But wasn’t it just my birthday like…a year ago?



Oh, how the days come and go, they ebb and flow, and all of a sudden in the midst of life happening, another year goes by. Like a flash, like you almost want to sleep a little longer before you wake up that morning, so it doesn’t have to disappear as quickly as it happened to re-appear. A little older, hopefully a tad+ wiser, and certainly hoping to have accumulated a sufficient collection of characteristic wardrobe finds, etc etc.

It’s truly as if as we get older, it becomes more and more difficult to gauge the perception of time, I suppose because we have an enormous amount of constant stimuli, both external and internal. These stimuli stem from our social constructs, like for example, (duh) Instagram, and its constant infiltration of our thoughts and perceptions, which brings us to the next perpetrator- ding ding ding!! Our own overly-narrative minds.

Throughout the majority of each day we are taking in a ridiculous amount of information–so one day feels like three, one week like a good half of a month, and then before you can blink it’s December. I’m assuming (insert other possible/probably words i.e hoping, praying) that it’s not just me that has this twenty-something year old anxiety-ridden internal soliloquy that goes on and on narrating each moment far beyond where it began. A little something like:

“Where do I fit in all of this? But can I actually follow this dream, I mean , I think i can…but really, can I? Freelancing can definitely get me where I want to go can’t it? Ugh now there is definitely no hope I mean, Donald Trump is actually the president of the United States..  Did I miss something??? Wait I never called my grandma to let her know that I flew across the world safely. Shit. Am I the worst granddaughter? And did I put the almond milk back in the fridge this morning? or was that Monday that I left it out, wait did this happen already? I think it did…Deja vu? or I’m just crazy.. Wait what is today anyway? I should definitely buy those Marni shoes, but wait what about donating to hurricane relief, thats totally something that more deserves the importance of the word “should,” right, isn’t it? Shit. Maybe I need to cut back on the matcha..

Our middle school English teachers would be appalled at this excessively ran-on run on sentence in our minds… But it is far too accurate a depiction. And its all happening while Instagram and everything else that exists outside of us and Instagram (yes, ladies and gents, it’s true, there are things–many, many things, happening outside of our own minds, and lives, and even Instagram,) that we won’t even go into now.

It’s just like, all of a sudden, I blinked and I’m 22, I’m visiting my parents in New York City, preparing to head back to London where I’m currently studying and living, I have, and continue to adopt values by which I’m starting live. I have goals which I am working towards. The younger me is looking to me now like “seriouslyyyy @JESS22 u frickin rok babe!!!!!” I am the screenwriter my film now more than ever; no one is telling me what, or why, or how to do anymore–and it is SCARY, but it’s also AWESOME.

My younger self would be tickled to see the amount of growth that I have acquired through the years, the confidence, vigor, and hunger for life that have led me to the path that I currently swim.*And I woke up on that morning of my 22nd birthday thinking ok…everything is changing, everything HAS changed, but it.will.all.be.ok, recognizing truly, for the first time, that the journey is far more relevant then the destination, which is certifiably unknown.

22 was reigned in alongside my lovely mother with lunch at the Standard Hotel followed by a stroll through the Whitney Museum (which truthfully we could only make it two floors as lunch left us sleepy, and the beautiful day throughout the rather person-less west village beckoned,) so we properly obliged with a slow stroll. Our palates danced through the evening with dinner at the NoMad Hotel in Flatiron where Eleven Madison Park chef Daniel Humm delivers nourishing, delectable dishes, and the bartenders serve cocktails that appease the senses both aesthetically and in taste. The harmony is kept within an oaky, open, candle-lit, space filled with a vibrant New York City energy, and smells of shaved black truffles, freshly baked bread and lavender garnished roasted chicken that may easily stop ones breath for just a moment. Safe to say that I was full, and elated…and full.

The day commenced with a list of some things to keep in mind for the next year to come, and those to follow. I wore my summer favorite, ├╝ber flared jeans, felt the warmth of the September sun, had my taste buds tickled, and dawned a genuine, static smile. 

Here is probably where one would elect to write the infamous lyrics about “feeling 22” by Tay Swift.

I, however, will do no such thing.


The day was lovely, the evening a sensory pleasure experience, to boot.

And to top it off, that night, I slept like a ten month old baby.





Birthday dinner outfit deets:

Vintage gold hoops Brooklyn Bleu @ Artists & Fleas 

Vintage blazer @ The Vintage Twin

Navy silk dress as top @ Nili Lotan via Barneys New York

Flare jeans @ Oak + Fort

Open-toe pumps @ Givenchy via Barneys New York


*I say swim rather than walk, because I don’t know about you but swimming is for sure more difficult, though more pleasant because the sea is well..the sea (see: wonderful, incredible, beautiful, etc.,) while walking is nice, its a bit less exhilarating, and not to mention a hell of lot easier than swimming.