will be with us through thick and thin. Because in every solid, healthy relationship, the good and the bad are destined to come.

I know this article may sound a bit silly, coming from a person who has never been in a relationship. But as a deeply observant individual. And based on the relationships that I have seen unfold throughout my family and friends.

At the end of the day, the strongest relationships aren’t the most aesthetically pleasing. They are the ones who stay when things get difficult.

When the right moment arrives, you won’t care about how charming they were on a first date, or how impressive their résumé looked, or how perfectly curated their life appeared from the outside.

You will care about something much more powerful. Their character and their emotional availability towards you.

The greatest test of a person’s character is not how they treat you at your best. It is how they treat you at your worst. And the most beautiful thing about finding a love that is so genuine and pure is finding someone who can see every imperfect, messy, and broken part of you and still say.

“I am not going anywhere.”

That is a love that I hope to find one day, whenever the time is right.

You know what really gets under my skin? The people who don’t know how to keep their word. The individuals who say one thing but do another. The ones who like to talk big, if you will.

One of the most valuable lessons I have learned so far in my twenties is this: People will show you who they are with their actions, not their words.

Yes, I know this realization sounds obvious. Cliché if you will. Yet I am constantly surprised by how often we tend to forget about it.

We live in a world where we place great value on communication. We are often told to express ourselves. To communicate our feelings with our loved ones. To articulate our feelings clearly. To share our intentions. To be transparent.

And while all those things do matter. Here is the truth: words are free. Actions cost something.

I personally think that the quickest way to earn anyone’s respect is surprisingly simple.

Do what you are going to do.

That’s it.

Not because the thing is necessarily impressive. But because follow-through has become increasingly rare.

We live in a culture obsessed with self-proclaimed announcements.

“I am going to buy this!” “I am going to do this!”

Before anything has even happened. People tend to announce everything to the world.

Their goals. Their ambitions. Their projects. They announce the person they are about to become. Yet here is what I have learned: far fewer people are actually interested in doing the less glamorous part: actually doing the work.

Everyone wants to start. Few people want to continue. Even fewer people want to finish. The older I get, the more I realize how reliability is one of the best qualities a person can possess.

When someone says they will call, they will call. When someone says they will show up, they will. When someone says they will complete a task, they will.

It creates trust. Not because the action is extraordinary. But because consistency is.

Your word is a promise. And every promise you keep strengthens your character. Every promise you make weakens it.

Because here is the thing: the more promises you break. The more people stop taking you seriously. It starts to feel like The Boy Who Cried Wolf, a story about lying.

As children, whenever we heard the story, we were told it was about the boy who constantly lied.

But the older I get, the less I think the problem was that he lied. Sure, it was a big part of the story. But I think the bigger problem was that he repeatedly said things that turned out not to be true. And eventually the villagers stopped believing him altogether.

Look, most of us are not going around shouting, WOLF! At the top of our lungs. But whether we like it or not, many of us have our own version of it.

We say we are going to buy the thing. We say we are going to go to the gym. We say we will communicate. We say we are going to pursue the dream.

Then we don’t.

The first time, nobody notices. The behavior seems very minuscule. The second time, we notice, but we give the person grace. The tenth time something changes. Our words begin to lose value. People stop believing our promises. More importantly, we stop believing them ourselves.

Maybe that is the most dangerous consequence of it all. Because credibility isn’t something you have with other people. It is something you have with yourself.

Every time you say something, you will follow through. You strengthened that trust. Every time you say you aren’t, you break it.

Eventually, you become the villager and the boy at the same time. Making promises and no longer believing them.

Ultimately, what bothers me the most about people who say they are going to do something and then don’t is the lack of discipline. It is the lack of respect.

Because when you are making a ‘statement’ or a ‘promise’, however small, you are asking someone to trust you.

You are asking them to believe you.

To plan their schedule around it. To rely on it. To take it seriously.

And when you repeatedly fail to follow through, you are sending a message, whether you intend to or not. You are saying that your convenience matters more than their expectations. That your intentions should count more than your actions.

That your promises should be rewarded regardless of whether they are kept.

Of course, life happens. Emergencies happen. Circumstances change. This is not about the occasional missed deadline or forgotten phone call.

It is about patterns.

The people who are perpetually “about to” do something. The people whose lives are full of announcements and short on execution. The people who expect endless credit for intentions, while producing very little evidence.

At a certain point, it begins to resemble the story of the boy who cried wolf.

Not because they are lying. But their words have become detached from reality. And once that happens, trust starts to disappear.

Slowly at first. Then all at once. Because every promise is a request to be taken seriously.

And eventually, people stop granting that request. Including yourself.