Danielle Sabol

I started to follow Danielle Sabol, who's a talented photographer, because I felt as if I entered some old museum when I tapped myself into her Instagram account. It's just beautiful statues and gold and painted ceilings everywhere. And I feel like her style matches this perfectly? Beautiful coats and that reddish long hair. In my mind she could be living in some old French castle, eating croissants for breakfast and drinking wine on the big balcony in front of the massive garden.


What are three short facts about you which you want people to know?
I have six younger sisters. I've recently taken up studying + hunting mushrooms. I'm looking forward to aging and grey hair.

If you could buy anything in the world right now, what would it be?
Right now would throw my money at a Jeep Grand Waggoneer. I became a little obsessed with them when I was in Nantucket for a job this summer. 

Who are some of your biggest inspirations when it comes to photography?
Growing up with sisters has definitely shaped where I find inspiration and how I absorb it, so I would say they're my biggest influences. But I'm constantly inspired by Cass Bird and Alexandra Nataf.

Which word or phrase do you overuse?
Perfect. I probably say it a billion times on set. 

Where would you live if you couldn't live where you currently live?
My maternal family is from Germany and I travelled there for the first time this past May. I felt like my heart was at home. If opportunity allows I'm moving to straight to Berlin. 

What is something you'd never wear?
The MAGA hat.




For royal style, look this way.

Concha earrings from Beatrice Venezuela
The last lolita sunglasses from Le Specs
Black balloon sleeve belted blazer from The Frankie Shop
Carinale top from Staud Clothing


I do not get paid from linking this to these products, I just really wish I could buy it all.

Geneva White

I started following Geneva not too long ago, after seeing a photo of her on one of my favorite vintage accounts @courtyard_la I adore the way she dresses. It’s so simple, yet with so much class. It just looks clean, you know? I think I in some way aspire to dress like that, when everything just looks thought trough, but never boring. Ugh, Geneva you’ve got it figured. OUT.


What are three short facts about you that you want people to know?
I make a pretty mean pain au chocolat from scratch. In high school, I was on an all-boys soccer team because there was no girls team to play on. My childhood pet (a pug) was named after Ella Fitzgerald.

What’s your favorite food?
Any kind of freshly baked, warm bread with some variety of cheese; or dark chocolate (in all forms). 

When do you feel complete happiness?
Either having really good espresso alone at a favorite cafe or swimming in the ocean close to the equator. 

What do you do right before going to bed?
An overzealous skincare routine and a sort of catch-up with messages I've been ignoring throughout the day. 

If you could buy anything right now, what would it be?
The responsible side of me would say a well-designed home, but realistically I would invest in one of those new-concept "unlimited flying passes." I don't like being in one place for too long. 

What do you hate?
Condescension or bigotry of any kind and the sound of someone chewing with their mouth open. 

How much do you think about what you post on Instagram?
Probably not enough based on various warnings from school counselors and my parents on "the consequences/permanence of sharing on the internet."



Get in the mood of Geneva. Buy this.

Full bra from Pansy.
Lucas Dress from Reforamtion.
Off shoulder blouse from Lisa Says Gah.
Lingerie set from Lisa Says Gah.
Plastic headbands from Ebay.


I do not get paid for linking to these products, I just really wish I could buy all this.

This is not a love letter

Last night, as I was about to fall asleep, I thought of you. Not because I miss you and not because I’m in love with you, but because there is something about you that won’t leave me alone. It’s annoying, really. I don’t want to be thinking of you and I definitely don’t want to be in bed thinking of you. But there I was, in nothing but my underwear wrapped up in my white sheets thinking about your sheets. The ones with the space pattern that are unusually soft. Your laundry place must use some great softener, because there is no chance in hell you do your own laundry. They’re very ugly, but I like them. I’m sure that’s why you have them, to charm the girls. They don’t fit into your room of old posters and groupie souvenirs and big black boots. They are your ass tattoo. That extra you leave in someone’s mind after having sex with them.

I remembered that one time when I came to your place and it was pouring out. You had kissed me outside the bar and I had told you not to smile so much. I can’t take it when you smile like that. It makes my knees weak and my heart warm in a way I don’t feel comfortable with. You left to get dinner, but later that night I took a cab over to your place even though it’s a ten minute walk away. You came down to get me, wearing your adidas track pants and black hoodie. We made out in the elevator, riding three floors up.

We got stoned and watched half an episode of Arrested Development. Then we had sex in your space sheets.

I don’t miss you. I’m not in love with you. I consider you more of a friend who I can escape to when I want to get out of my own head. Maybe it’s because I’m so far away now and I have nowhere to escape to.

I hate that I think of you in bed wearing nothing but my underwear.


Written on Valentine's Day 2017.

Viola Bergström

I don't really know Viola more than having been Insta-buddies with her for a while now, throwing likes and star emojis all over her content. Being a complete sucker for any Swede who dress in color (they are a rare breed), I find her Instagram as a breath of fresh air among all the black and white. She’s also great with makeup and skin care and all that stuff that everyone is obsessing so much about these days. You’d think her makeup has been done by a profesh but it’s not! If that’s not aspiring then what is?


What are three short facts about you that you want people to know?
I love to paint and I want to do it more. I’m 23 and have no idea what I want to do in the future so please stop asking me. And I have a wand-tattoo on my finger and a lightning bolt on my arm because I love Harry Potter.

If you could buy anything in the whole world right now, what would it be?
A flight ticket somewhere where there is a beach and Pina Coladas.

What are three products your face can't live without?
My face serum from Swiss Clinic. Glow oil from Lumene. Korean sheet masks.

What's the worst thing about working in fashion?
That people stress and obsess over things such as clothes. Sometimes I can go through hell only for an image of a sweater. It’s a weird business.

Do you still buy fashion magazines? If so, which ones?
When I travel I like to buy fashion magazines, the thicker more coffee table-ish ones. I buy DANSK, The Gentlewoman, British and French Vogue. I use them as a part of my decoration at home.

Who should we all go follow on Instagram right now?
@marahoffman An inspiring sustainable clothing brand that focuses on the celebration of women. Their storytelling aesthetics, diversity of women and beautiful clothes inspire me a lot and makes we wish it was summer.


No one skates in Tompkins when the snow falls

     The city was hot from sun and pollution. Boiling streets, sweaty AC's dripping onto pedestrians on their way to work or some random tourist attraction. Summer in New York has a certain taste to it. A bittersweet scent of burnt skin from the Rockaways and trash from the Chinatown sidewalks. You want to escape it, yet it’s the best thing in the world. Its own world in the big one where everyone complains about the subway platforms being hell on Earth and their ice-coffees dripping onto their iPhones as the L-train chases itself under the East River. But we would never leave. We’re angry and in love all at the same time.
     We were these kids running around downtown; drinking at St Dymphnas, fucking musicians, wearing yesterday’s outfit days in a row. How we roamed and laughed, so oblivious about the responsibilities that lurked in the back of our minds. In the same way our thighs rubbed against each other underneath our sundresses, the city was slowly wearing us out. But we didn’t know it at the time. We would meet up after work, have a beer or two and share a pizza in Tompkins. Drool over the skaters killing it in there, doing their tricks in front of us. Sometimes they fell on their faces and started to bleed. We took a big bite from our cheese and tomato slices, let it drip.
     There was this group of people, always around. We would sit next to them at the bar, say hi sometimes. Borrow lighters. You know, those kinds of interactions. One of them was a guy I wanted to kiss. I first met him one night in Brooklyn. I was at his bar. Or it’s not his bar, but for me it is his bar. He served Coors and got high in the back. We didn’t know each other, but I knew he was this dude skating around Williamsburg playing rock music hanging out with all the models in East Village. This weird friend-lover relationship started. Never in love. Always loving. In some way I think we were alone, together. There was this straightforwardness he had that I liked, made me want to be close to him. Total honesty. Very refreshing. His aura was so magical, I swear he could make a whole room fall for him. He would speak and you would listen. I felt him everywhere.
     We were unstoppable as we blasted music in a cab across Williamsburg Bridge. The world is ours and so on. The midnight wind barely cooled down our skin, so double the beer. How could people live anywhere else than New York? “They must be, somehow, kidding.” It was so clear to me then. Never grow up, always have fun. Do not care.
     But come October. The melancholia creeps up on us as the rooftops close down and the beer turns into hot toddy. There's no more cheap watermelon at the bodega and whenever we turn a corner there's a wind of ice hitting us right in our faces. The thousand blankets that try to keep us warm at night fail and we wake up with our noses cold. There's frost on the inside of our windows. The heater never works. And no one skates in Tompkins when the snow falls.

Written by Frida Regeheim