This is 53.
The lessons, regrets and revelations of someone living her best life.
Friday night I celebrated my birthday on the rooftop of a private members club in Hollywood. The house rules said: no photos allowed.
At first I was disappointed that I couldn’t commemorate the special occasion with my best girl friends. And, that I didn’t get a shot of the radicchio rosa salad with blood orange and candied pecans, which I am absolutely recreating.
But there’s something kind of magical when there are no cameras and no need to break the moment just to document it.
It reminded me of my early days in New York, when we had more freedom and anonymity. Thank God there isn’t a permanent public record of my misbehaving 20s. Okay, and my 30s.
I had an extremely social, glamorous PR career working at the intersection of fashion, nightlife and celebrity culture. The pressure of that world was very real.
We had to be thin, well-informed, well-dressed, ambitious and agreeable.
We had to know everyone. We had to be everywhere.
We had to be so many things — but thankfully we didn’t have to be on social media.
In retrospect, that boundary protecting our private lives was the greatest gift for any young person trying to make sense of the world.
I genuinely love writing this Substack and creating a community of like-minded readers that I fondly call my curious rebels. Every like, comment and restack means the world to me. Thank you for being here. ❤️
Lessons, Regrets and Revelations
As I look back at 33 year old me, I’m pretty proud of her. Conquering New York without a roadmap or permission to ask for one wasn’t easy.
Twenty years (and a few life-altering decisions) later, I’m still figuring it out.
Here’s what I’d tell my younger self — and what I’ve learned in my 50s:
