Queenies, Fades & Blunts
On the radical quiet of a queer barbershop — and what it means to finally sit in a chair that sees you.
Notebooks from a slow life — on travel, beauty, the body, and the small disciplines of being a person in 2026.
On the radical quiet of a queer barbershop — and what it means to finally sit in a chair that sees you.
On the funicular, the cool air at the summit, and what it means to look down at a city you have been walking through.
The pagoda climbs in tiers above the rooftops of Air Itam. An essay on the ascent, the layered faith, and what it feels like to arrive somewhere that has been here far longer than you.
The city I now call home, seen through the eyes of someone who arrived with curiosity and stayed because the city kept rewarding it.
The blog is divided like a small magazine — each section edited with the same hand, the same care, the same patience.
On habits, homes, and the small architecture of a good day.
ExploreSlow notes from cities I keep returning to — and a few I won't.
ExploreThe body, the breath, the boring things that actually work.
ExploreEditorial routines, honest reviews, fewer products by design.
Explore
“I started this blog because I wanted somewhere to write the way I think — slowly, in complete sentences, with the radio off.”
I started writing here on a rainy Tuesday because I needed somewhere to put the small things — a recipe my grandmother taught me, a hotel in Lisbon, the moisturiser that finally fixed my winter skin.
New essays go out on Thursdays. Nothing here is sponsored, nothing is in a hurry. If a piece makes you take a longer walk, or call your mother, or close the laptop entirely — then I've done my job.