Soft Light & Hidden Corners: A Love Letter to Femininity

There are places that feel like soft, velvet curtains drawn across time.Like the gentle whisper of a fan against skin, or the kind of quiet that stretches across a golden afternoon.They remind me of old Hollywood — where every corner held a secret,and every glance was filled with longing.

I love flower farm stands painted pink, with wild bouquets arranged in old mason jars and vases full of tulips and birdsong.

I love underground record stores that smell like dust and memory. The tattooed cool boys digging for treasure as I’m in a maxi dress deciding on either Fleetwood Mac or The Eagles. A place where time slows down, and music plays in the background.

I love cluttered little boutiques filled with pastel dresses, floral prints hanging from antique hangers yet it’s too expensive too buy but so gorgeous you’ll dance in your head in them.

I love churches with gardens. The kind where the windows are always stained glass and the air smells like incense.It reminds me of Catholic school and the aching peace that came with it. A time when spirituality felt like safety,like I was being held in invisible arms.

For me, femininity is lace and love letters and lipsticks. It’s the legacy of my grandmother’s prayers, the way my mom puts together her outfits, her cosmetic bag reminding me she’s just a girl going through this life for the first time.

It’s antique shopping in my hometown of Branford,perusing a collection of dainty angel figurines or vintage brooches,
wondering who they belonged to and what their stories were.

Feminine to me means lace and lavender, and peonies and postcards— but also a girlish rebellion.

A softness that never asked for permission.
A strength that wore perfume.

Femininity is with the right man, feeling safe, serene, soft. Not a shrinking violet or muted, but a rose tenderly taken care of.

These are my feminine spaces.
Where I remember who I am.
They are tender. They are sacred - holy even - at least to me and my heavy heart.

And they whisper back to me:
You are still that girl.
You are allowed to soften.
You are allowed to stay romantic.