I receive a constant stream of skincare products.

After 42 years in the beauty and fashion industry, new launches arrive at my door almost weekly—serums, creams, masks, oils, each promising to be the next miracle.

Most of them I never write about.

Not because they’re bad. Simply because they’re not memorable.

But every once in a while something arrives that makes me slow down.

The products were sent to me anonymously, and I spent nearly three months using them before I went looking for more information about the company. Only when I checked their Instagram to fact-check a few details did I realize the brand was developed with dermatologist Dr. Adam Geyer—who happened to be my own dermatologist for years when I lived in Tribeca.

During my 30s and 40s, he took care of my skin, so I’ve seen firsthand the level of clinical thinking he brings to skincare. Discovering that connection after already liking the formulas made the experience even more interesting.

The line centers around one of nature’s most remarkable ingredients: Manuka honey.

Unlike ordinary honey, Manuka honey contains methylglyoxal (MGO), a compound responsible for its antibacterial and skin-soothing properties. It has been studied for wound care and skin repair and has been used medicinally for centuries.

Humans have trusted honey for healing for thousands of years. In fact, honey discovered in ancient Egyptian tombs has been found to remain biologically intact after millennia.

In skincare, ingredients come in and out of fashion every season. But every so often an ingredient appears that has both ancient history and modern clinical relevance. Manuka honey sits squarely in that category. Long before dermatology labs existed, people used honey for wound care and skin healing. Today researchers are studying the same antimicrobial and barrier-supporting properties in clinical settings. When an ingredient bridges that kind of historical wisdom and modern science, it’s usually worth paying attention.

AUNU builds a modern skincare routine around that ancient ingredient.

The system is refreshingly simple:

• Cleanser

• Toner

• Moisturizer

• Salve for when your skin needs extra support

The formulas are lightweight and soothing, designed to support the skin barrier with ingredients like ceramides, beetroot extract, and resveratrol alongside the Manuka honey complex.

I used the line consistently for three months, finishing it completely.

What impressed me most was how well it worked alongside my own actives—retinol and treatments for pigmentation—with no peeling, pilling, or irritation.

Another detail I appreciate: the packaging is glass, which avoids the issue of plastic chemical leaching into skincare products over time.

The experience of using the line is quietly lovely. The subtle scent of honey is calming and familiar.

The result?

Soft, comfortable skin that simply feels healthy.

This is not a paid partnership—just a product I was curious about and enjoyed using.

And because good skincare deserves real testing time, consider this the first entry in my 90-Day Beauty Test series—where I only write about products after living with them long enough to know if they actually work.

If you’re interested in thoughtful beauty discoveries, industry stories, and the occasional hard-earned lesson from more than four decades in fashion and beauty, you’re in the right place.

The 90-Day Beauty Test: I don’t recommend a product until I’ve lived with it.

By then, you’ve been educated — formally or by life. You’ve had success. You’ve had humiliation. You know roughly who you are. But in your 40s, theory ends and consequence begins.

Every plate spins at once: career, children, partnership, aging parents, long-term money, health, relevance. It’s no longer about potential. It’s about management.

Forty is convergence.

This is the decade where discipline stops being aesthetic and becomes strategic. It’s not about being admired. It’s about being structurally sound.

When I turned 40, I already understood the stakes. Two difficult pregnancies had stripped away any illusion of invincibility. My life had never mattered more to me than when I was given the gift of children. Our survival was intertwined. If I went down, everything shifted.

That realization clarifies you.

So my 40s weren’t about proving. They were about protecting.

Health is power.

Power requires health.

You cannot separate them. Financial instability creates chronic physical stress. Chronic stress erodes the body. Poor health destabilizes income. The loop is real. And your 40s are when you decide whether that loop strengthens you or weakens you.

If you drift through this decade, you pay for it in your 50s.

You pay in bone density.

You pay in metabolic resilience.

You pay in savings you didn’t build.

You pay in relationships you didn’t maintain.

You pay in options you assumed would always be there.

And then something else happens in your 40s: you begin to lose people your own age. Sometimes to illness. Sometimes to despair. Sometimes to a twist of fate that reminds you how fragile all of this is.

Mortality stops being abstract.

That’s when the work deepens beyond productivity and aesthetics. Yes, lift heavy weights. Yes, challenge your brain. But those are tactics. The strategy is larger:

Who are you when output slows?

What sustains you when ambition quiets?

Have you built a life that protects you as fiercely as you protected everyone else?

Forty is halftime. And halftime is assessment.

Life is good. But it is not casual.

You have to treat yourself well to live life well.

Build systems. Build savings. Build bone density. Build friendships that will answer the phone at 3 AM.

At the time, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I still think about that sentence.

Does disappearing mean people notice you less when you walk into a room?

That younger faces command attention more easily?

That your opinions sometimes land more quietly than they once did?

Probably. That part is real.

Aging changes how attention moves toward you — and what you do with it once it arrives.

With time, you gain the ability to step forward or hang back deliberately.

To observe instead of perform.

To speak because you mean something, not because you’re competing for space.

And then there is the larger truth we tend to avoid because it makes people uncomfortable:

We are all moving toward disappearance.

That’s what death is.

You live on only in memory.

So perhaps the goal isn’t fighting disappearance at all costs.

Perhaps the goal is crossing the finish line intact.

With strength.

With clarity.

With love and ideas and integrity that outlast the image.

We aged.

We’re still here.

And one day, we won’t be.

The question is how fully we inhabit the middle —

and what we leave behind when we’re gone.

It’s about relationships—between makers and muses, between discipline and fantasy, between the body and the imagination.

Before I ever stepped onto a runway, fashion entered my life through my mother’s hands. She made nearly everything I wore as a child, and those early rituals—choosing yarns, touching fabrics, understanding time and care—shaped my lifelong definition of chic. Not consumption, but intention.

That foundation carried me into the world of Paris runway shows, where nothing was casual and nothing was accidental.

There were no second takes, no improvisation, no safety net. Each look carried the weight of an entire collection, sometimes an entire season, and when you stepped out, you were carrying the house with you.

My years working with Chanel—and with Karl Lagerfeld in particular—were marked by rigor, generosity, and an almost electric sense of creative urgency. Karl’s curiosity was boundless. Fittings felt like rehearsals for possibility. Backstage was chaos, yes—but exquisitely choreographed chaos, animated by artisans, editors, royalty, rock stars, and the collective belief that something singular was being made in real time.

Couture then was defined by time and touch. Endless fittings. Every specialist present. Garments shaped not just to the body, but to movement, posture, and presence. It’s difficult to explain couture without seeing it up close—without understanding that intimacy between maker, garment, and wearer was the point.

“You look snatched! What are you doing?” That was the DM from my friend, makeup artist Daniel Martin, that started it all.

“It’s Pilates, girl!”

At the time, I was crawling my way back from rotator cuff surgery. I’d lost muscle, gained a soft layer of menopause weight, and couldn’t do the workouts that had always defined me — dance, running, circuits, yoga. To make things worse, I’d started waking up at night with searing pain in my feet.

Imagine someone running a cattle prod from your toes to your calves. Frightening doesn’t cover it.

It turned out to be neuropathy, though it took half a year of doctors (and half-hearted answers) to get there. Some shrugged. Some handed me painkillers that banned me from enjoying a glass of wine. But I’ve always believed the body has an extraordinary ability to heal itself — and that movement is the foundation.

Enter Pilates. Developed by Joseph Pilates in the 1940s to rehabilitate injured soldiers, it has always had one foot in therapy, one in fitness. That appealed to me. I wasn’t interested in chasing an aesthetic. I was desperate to rebuild myself from the ground up.

The Right Teacher Matters

I sampled a few studios before landing on a trainer who, crucially, wasn’t just teaching as a side hustle. For me, a trainer is like a good doctor: they listen, diagnose, and solve the mystery of why your body isn’t firing the way it should.

With my neuropathy, even basic muscle recruitment was skewed. Years of compensating for an injured shoulder had left me lopsided. My first goal? Heal my feet. Pilates is footwork-heavy, and after four months of five-day-a-week practice, the shocking pain was gone.

From there, I graduated to my knees — unstable, saggy, and frankly, oyster-like. Did you know the skin on your thighs ages faster than your face? One day you just wake up, thank menopause and childbirth, and realize your knees have betrayed you. Pilates helped me stabilize, strengthen, and (let’s be honest) smooth things out.

What Pilates Is Really Like

The dirty secret? You can do it without sweating out your blowout — but don’t mistake that for easy. Pilates torches the tiniest muscle groups and demands balance you didn’t know you lacked.

What I got out of it:

• Visible muscle growth

• Better balance and stability

• Symmetry I hadn’t felt in years

• A body that looks and feels long, lean, and lithe — ballerina muscle

And aesthetically? The proof was in the unsolicited compliments. My husband swore nothing had transformed me more.

Who Is Pilates Right For?

• Post-surgery patients: Many physical therapists recommend Pilates because of its focus on alignment, joint stability, and low-impact strengthening. A 2021 Journal of Bodywork & Movement Therapies review found Pilates effective for reducing pain and improving function after orthopedic surgery.

• Anyone with neuropathy or nerve issues: Footwork and controlled movement can retrain neuromuscular patterns. A Frontiers in Neurology study suggested targeted exercise can improve nerve regeneration and function in peripheral neuropathy.

• 40+ bodies: Pilates emphasizes spinal mobility, hip stability, and balance — all critical as we age.

• The time-poor but committed: You’ll work hard, but you won’t destroy your hair and makeup.

What I Wear to Pilates

My rule? One color head-to-toe. No hunting for matching leggings, bras, or tanks. Just grab, go, and reform.

Affiliate picks I actually wear:

• Free People Movement Unitard – Stretchy, playful, and one-and-done

• Alo Yoga 7/8 High-Waist Legging – Clean lines, second-skin fit

• Athleta Conscious Crop – Supportive, durable, and endlessly washable

• Grip Socks – Essential for reformer classes (and keeping your feet happy)

• Lightweight Zip Hoodie – To throw on between studio and street

The Reset I Didn’t See Coming

I’d done yoga for twenty years, run marathons, lifted weights. But this? This reshaped me in every way. Pilates wasn’t just a workout — it was a reset button.

It gave me back my feet, my knees, my balance, and yes, a body my husband can’t stop complimenting.

When you give something a year of your life, it gives you a mirror: not just of what you’ve built, but of who you’ve become. For me, Pilates built a stronger, steadier woman who learned that the smallest muscles sometimes make the biggest difference.

If you enjoyed this story, consider becoming a paid subscriber. Your support helps me share insider beauty, wellness, and fashion wisdom (and the occasional brutally honest knee confession). Paid members also get access to my behind-the-scenes Fashion Week prep and private Q&A on the treatments and trainers that actually work.

The images people call “effortless” are usually the most controlled.

That word—effortless—gets thrown around as a compliment, but it’s rarely accurate and often dismissive. It suggests that something powerful simply appeared, fully formed, without labor, intention, or infrastructure.

That’s almost never true.

In fashion, we know better. The images that feel relaxed, seductive, inevitable—the ones that linger—are the result of deep preparation and sharp restraint. Nothing is random. Nothing is rushed. And nothing is left to chance.

Hair and makeup are a perfect example. When they’re doing their job well, you barely notice them. You feel the mood before you see the technique. Authority without strain. Sexiness without noise.

That’s not accident. That’s mastery.

In my earlier essay, I wrote about how great photographs are built through collaboration—hair, makeup, clothes, camera, and a shared understanding of the story being told. When that alignment exists, the model doesn’t need to perform. She enters the frame and lets the work carry her.

The same principle applies everywhere else.

Effortlessness is often mistaken for talent, when it’s really the byproduct of preparation. We see it in leadership, in public speaking, in creative work, even in relationships. The people who appear most at ease are usually the ones who have done the most thinking in advance.

They’ve decided who they are before they arrive.

What’s dangerous about the myth of effortless beauty—or effortless success—is that it erases the labor behind it. It makes skill look innate and preparation look unnecessary. And it quietly discourages people who are still doing the work from trusting the process.

The images that last don’t shout. They don’t beg for approval. They don’t explain themselves. They invite the viewer in and let curiosity do the rest.

That kind of confidence can’t be faked.

And it can’t be rushed.

So the next time you hear “effortless,” look closer. Ask what systems, teams, and decisions made that ease possible. Because what you’re really seeing isn’t luck.

It’s discipline—so refined it no longer needs to announce itself.

This is part of an ongoing conversation about how images—and identities—are actually constructed. Not effortlessly, but intentionally.

Slow in the way 2020 was fast — long, heavy, relentless. Every day delivered something shocking, depressing, or astonishing. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and before you could decide, another headline landed. The only option was to keep moving, because stopping long enough to make sense of it all felt impossible.

You gave me perspective.

The economy was erratic and unforgiving. Work slowed. Projects stalled, postponed, or disappeared — not just for me, but across an entire industry. Watching talented, hardworking people recalibrate in real time was sobering. It forced an important distinction: this wasn’t personal failure. These were forces larger than individual effort.

So I went back to the shed.

I sharpened my skills. I read more. I learned more. I went through my expenses line by line and made smarter, cleaner choices. Not out of fear — but out of respect for the work and the life it supports.

I also learned to use AI — not as novelty, not as entertainment, but as business literacy. A tool I work with daily to think better, move faster, and stay relevant. Unavoidable. Necessary. Clarifying.

There were real triumphs too.

Watching my two youngest daughters step into the fashion world alongside me is a moment of pride I hold quietly but deeply. Building something that creates access — not just opportunity, but agency — feels like a legacy moment, even as it’s still unfolding.

Politically, the noise was deafening and divisive. It reminded me that reacting is easy. Listening takes discipline. Reflection takes courage. I’m choosing both.

As I look toward 2026, my focus is clarity — in communication, collaboration, and in how I listen to my own need for rest and growth. Less noise. More signal.

Goodbye, 2025. You were hard. You were instructive.

2026 — I can’t wait to meet you.

“Jewelry has always been more than decoration to me. It’s memory you can touch — a language without words, a map of where we’ve been and who we’ve loved.”

Jewelry has always been more than decoration to me.

It’s memory you can touch — a language without words, a map of where we’ve been and who we’ve loved.

My mother’s charm bracelet tells that story better than anything I could write. She was a nurse during the Second World War, caring for wounded soldiers and prisoners of war. Every year, for decades, a small parcel would arrive from Japan — a charm sent by one of the men she’d nursed back to life.

A silver crane.

A carved bead.

A coin turned into a pendant.

When the last of her patients passed away, the gifts stopped.

But by then, the bracelet had become a record of their shared humanity — proof that gratitude can travel oceans, and that love can outlast politics, distance, and even war.

When I hold that bracelet now, I feel my mother’s presence.

Her compassion. Her grace under pressure. Her belief that connection is the antidote to everything cruel in the world.

It’s not made of precious metal — but it’s more valuable than anything I own.

Jewelry, in every culture, carries that same current.

In West Africa, women hand down gold bangles that jingle like laughter — symbols of continuity and fortune.

In India, brides wear bangles and anklets that chime like prayer, each sound a wish for prosperity and endurance.

In Italy, children are given coral beads to ward off bad luck.

Across centuries and continents, we’ve always turned beauty into protection, and metal into memory.

Each link, each stone, each handmade clasp tells a story.

And sometimes, the meaning is heavier than the gold itself.

When I was a child, I thought my mother’s bracelet was magical.

Now, as a mother myself, I understand that what made it powerful wasn’t the charms — it was the exchange.

A reminder that the act of giving transforms both people.

That gratitude, like metal, endures when we care for it.

Maybe that’s what adornment really is: the art of keeping our connections visible.

We wear what we can’t bear to forget.

Even now, when I fasten a piece of jewelry around my wrist or neck, I think of her hands doing the same. I think about the way she carried stories across time without ever meaning to. And I think about how my daughters will one day choose what to keep, what to wear, and what to pass down — links in a chain that started long before any of us were born.

Objects have their own language, if we listen long enough.

This story began with a bracelet — but really, it’s about how we mark love and endurance in every form: the things that glitter, and the things that quietly hold us together.

I knew André well. Bethann Hardison introduced us in 1985, and I owe much of my career — including introductions to Karl Lagerfeld, Manolo Blahnik, and Anna Wintour — to him.

Walking into that exhibit felt like entering a modern-day tomb of a fashion pharaoh. Six-foot-six mannequins with onyx heads sculpted in André’s exact likeness stood like monuments to his genius. Every ensemble — cut, craft, and material — radiated his supernatural sense of style.

When André first hit the scene in 1974, fresh out of Brown University, he landed in the fashion jungle with a tactical intellect that was equal parts flamethrower and machete — and he carved the way for so many talented people to follow. His clothes were his armor. His superhero suits. They let him walk through walls, command rooms, and claim his place in history.

But what struck me most about the exhibition wasn’t just the scale — it was the spirit.

Seasoned professionals, emerging artists, and SCAD alumni came together to build this tribute, many of whom had never met André in life but had been shaped by his legacy. Through his courage and visibility, he gave them permission to imagine careers in the arts — and to walk into rooms where no one in their families had ever stood before.

André himself came from the American South. Born in Washington, D.C. and raised in Durham, North Carolina in 1948, his childhood was marked by both racial and sexual violence — yet he refused to let those wounds define his life. He transmuted pain into purpose, isolation into insight.

He learned from his grandmother, Bennie Frances Davis Talley, the power of dignity — how to meet cruelty with discipline, and injustice with excellence.

Through education, elegance, and unrelenting discipline, André elevated himself by lifting others up.

He showed the world — especially young Black creatives — that intellect and taste were not the birthright of privilege, but the result of study, faith, and unshakable self-belief.

The night at SCAD FASH was unforgettable. President Paula Wallace and the university’s artisans, working at the height of their powers, created an extraordinary tribute to a man who turned getting dressed into an act of art and survival — a sermon in silk and taffeta.

The only thing missing?

A final panel that “P.S. This was Real Life”.

Because what André did wasn’t fantasy. It was transformation — for himself, and for everyone who followed.

I keep the heat modest, around 160°F, because we’re talking about two full hours of sweating. The goal isn’t punishment—it’s hormesis. In other words: exposing the body to a healthy stressor that forces it to adapt, repair, and ultimately get stronger.

The science is catching up to what Finns and fashion models have always known—saunas aren’t just for relaxation. According to research highlighted by Huberman Lab, sauna sets can trigger up to a 16-fold increase in human growth hormone (HGH) output. HGH is the body’s natural elixir for building lean muscle, repairing tissue, and keeping skin plump.

But even before the metabolic magic kicks in, the immediate results are undeniable: my mind feels clearer, my workout performance sharper, and my sleep noticeably deeper. It’s beauty, strength, and sanity—wrapped in sweat.

How to Try It Yourself

If you don’t have access to a traditional sauna, you can still cycle at home:

• HigherDOSE Infrared Sauna Blanket — beloved by biohackers and beauty insiders alike.

• Portable Home Sauna — the DIY version that lets you sweat it out in your living room.

✨ If you love insider beauty science, workout recovery hacks, and my shoppable picks, become a paid subscriber. It’s how I share the tools, treatments, and truths that never make it to Instagram.

Over the last few months, the modeling world has begun to reckon with avatars, clones, digital twins. H&M, for example, has launched campaigns using “AI‐twins” of real models in marketing (Cornell ILR report). And a Data & Society study warns that AI’s impact on models reaches beyond losing gigs—it’s about shifting power, image control, representation, and compensation.

There are two sides here pulling me in…

On one hand: AI twins might let a model be in two places at once without suffering jetlag. They can help with diversity—brands like Lalaland.ai argue that virtual models can show more varied body types, skin tones, styles, even identities. And for some models, digital copies could open revenue streams that run around the logistical constraints of physical shoots.

On the other hand: the ethics get murky. As the Teen Vogue report puts it, the concerns include “power dynamics” shifting away from individual models toward the creators of the algorithms or the brands. Models worry about whether their digital likenesses will be used without full consent; whether avatar work will undercut rates; whether what we lose in physical presence—sweat, personality, human nuance—can ever be replicated. And whether what looks like diversity is actually meaningful representation, or just another synthetic gloss.

Things to Think About…

“AI will not replace humans, but those who use AI will replace those who don’t.” — Ginni Rometty

“We must address, individually and collectively, moral and ethical issues raised by cutting-edge research in artificial intelligence…” — Klaus Schwab

From The Guardian: “Even if models are compensated for the use of their image, it is hard to see how using technology will not have a significant detriment to other fashion creatives … from make-up and hair, to rigging and lights.” (Guardian article)

For me, as someone who’s walked hundreds of shows, felt the weight of costume, heard the fabric rustle, the runway lights sting—this isn’t just about change. It’s about what we value in modeling: presence, embodiment, risk, stories told by bodies, skin, muscle, breath. Can avatars carry all of that, or will they be a projection, not a replacement?

I don’t have all the answers (none of us do yet). But I believe there’s a way forward where avatar models and real models coexist — where digital doubles are used ethically, transparently, fairly. Where compensation isn’t undercut, where consent is real, where the artist’s vision still includes the weathered shoes, backstage chaos, the human moment.

If you’re curious about what this future might look like, and how we might shape it together, join me at Haute Mess. I’ll be unpacking more voices, more research, more realities — and I’d love to hear your take.

Long before TikTok livestreams or Instagram reels, the runway was a ritual — one that dates back to the late 1800s.

Charles Frederick Worth, often called the father of haute couture, was the first to replace wax mannequins with living women to model his designs. It was a revolutionary idea: clothes in motion, bodies breathing life into fabric.

By the 1950s, Paris couture houses had codified the practice. Picture Christian Dior or Cristóbal Balenciaga in hushed salons, their “mannequins” gliding silently past seated clients. The model’s role was not to be known but to be a vessel — a conduit between fabric and desire. No theatrics, no headlines, just commerce cloaked in elegance.

By the time I cut my teeth in Paris in the 1990s, that ritual had exploded into a global spectacle. I wasn’t just a mannequin — I was part of the first generation of supermodels, women whose names meant as much as the clothes on our backs. I was a favorite of Azzedine Alaïa, Karl Lagerfeld at Chanel, and, in New York, Isaac Mizrahi, Todd Oldham, and Calvin Klein. The runway was no longer discreet; it was loud, lit, and ravenous for personality.

Paris, 1990s: My Education in Couture

My earliest shows in Paris were like graduate school in the art of fashion. Alaïa taught me discipline: his fittings could last hours, every seam considered, every hem a question of geometry.

Karl at Chanel taught me theater: the way a grand staircase or a mirrored salon could transform silk into a storyline. At Calvin, minimalism became religion — it was about stripping everything down until only perfection remained.

I wasn’t just walking — I was learning how fashion uses the body as canvas, billboard, and mirror of its cultural moment. The ’90s were bold, excessive, glamorous — and so were the women who walked.

When Fashion Hit the Airwaves

If the runway was once a ritual reserved for the initiated, the late ’80s and early ’90s blew it wide open. For the first time, fashion shows weren’t just for editors and buyers — they were beamed into living rooms around the world.

Elsa Klensch’s Style on CNN was the original front row for the masses. Suddenly, couture that once belonged only to Parisian salons was appearing on Saturday morning television, narrated in that clipped, deliciously authoritative voice.

Around the same time, FashionTV arrived, serving 24/7 catwalk footage like a new MTV for fashion obsessives. For the first time in history, a teenager in Detroit could see the same Chanel show as an heiress on Avenue Montaigne — and I know this, because I was that model on the screen, and my own mother was that teenager-at-heart watching from Detroit.

Later, I co-hosted Style with Tim Gunn, helping translate the runway into a different language: accessible, educational, even a little cheeky. It wasn’t just about showing clothes; it was about showing how fashion functioned as culture.

Of course, the runway was also making its own cinematic debut. In 1995, I appeared in Unzipped, Douglas Keeve’s documentary about Isaac Mizrahi’s collection. Shot partly in black and white, it was intimate and unflinching — one of the first times audiences saw the backstage frenzy, the fittings, the personalities. It became a cultural artifact, proof that fashion wasn’t just fantasy. It was labor, theater, sometimes chaos, always obsession.

The Supermodel Era

The 1990s were the golden age of the supermodel. Linda, Naomi, Christy, Cindy, Claudia — and a handful of us who were lucky enough to share that runway spotlight. When George Michael’s Freedom! ’90 played at Gianni Versace’s Spring 1991 show, the fashion world realized the models themselves were the main event.

And in 1992, I had my own indelible Versace moment: the infamous safety-pin dress debuted on my back. That’s the power of the supermodel era — clothes and woman fusing into a single icon. Think Elizabeth Hurley, mere days later, strutting thr red carpet in that same dress which cemented her status as fashion icon.

For me, those years were a blur of airports, fittings, and floodlights — but also a revelation. We weren’t just walking clothes. We were walking contradictions: powerful and fragile, glamorous and exhausted, anonymous one minute and household names the next.

From Secret Ritual to Stadium Spectacle

By the late ’90s, the runway had outgrown its salon origins. The first Victoria’s Secret shows, which I walked, turned lingerie into stadium theater, complete with angel wings and millions watching at home. What had once been Parisian discretion became mass-market fantasy, live-broadcast and replayed endlessly.

Fast-forward to 2016: I was on stage at Madison Square Garden for Kanye West’s Yeezy Season 3. It wasn’t just a fashion show — it was a cultural event, blending music, celebrity, and sports-fan energy into one. Kanye’s album The Life of Pablo debuted as we stood in formation. Twenty thousand people in the arena, millions more streaming it live.

The Theater of Fashion

Not every runway was about stadium scale. Some became high art. Alexander McQueen staged fashion as theater — models spray-painted by robots, Kate Moss appearing as a hologram, runways turned into chess boards or glass cases. John Galliano, too, elevated the catwalk into narrative spectacle.

For an anthropologist, these shows are rituals of transformation: the runway as altar, models as priestesses, fashion as both offering and prophecy.

The Digital Now and AI Future

Today, the runway exists in a different kind of theater: the theater of screens. Instagram and TikTok have democratized fashion to the point where the real front row is in your hand. Jacquemus stages lavender field catwalks as much for the drone footage as the buyers. Balenciaga creates dystopian worlds built for virality.

And then there’s AI. Virtual models like Shudu or Lil Miquela are avatars who never age, never bruise, never need a break. Designers experiment with digital twins and 3D samples before a stitch is sewn. The question is no longer “what’s next season?” but “what’s next platform?”

Still, something vital happens when bodies move in real time, when the room vibrates with music and lights, when the audience collectively gasps. AI can replicate the image, but never the sensation.

Where the Runway Goes From Here

The future is hybrid. A few hundred VIPs in the room, millions online. Some models human, some AI. Clothes moving not just down catwalks but across screens, inside games, inside feeds. But as long as there are garments, there will be the need to see them live, on bodies, in motion.

I know, because I’m still out there — still walking runways in my sixties. That longevity is itself anthropology: proof that beauty, resilience, and style don’t have expiration dates.

One Last Thing…

No frosty eyes, no inflated ego, no self-important airs. Just a warm, clear vision. She captured the heart of fashion and, more importantly, the souls of the women in front of her lens in a way no one else has, before or since.

With an intimate foreword by her lifelong best friend, fashion editor and jewelry designer Lisa McCormick Love, every page feels like time spent with your closest girlfriends. You can almost hear the secrets being whispered while makeup is applied, hair teased and tossed into place, and that perfect little something slipped on before heading out to dazzle the world.

Pamela and Lisa made a pact when they were just five years old, growing up in Switzerland: one would become a fashion photographer, the other a fashion editor. They kept their promise.

I met Pam in Paris in 1985, and we became fast friends and collaborators. For a time, I even shared her apartment on Île Saint-Louis—just a few cobblestoned steps from Berthillon, the legendary ice-cream shop. Many of our shoots were a kind of three-way friendship: Pam behind the lens, me in front of it, and stylist Brana Wolf bringing laughter, magic, and a mischievous wink to the room.

What did I learn from Pam about making pictures? That the most exciting and alluring thing you can do on camera is to relax. Over-working anything—hair, makeup, styling—was anathema to her. Often, she had already caught the perfect frame before you even realized the shutter had clicked.

And the most practical lesson? Never complain about the weather on location. Shooting sleeveless dresses on the streets of Paris in below-zero temperatures, toes frozen in open sandals, I heard her voice in my ear: “There’s nothing anyone can do about it, so don’t waste the energy.” It may sound small, but in a world as high-pressure as fashion, that kind of grace makes everyone’s day easier.

Yes, Pamela Hanson’s book may be called The 90s, but what it truly captures is timeless: the strength, vulnerability, and eternal power of women standing in their own beauty.

Get Your Copy Here

A good fashion photography book isn’t just for the coffee table—it’s a time capsule. The 90s belongs alongside Peter Lindbergh’s Images of Women and Herb Ritts’ Notorious, each reflecting a different lens on beauty, intimacy, and rebellion. First editions are always worth the hunt: they hold not only the richest print quality, but often the greatest future value.

There’s no part of beauty prep more Sisyphean than hair removal. I’ve tried everything — wax, cream, tweezers, lasers — and the truth is, every method works… temporarily.

Lasers, in particular, were a late luxury for me. Technology for darker skin tones wasn’t perfected until recently. It wasn’t until 2018 that I finally felt confident enough to test it — and the results were gorgeous on my legs and bikini line. But for armpits, mustache, and menopausal chin hairs? Too sensitive, too risky for discoloration, and frankly, too painful. That’s not my kind of glamour.

For anyone with richly melanated skin hoping lasers might eventually become part of their beauty arsenal, the Nd:YAG laser is now considered the gold standard. Thanks to its long (1064 nm) wavelength, it bypasses skin melanin and targets the hair follicle directly — cutting the risk of hyperpigmentation dramatically while delivering smooth results.

Before lasers, I waxed religiously — salon visits were pricey, and at-home kits were messy and tedious. For all my extravagant appearances, darlings, I’m thrifty at heart. Which is why I remain fiercely loyal to Nair. Both their wax strips and hair removal creams are genius — inexpensive, effective, and blissfully private.

For jaw fluff, mustache, and chin hair, the cream is my savior: four to seven slightly stinky minutes and the hair literally wipes away with a tissue. Unlike waxing, it doesn’t tug at fragile skin or leave redness, shiny patches, or accidental exfoliation in its wake.

My full-body ritual? Once or twice a month, I snap on rubber gloves, slather myself from jawline to ankle in cream, and let the magic happen before rinsing in the shower. Bikini line trickiness? Wax afterward — or if using cream there, shield it with a generous layer of Vaseline first. Yes, it requires legs-akimbo and feels unglamorous, but it works. Tissue off that cream, rinse with care, and never skip silky after-oil or lotion afterward — a peace treaty with your skin.

Smooth Moves

• Best for Darker Skin: Nd:YAG laser — safe, effective, worth the splurge.

• Budget Babe: Nair cream — stinky but genius for mustache/chin fluff.

• Wax Wisdom: Shield bikini line with Vaseline if using cream there.

• Full Body Hack: Gloves on, cream from jaw to ankle, rinse — 20 minutes flat.

• Pro Reality: Glamour sometimes = legs-akimbo in the bathroom.

Body Care: Brushing, Boosting, and Beyond

Dry brushing may be as old as the pharaohs, but it’s still one of the simplest, most indispensable beauty rituals. All you need is a stiff natural-bristle brush and five spare minutes before your shower. Always start on dry skin — the clue is in the name.

Begin at the toes, brushing upward with gentle strokes along one side of the body and then the other. Once you reach your stomach, switch to circular motions that echo the natural flow of digestion. On your chest, follow the rhythm of the heart. For the neck, stroke upward to the chin. From fingertips to shoulders, brush toward the heart. The result? Brighter skin, improved circulation, and a lymphatic system that hums instead of stagnates.

But before fashion week, I step things up. Dry brushing is the prelude; the symphony is Icoone lymphatic drainage. Imagine this: you strip down, slip into a stretchy white unitard, and lie on the treatment table while a technician wields two handpieces tipped with rollers and gentle vacuum suction. The sensation is oddly satisfying — skin lifted evenly away from muscle, circulation boosted, toxins escorted out like uninvited guests. Icoone goes where dry brushing can’t, offering a deep tissue massage that also tightens skin, contours the body, and even softens cellulite. Bonus: it treats puffiness in the face as well, so you leave glowing from head to toe.

Body Rx

• Daily Ritual: Dry brush before shower — five minutes to glow.

• Pro Boost: Icoone lymphatic drainage — sci-fi suit, heavenly results.

• Beauty Math: Better circulation = brighter skin + tighter tone.

• Face Bonus: Icoone tackles puffiness head-to-toe.

• Insider Wink: Cleopatra would’ve been all over this.

Restorative Baths

When you need to feel clean down to the bone, nothing compares to a hot bath steeped with salts and oils. For me, it’s the ultimate DIY remedy to soothe sore muscles, fend off winter colds, and revive tired skin.

My go-to mix: four cups of plain table salt, topped with one cup of magnesium flakes, and a few drops of essential oil — lavender for relaxation, eucalyptus to clear the chest, patchouli when I want something grounding. If you’re not the mix-it-yourself type, Dr. Teal’s lavender or eucalyptus bath salts are an easy drugstore one-and-done.

Salts help draw excess moisture from deeper layers of the epidermis, which supports the skin’s barrier and helps it heal. And when throngs of people converge on Fashion Week, bringing with them a mix of cultures, styles, and inevitably, germs, I double down on salt’s restorative powers. Flushing out my sinuses with a neti pot of warm salt water is nothing short of mankind’s original antibiotic. Salt is both antimicrobial and anti-inflammatory — with clear nasal passages, bacteria have nothing to cling to. I never travel without a neti pot, unless, of course, I’m heading straight to the sea.

Salt Rx

• DIY Soak: 4 cups table salt + 1 cup magnesium flakes + a few drops of lavender.

• Shortcut: Dr. Teal’s lavender or eucalyptus salts — drugstore, done.

• Nasal Rinse: ½ tsp salt in warm water = neti pot magic.

• Immunity Boost: Antimicrobial, anti-inflammatory — the ocean in your tub.

• Insider Secret: Models don’t just sweat it out, we soak it out.

Facial-Grade Body Products

Next-level body care before a big event is a necessary extravagance, IMHO. Why spend hours toning in the gym, scrubbing, shaving, sloughing off dry skin, only to come out sparkling clean and then slather your body — the largest organ you have, and your first line of defense against the outside world — with some regular old “smegular” lotion? Not today, Satan.

Here’s the truth: retinol body lotions do the last bit of God’s work when it comes to tightening and smoothing skin head-to-toe. But a quick note: save them for night. Retinol plus self-tanner is a hard no — you’ll end up with patchy streaks instead of a golden glow.

On show days, when I know I’ll be stepping out in swimwear, lingerie, or a micro-mini, I’ll add one more layer: a caffeine-charged cream on my knees and cheeks (yes, those cheeks) for a fast, firming pick-me-up before a designer sends me down the runway.

Supermodel secret: next-level body care doesn’t have to break the bank.

Body MVPs I Actually Use

• Derm Pick: Dr. Doris Day Retinol Body Lotion — gentle, smoothing, doctor-approved.

• Budget Hero: Gold Bond Age Renew Retinol Overnight — retinol without the splurge.

• Instant Fix: Sol de Janeiro Bum Bum Cream — caffeine = firming on demand.

• DIY Hack: The Ordinary Retinol Serum — add drops to any body lotion.

• Insider Mantra: If it works on your face, your body deserves it too.

Hair Fortification

“I had my hair done in hell.” With my hand to God, I swear every model, editor, and stylist has uttered some version of that line after a week of back-to-back shows. Constant heat styling, teasing, lacquered sprays, and quick backstage changes are punishing — even on the healthiest strands.

Fashion Week prep for me always includes hair rehab: strengthening masks, bond-building treatments, and supplements to fortify from the inside out.

Hair Rx

• Backstage Reality: Heat tools + teasing = inevitable breakage.

• Go-To Products: Oribe strengthening system, Viviscal shampoo, Nutrafol supplements.

• Gloss Play: L’Oréal clear gloss for light-reflecting shine + cuticle protection.

• Home Remedy: Warm olive oil scalp massage — economical, unbeatable.

• Insider Secret: Finish with a cold rinse — the OG gloss spray.

Injectable Tune-Up

Injectables are fashion’s worst-kept secret. A micro-touch here or there smooths without freezing. The sweet spot is one to two weeks out: early enough to settle, late enough to hold.

Subtle Fixes

• Timing Sweet Spot: 10–14 days pre-show — enough to settle, still fresh.

• Golden Rule: Never debut a new filler before a major event.

• Pro Touch: Less is always more under runway lights.

• Micro Magic: A “tweak” smooths, it doesn’t freeze.

• Insider Wink: If you can tell it’s Botox, it’s bad Botox.

Body Scrub

Some nights I turn my shower into a spa with a DIY scrub: two parts coconut sugar to one part jojoba oil, stirred straight into a glass jar. The sugar is a gentle natural AHA, the oil is like mother’s milk for the skin. After a day of changes and shows, a slushy scrub rinses away everything.

Scrub Smarts

• DIY Ratio: 2 parts coconut sugar, 1 part jojoba oil. Slushy perfection.

• Pro Vessel: Mason jar — chic, airtight, apothecary vibes.

• Swap Options: Almond oil = light, avocado = rich.

• Spa at Home: Turns a shower into a treatment.

• Insider Tip: Rinse carefully — slippery floors are not couture.

Nails: Hands + Feet

For work, nails must be short, clean, shaped — finished with either clear polish or a neutral color. Your job is to be a canvas for the designer and the glam team’s vision. Period.

Sometimes there’s a nail tech backstage — but most of the time, there’s not. That’s why extending the life of your manicure becomes essential. Keep cuticle cream in the shower — if it’s there, you’ll use it. And next to your bed, stash a dropper of vitamin E or jojoba oil to massage into cuticles nightly. It’s all about hydration.

Gently push your cuticles back with your thumbnail — no clipping required. Neat, safe, and totally under your control.

A clear gel topcoat is a backstage secret weapon. Apply it as soon as — or, if you’re a nail nerd, before — you spot a hairline chip. Works on pedicures, too.

Always carry a nail file. No one expects a runaway hangnail to derail a one-of-a-kind look — but it happens. A cheap file in your bag quietly saves your skin and your wardrobe.

Salon time isn’t always in the budget. That’s why I swear by a professional manicure kit. Know what each tool does, and wipe them down with alcohol after use — hygiene is the luxury you can control.

No tools at hand? No worries. Your own nails will do. After a shower, push cuticles or trace toe contours with your thumbnail. For feet, a light scrape across soles works wonders. Add a drugstore pumice or foot file for calluses — model-worthy with zero fuss. And for truly epic calluses (hardcore like me), AHA foot masks offer a dramatic reset.

Nail Rx

• Work Standard: Short, clean, neutral — you’re the canvas.

• Cuticle Care: Keep cuticle cream in the shower (steam softens + you’ll actually use it).

• Night Ritual: Oil by the bed — vitamin E or jojoba massaged in overnight.

• Topcoat Trick: Clear gel before chips appear — pedi too.

• Bag Essential: Nail file = saves your sweater, tights, sanity.

• Pro Products: Sally Hansen cuticle remover + nail hardener; Sephora kit for chic, Aceoce kit for sturdy drugstore.
  Foot Care

Brace yourself… this is going to be gross.

No tools? No problem. Your own nails do a decent job of pushing back cuticles after a shower. I DIY it all the time: lightly scraping across the soles with the edge of my thumbnail or tracing the contours of toes. It’s surprisingly effective exfoliation.

For consistency, nothing beats a pumice stone or sandpaper file from the drugstore. Use them often and they quietly erase rough patches. And if, like me, you collect scandalous calluses from going barefoot every chance you get, AHA-based exfoliating foot masks are a revelation — peeling away the evidence of your sins in sheets.

Products I Trust

• Fingers: God’s all-purpose tools

• Dimacel Foot File — expensive diamond-dust file, lasts a lifetime, laser-fast results

• Dr. Scholl’s Foot File — dependable, affordable, never fail

Foot Rx

• DIY Hack: Thumbnails double as exfoliators post-shower.

• Drugstore Heroes: Pumice or Dr. Scholl’s file — use consistently, magic happens.

• Splurge: Dimacel diamond-dust file — pricey but lasts a lifetime.

• Callus Reset: AHA foot masks peel away “scandalous” calluses from barefoot adventures.

• Insider Wink: Perfect feet aren’t born, they’re filed.

Headspace

In one of the most harried, competitive environments in the world, everybody is compared to everybody else — and the standards can shift on a whim. Your job as a model isn’t just to wear clothes. It’s to sell confidence.

That can feel impossible when you’re transforming into the image of the day for a designer — especially when it’s not a look you’d ever choose for yourself. And everywhere you glance, there’s the nagging thought: someone younger, fresher, with a tighter ass, is waiting to replace you.

That’s when centering yourself becomes non-negotiable. Remember: you are there because you belong there. Remember: almost everyone else is just as terrified, in one way or another.

And the thought that steadies me most is this: the show isn’t really about me. It’s about the designer — someone who has put their entire reputation, and often 90% of their capital, on the line for a 20-minute spectacle. When I take the focus off myself and put it on the work, the nerves dissolve. That’s when the magic starts.

Mental Rx

• Core Job: You’re not selling clothes, you’re selling confidence.

• Perspective Shift: Everyone’s scared — even the veterans.

• Anchor Thought: The show belongs to the designer, not the critic in your head.

• Nerve Fix: Put your focus on the work, not yourself.

• Insider Mantra: Confidence is the only thing that never goes out of style.

I’ll admit, I resisted at first. My idea of freedom was always movement without contraptions: swimming, running, yoga, cycling. After all, the moment we arrive on set, we’re treated like show ponies — hair brushed out, pins stabbed into our scalps, clothes strapped tight, feet stuffed into shoes that pinch like horseshoes. The last thing I wanted was another form of harness.

But age, injuries, and the need to protect my joints finally led me to Pilates. And now? You’ll find me there five days a week. It’s gentle on the joints, brilliant for posture and spine health, and shockingly effective at sculpting long, lean muscle.

Cardio still has its place: three times a week I go flat-out for 30 to 60 minutes — brisk walking with a weighted vest, or swimming laps. On bad-weather days, I’ll grudgingly get on a stationary bike. Twice a week, I lift heavy: squats and deadlifts with 50-pound (22.5 kg) dumbbells. With heavy weights, it’s quick and efficient — 10 to 12 reps to muscle failure, and I’m done in 20 minutes.

What drives all this discipline? Longevity. However long I’m meant to live, I want a mobile, nimble body to move through life with. My deepest wish is not to age in a broken body, but to keep my strength, my posture, and my freedom of movement until the very end.

Strong Is Still Sexy

• Core Truth: Pilates = posture insurance + ballerina lines.

• Cardio Fix: 30–60 mins brisk walk, laps, or (grudgingly) bike.

• Heavy Metals: Squats & deadlifts with 50 lb dumbbells — quick and effective.

• Longevity Play: Strong spine + mobile joints > skinny jeans.

• Insider Mantra: Freedom of movement is the ultimate luxury.

The whisper — “she’s put on a few” — spreads through fashion land at lethal speed, costing a model her bookings and her agency up to 40 percent of every lost commission. Fashion month — New York, London, Milan, Paris, sometimes Tokyo — isn’t just a glamorous sprint, it’s half a year’s income riding on the line.

Everyone in the fashion business who needs it to get down to fighting weight and can afford it uses some form of GLP-1 — whether micro-dosing or committing to weekly injections. For me, it was a revelation. I used to work out twenty hours a week and eat six days out of seven like a Swiss heart surgeon just to stay lean. Then menopause arrived, and despite the same discipline, the pounds crept on — slow, stubborn, and immovable.

Enter the GLP-1s.

Serena Williams just partnered with Ro.co and went on the Today show to say so out loud — proof the stigma is over. If Serena can add GLP-1s to her training regimen to lose post-pregnancy pounds, then no one should feel stuck at a weight that won’t budge, no matter how well she eats or how hard she trains. That’s her story. It’s mine, too.

Under medical supervision, I lost about a pound a week on Ozempic. Once the ten “menopause pounds” were gone, I cut the dose in half and now use it every two weeks to maintain. The cravings — fried food, wine, mindless chip-munching in front of Netflix — stopped. For years, I relied on quarterly seven-day fasts, guided by my longtime nutritionist Oz Garcia: protein shakes, plain tea, coffee, bone broth. Effective, yes, but punishing. The GLP-1s gave me the same results without the suffering.

Of course, they’re not a free ride to skinny town. Dehydration, nausea, even muscle loss are real risks — weight-bearing exercise is non-negotiable. But for me, they’ve turned the impossible into the manageable, and allowed me to keep showing up at fashion week sample size, even in my sixties.

Skinny Town Survival Kit

• Reality Check: GLP-1s aren’t magic — hydrate and lift heavy or risk noodle arms.

• Celeb Proof: Serena said it out loud on Today — stigma’s over.

• Insider Tip: Midlife micro-dosing = manageable, not miserable.

• Pro Note: Always start under medical supervision — this isn’t a DIY vitamin.
  

Sample size at 60? Possible. But chic comes from confidence, not the scale.

For me, the most important benefit has nothing to do with jeans zipping more easily and everything to do with giving my lymphatic system a proper holiday from the daily assault of processed foods. Ten days — just ten! — with no sugar, no packaged snacks, no alcohol, and little to no caffeine, and the difference is startling. You wake up sharp and clear, as if someone finally dusted off the inside of your brain.

Your skin? It tightens across your entire body in a way no contour stick can fake. When you stop flooding your system with sugar and stimulants, your lymphatic network — that silent spa attendant of the body — gets to do its real job: draining away excess fluid, calming inflammation, and leaving collagen fibers to nestle more snugly under the skin. The puffiness we so often blame on aging is, in many cases, just irritation and water retention from what we eat and drink. Take those irritants away, and the result is a smoother jawline, brighter eyes, even sleeker thighs.

Of course, fasting alone can feel austere. That’s why I pair it with nutrient-packed liquid protein — silky shakes loaded with complete amino acids. They protect lean muscle, stabilize blood sugar, and keep me from wanting to inhale a bakery at 11 a.m. The combination feels elegant rather than punishing: my metabolism humming, my energy steady, my skin less inflamed.

The most thrilling side effect isn’t a number on the scale — it’s clarity. I feel more awake, less reactive, and my cravings lose their power. That, to me, is the real magic of metabolic clearing: not restriction, but revelation. It reminds you how radiant your body can feel when you give it the chance to operate in rhythm, unbothered and beautifully efficient.

Clear the Decks

• 10 Days Only: No sugar, no alcohol, minimal caffeine = sharper brain + tighter skin.

• Liquid Gold: Protein shakes preserve muscle and stop bakery meltdowns.

• Beauty Bonus: Lymphatic system finally does its job — jawline, eyes, thighs all de-puff.

• Mood Shift: Clear skin, clearer thinking, calmer cravings.

• Insider Secret: It’s less about restriction, more about reminding your body how radiant it can feel.

Fueling the Runway: Food That Works

When fashion week looms, my first line of defense is always food. Carbs from processed snacks — chips, cookies, supermarket bread in a plastic sleeve — all get cut until after the runway lights go dark. They’ll still be there later.

Breakfast is pared down, light but sustaining. Think:

• A hard-boiled egg with black coffee or tea, plus a handful of berries and a cup of 5% full-fat Greek yogurt.

• Or, if I’m on the run, a silky protein shake that travels better than a croissant.

Lean and Luscious Meals

Every plate is built around 30 grams of lean protein and a dark green vegetable — the twin anchors that keep my energy up and my body lean.

• Lunch: Grilled salmon over sautéed spinach with a side of avocado slices and lemon.

• Dinner: Roast chicken breast with garlicky broccolini and a ½ cup of lentils (my nod to comfort without the wheat).

Grazing for Snacks

• A crisp apple or pear.

• A small handful of almonds or walnuts.

• A slice of sheep’s milk cheese.

• A cup of miso or bone broth mid-afternoon — like a hug for your insides.

Dining Out Without Looking Joyless

Yes, you can still eat in restaurants during fashion month without interrogating the waiter like a customs officer. I scan the menu for a protein (grilled fish, chicken, steak) and a green side (sautéed spinach, asparagus, zucchini). Ask for sauces on the side, smile, sip sparkling water with lime — and you’ll look chic, not deprived.

Model Menu Cheat Sheet

• Breakfast: Egg + berries + Greek yogurt = light but sustaining.

• Lunch: Salmon + spinach + avocado.

• Dinner: Roast chicken + broccolini + lentils (comfort without bloat).

• Snacks: Apple, nuts, sheep’s milk cheese, or a cup of miso/bone broth.
  

Dining Out Trick: Protein + green side, sauce on the side, sparkling water with lime. Chic, not deprived.

Every so often, a book comes along that startles you into paying attention — one that can move you to tears on one page and make you laugh out loud on the next. Find the Good by Heather Lende is exactly that kind of book, a meditation on what death can teach us about living.

For thirty years, Lende has written obituaries for her small-town paper in Haines, Alaska (population: 1,781). With five children and a dog at her side, she has often known — or known of — the people she memorializes. That intimacy gives her writing a tenderness that feels at once universal and deeply specific.

She reminds us that while death is inescapable, it is also clarifying. A life doesn’t need to be perfect to be meaningful; what defines us are the moments of love — familial, romantic, or otherwise — and the courage to keep showing up for one another.

Her reflections also expand beyond literal loss. She writes of the “small deaths” we encounter — like children leaving home and the everyday rituals of family life fading with them. In one unforgettable scene, she describes the return of a prodigal son: a man she barely recognizes, yet still sees as the newborn whose eyes she once gazed into. That mix of estrangement and unshakable love will resonate with anyone who has raised a child.

Lende’s voice combines the winking wit of Erma Bombeck with the mythic wisdom of Joseph Campbell. Find the Good is not saccharine. It is earthy, candid, often funny, and above all life-affirming. In a time when the news feels relentless, this book is a reminder that we’re all here, together, polishing each other’s hearts.

This is a highly recommended book to add to your “to read” pile, if you haven’t already!

Buy Here

First, the Experiment

Rule number one for testing any new skincare routine: commit. Twice a day. Thirty days straight. No cheating, no skipping, no sneaky swaps.

This July, a beautifully packaged box from XOMD arrived at my doorstep. Billed as the first-ever “Moodceutical,” the line features botanicals like carob and jasmine—two ingredients with reputations for being sensory seducers.

The brand’s founders, Dr. Steven Dayan and Dr. Sabrina Fabi—yes, dermatologists and partners in life—claim their formulas stimulate oxytocin, a.k.a. the body’s “love hormone,” when applied to skin. On XOMD’s website, the science is both plausible and irresistible.

But here’s the curveball: they also point to a double-blind study suggesting participants experienced greater intimacy after using the products. That’s a lot to ask from a face cream.

The 3-Step Seduction

The core routine is simple:
1. Detox Cleanser
2. Intoxicate Serum
3. Arouse Face Cream

From day one, I was impressed by the texture: ultra-lightweight, feather-soft, and fast-absorbing. No heavy film, no tackiness—just a silky finish that made my skin feel expensive.

Did I feel more confident or magnetic? Honestly… no. But did my skin look and behave better? Absolutely.

The Verdict After 30 Days

• Glass-skin glow? Yes. ✅
• No irritation around eyes or cheeks? Yes. ✅
• Morning-after hydration? Yes. ✅
• Quick and easy routine? Yes. ✅
• Makeup & SPF compatibility? Yes. ✅
• Is it a splurge? Yes. ✅ (Three steps: $370)

According to Dr. Dayan, “Skincare should go beyond surface beauty. If we can influence mood while improving skin health, we’re redefining what anti-aging means.”

And while I may not have felt a hormone-fueled rush, dermatologist Dr. Whitney Bowe, who wasn’t involved with the brand, notes that “skin and brain are connected via an intricate network of nerves and signaling molecules—it’s a legitimate scientific frontier.”

Skincare & Oxytocin — Can Your Cream Make You Happier?

• Oxytocin: Known as the “bonding” hormone, linked to feelings of trust, intimacy, and relaxation.

• Sensory cues: Touch, scent, and temperature can trigger oxytocin release.

• Topical potential: Early research explores whether certain ingredients and application rituals can influence mood chemistry.

• Bottom line: Promising, but not yet universally proven.

If you’re here purely for performance, XOMD delivers radiant, hydrated, happy-looking skin in three fuss-free steps. If you’re here for romance in a jar? That might depend on what—or who—you pair it with.

Vaginal rejuvenation isn’t exactly brunch-table conversation—even among your closest girlfriends. But at VSPOT, the female-founded, women-run clinic on Fifth Avenue, the hush-hush becomes matter-of-fact.

Founder Cindy Barshop and medical director Dr. Monica Grover have built a space where postpartum, peri-, and post-menopausal concerns get the same polish and attention as any part of your beauty routine.

What’s on the menu?

Think of it as a toolkit for life’s changing rhythms. Childbirth, hormones, menopause—even weight loss—can subtly shift how things feel (and look). VSPOT’s gentle yet effective offerings include:

• FemiLift: A quick laser treatment—done in about the same time as your annual OB/GYN exam—that gently tightens tissue and can make intimacy more comfortable.

• The O-Shot: Using your own plasma (yes, drawn from your arm), this injection restores volume and boosts blood flow to the clitoris and labia—potentially turning up arousal and sensitivity.

Is it pain-free? Not quite. More like a quick sting with the promise of fireworks down the road.

Why now?

Our bodies evolve, and thankfully, the conversation is evolving, too. Women are finally talking openly about dryness, laxity, and diminished sensation—not in hushed tones, but as quality-of-life matters. Clinics like VSPOT lead the charge, with all-female staff who know the territory firsthand (and aren’t afraid to dish candidly).

The bottom line:

If your mirror says “sag,” get some sleep and exercise—and if that doesn’t cut it, maybe call a surgeon. If it says “flat,” call in the filler. And if it says “ouch” or “meh” in the bedroom—why not explore options that put pleasure and comfort back on the table?

3 Questions to Ask Before You Book

1) “Am I a good candidate—and what are my realistic outcomes?”

Ask how your concerns (dryness, laxity, sensitivity) match each treatment. Request before/afters from patients your age/skin type and a plain-English timeline of what you’ll notice at 1, 3, and 6 months.

2) “What’s the plan if I don’t love the result?”

Clarify touch-ups, timelines, and costs. For energy devices and PRP, improvements can be subtle; define what counts as success before you start.

3) “What are the risks, contraindications, and who performs the procedure?”

Confirm who’s holding the device/needle (MD, PA, NP), their training, and how they manage pain, infection risk, or rare complications.

Prep & Aftercare (Cheat Sheet)

• Prep: Skip retinoids/harsh exfoliants 48–72 hours pre-treatment; avoid intercourse, hot yoga, and baths the day before and after unless cleared. Hydrate well.

• Day-Of: Wear breathable cotton underwear; plan for mild spotting or swelling.

• After: No intercourse, tampons, hot tubs, or intense workouts for the timeframe your clinician recommends (often 24–72 hours). Use only approved gentle cleansers/moisturizers.

Cost, Downtime & Expectations

• Cost: Premium service; ask for total package pricing (initial + maintenance).

• Downtime: Usually minimal—hours to a couple of days of sensitivity.

• Results: Often gradual; many protocols recommend a series and maintenance.

Who It’s Best For

• Postpartum or peri/post-menopausal changes, dryness/discomfort with intimacy, or mild laxity that doesn’t warrant surgery.

• Those comfortable with incremental improvements over dramatic overnight change.

Who Should Pause or Pass (for now)

• Active infections, pregnancy, recent pelvic procedures, or unmanaged health conditions—confirm specifics with your clinician.

• Anyone expecting “one-and-done” or guaranteed orgasmic transformation.

Smart Script for Your Consult

• “Here are my top symptoms and when they happen.”

• “Show me outcomes from patients like me.”

• “What’s the full cost, the maintenance plan, and the downtime?”

• “If I’m underwhelmed at 12 weeks, what are my options?”