The best writing comes from not writing

Or at least this is what I kept telling myself to feel better about being everywhere but the damn studio desk. Drinks, pub quizzes, runs, raves, boat races, salsa classes, reorganising my bookshelf, purging my closet. I embarked on every available side quest under the guise of gathering material. I wasn’t procrastinating, I was looking for inspiration. My friends are all too familiar with me pausing mid-sentence to jot down a potential title on a pocket-sized red Moleskine. I’m trying to be better about the graveyard of ideas that is my notes app. I went through every item on the list, scoured my emails for rejected pitches, but nothing stuck out. Then, as the universe always delivers, my friend Zee had a day off, and we went back to our favourite bar for a coworking day. I was overcaffeinated and practically crawling up the walls from listening to my voice whilst trying to clean up a transcription of an interview for a profile I should be working on instead of writing this very piece. I’d downed three coffees and an order of fries, and my favourite bartenders were all busy. When her phone died, I took it as divine intervention and was already halfway out the door when she suggested we hang out at her place down the road instead. As I caught her up on my busy weekend, she pointed out that I’d been spending a lot of time with a new boy I’m seeing. I dropped my voice, though we were alone in her flat, and confessed, I feel so guilty, I was at my friend’s housewarming and kept checking the time to see when it would be appropriate to call my Uber back to his place. I had witnessed countless friends’ sparkle dimmed by loser boyfriends. I was a closing this place down and securing an afters kind of girl. I was devoted to my girlfriends and to the night out. What was happening to me?!

My Dating Style – An Interlude

For you to understand why this was such a departure from tradition, I will illustrate my approach to dating. I think it’s meant to be fun, I’m at a net positive, good dates are thrilling and bad dates at least make for good stories. I enjoy a girl’s night that wouldn’t pass the Bechdel test, but these men were never central characters, they were plot devices. My great love stories were always about my friends. I kissed strangers at parties and went on weeknight dates, saving my weekend primetime for the people who mattered the most.

RIP The Bolter

I never spend the night. When The Tortured Poets Department first came out, my friend quickly declared that The Bolter was my personal anthem. I didn’t want a man breathing down my neck. I run hot, I have a multi-step skincare routine and a specific brand of toothpaste I order online. The collection of labelled toothbrushes stored in the drawer underneath my sink are not evidence of a hearty roster but instead of being the designated crash site for my friends after a night out. Bought in a multipack and likely to make your gums bleed, after all, drunk beggars can’t be choosers, these generic toothbrushes offer them a shred of dignity after being sick in a club bathroom (and maybe on the tube home). When the same friend texted me in the morning to ask how my date had gone, I summarised my feelings in a way that someone who knew me intimately would immediately understand:

I asked him to stay the night. And I gave him a toothbrush. A soft bristle one, not a shitty one from the multipack. And I didn’t make him take it home with him.

Oh you’re down bad lol.

To another friend I explained, confused, I don’t want to fuck this up. What is going on?! I have never worried about fumbling a boy! It wasn’t that I was cold and callous. I’m a capital R Romantic, I’m inherently curious and enthusiastic. I want to know people intimately, I memorise details, I like doing things just because. If I meet someone and we click, I make a point of texting them, let’s hang out!! I bring my friends coffee in bed when they stay the night, I make them dinner, I plan days out when they’re down. I tell them how much our friendship means to me, not only after two bottles of wine, but also whilst we run errands together in the middle of the day.

When it came to dating, I often told myself it wasn’t too different from making new friends. My litmus test for gauging acceptable interactions with someone I was recently dating was always what would I do if I just wanted to be their friend? This strategy quickly fell apart when my friends pointed out that I was going to end up doing the most for a guy who thought getting me a glass of water after we had sex was the pinnacle of chivalry.

Is this Bad for the Brand?

I am so good at being single. I’m really good at not really caring. I’ve gotten the maximisation of fun down to an exact science. When my recently single friends would tell me how excited they were for their newfound freedom, they often spoke of drunken dancefloor make outs. Not wanting to dull their excitement, especially for the ones who had been in the same relationship since middle school, I tactfully told them that wasn’t even the best part of it. I’ve been single for 23 years, that’s way more than the 10,000 hours it takes to become an expert. I’ve dated, but never seriously. I get to be selfish, I have so much time for my friends, for my hobbies, for myself. I have free reign to do stupid shit “for the plot.” My wifed-up friends live vicariously through me, I keep the girls entertained at brunch and litter their inboxes with my escapades. When I guiltily told Zee that I was starting to like this guy, she laughed at my panic. I didn’t mean for this to happen!! It’s still very new. I’m mortified at the fact that he will probably read this, because even though I’m not particularly good at playing it cool, it’s one thing to gush about a crush to your friends, and another thing entirely to write about them on the internet (even if it is the cure to your writer’s block).

I don’t usually write about things as they are happening. There’s something comforting and slightly sanitising about having some distance. Writing about my personal life doesn’t come without consequences. What goes without saying for my friends in the biz has to be spelled out to the people who dissect my writing as if they were sneaking a look into my journal. To quote , personal essays are not diary entries. There is a narrative arc. I’m telling a story. I found myself revisiting ’s “The perilous act of writing about someone who’s going to read it” after making a booking under my first and last name and realising that the guy I was seeing was one Google search away from knowing too much, too soon. People sometimes roll their eyes when I say that I’m a private person, you write about your personal life for a living! I understand where they are coming from, but I’ve always been in control of how much I share. When writing about other people, it’s still never about them, but about my experience with them. All you really know about this boy is that he exists and has a toothbrush at my place.

P.S. to the boy who pulled me out of a month-long writer’s block: if you’re reading this, I hope you’re not offended. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a plot device. Also I reposted ’s I Admit It: I Love Situationships piece on my stories because I think it’s so cool that she’s writing for Vogue, and not as a weak attempt at subliminal messaging.

On my way back from Brazil I had a long layover in New York. I strategically booked my flight to maximise my time in the city, and then proceeded to pray to the weather gods that I’d actually be able to leave the airport. I kicked off my solo day in Manhattan with brunch at Sarabeth’s. The last time I was in there was on a father-daughter birthday trip, and even though their Central Park South location is under renovation, I was feeling nostalgic. One of the best parts of dining alone, especially in a big city, is the people watching (and ocasional eavesdropping). I was bested by a pile of ricotta pancakes and drank my weight in coffee. I love waiters dressed like penguins at 10am and starched white tablecloths. Like every other basic bitch in the city, I headed south on my pilgrimage and walked down to the West Village. I made a stop at C.O. Bigelow and was overwhelmed by a sea of perfect blonde blowouts, tortoise headbands and oval sunnies. I steered clear of the hair accessories but did pick up a lip balm and a coin pouch. The beauty of travelling alone means you can do whatever you want, and even though I had no space in my bag I still spent ages browsing The Strand and the McNally Jackson in Soho. I was also very tempted by this wallet, pigeon hair clip and coffee cup at the MoMA design store, but I stayed strong.

Because I’m incapable of seeing an empty spot of my google calendar, I reached out to my friend Victoria who lives in the city and we met up for breakfast burritos and walked around Central Park whilst gushing about Heated Rivalry and her hot friends who all spend the summer in REDACTED Island. I promised not to blow up her spot but I believe she has found the spawning ground for JFK Jr. lookalikes. If any publications want some boots on the ground coverage, I volunteer as tribute.

The Girls Are Back - London Edition

I have brought the party spirit back with me from Brazil, and March was a month of hitting the town. I love watching the city slowly come back to life as the sun comes out, and have prematurely dragged my friends out for al-fresco drinks.

My best friends from High School also came to visit for a weekend (I love it when the trip makes it out of our aptly named group chat). We try to get the girls together a few times a year and keeping up with them is the reason I started this newsletter in the first place. Pauline and Jet said they wanted to see my version of the city, so I took them to the land of the mysteriously funded creatives for an early morning Yoga class in Hackney followed by coffee and pastries at Pophams. They marveled at all the people drinking in the sun in the middle of the work day as we walked over to The Dreamery for dessert. Once the entire group was in the city, we fully played tourists with a long walk around the Heath, a trip to the theatre to watch Wicked and a brunch debrief at Sunday in Brooklyn.

Julia’s March Recommendations - To Read, To Watch and To Eat

To Read - Jean by

• I’ve been on a quest to find more contemporary authors I adore (it sucks when everyone you read is dead) and spotted this taking over an entire display at Daunt Books. A couple of days later, I scrolled past a post from Soho Reading Series promoting an event for the same book and took it as a sign from the universe. Madeleine’s prose is beautiful. I devoured Jean and am excited to keep up with her writing. She also wrote this essay On Becoming German, which I adored as someone going through a similar naturalisation process.

To Watch - Summerfolk at the National Theatre

• Most of my friends don’t want to watch Russian plays on a Tuesday night (lame!!!!), but I really wanted to go to this, and even though I will continue to defend doing things alone, I managed to convince to join me. She ended up being ill (which I would normally find a little suspicious, but she also has niche old people interests (a compliment)) so I ended up bringing my friend Bea, who’s a literature student. I loved the staging especially on the second act and was audibly laughing throughout. It’s on until the 29th of April.

To Eat - Anchovy-Stuffed Olives

• I love olives. I love anchovies. Anything salty and briny has my name on it. We have gotten to the point in the year where I’m living off random bits in the fridge (including but not limited to; manchego cheese, caramalised onion hummus, carrot sticks and pita bread). I also love buying fun food things (Panzer’s is my happy place) and these have become my new hyperfixation.

Honourable Mentions and Other Things Bringing Me Joy

• Hot Yoga - I’m still going strong, and have become a regular at my local studio’s Monday evening class - feels like equal amounts pennance and self-care after hedonistic weekends.

• I also read Vladimir this month and it was the first time in a long time where I was truly surprised by a book. Will report back with my thoughts on the show.

• Watching bad films in the theatre - I love going to the cinema regardless of the screening. Popcorn for dinner at one of the last places where you’ll be publicly shunned for taking out your phone is my idea of a good time. I saw Reminders of Him with Giorgia this month, and it was every bit as ridiculous as you’d expect from Colleen Hoover. Will I be rewatching? Absolutely not, but I did have a good time! I foresee some good films in the theatre in April, and am excited to see The Drama and Project Hail Mary.

• Women in SCAM - This women’s history month I reminisced on my favourite women’s wrongs: including but not limited to Anna Delvey, Elizabeth Holmes and my favourite Covid hyperfixation, Caroline Calloway. I brought the topic up to 1 as a side tangent whilst talking about how I thought I was going to be discovered as a child and revisited the infamous essay on The Cut on the way home (a NY Magazine subscription might be the best $8 I’ve spent this month).

• Family meals - I love feeding the people I love, and I have the scars to prove it. I celebrated being back in London and having a kitchen by cooking for friends, and few things bring me as much joy as burning through an entire candlestick over pasta and wine and sharing dessert.

• £8 dirty gin martinis at ellie’s (and the friends we make whilst sipping said martinis)

• making seasonal playlists (current faves below)

What I wrote this month:

I’m notoriously superstitious, and I’m always begging people to please, please, please avoid telling me about their superstitions, because I will inevitably add them to my own endless list. Some of it comes from a Catholic upbringing. Believing in woo woo, obsessively checking your co-star app, pulling out a tarot deck to finish off a bottle of wine at the end of dinner or hiring Etsy witches might seem blasphemous, but growing up religious in an environment where the rituals of Catholicism were imbued into my routine, primed me for my superstitious antics. I haven’t given anything up for Lent in recent years, but I still always make the sign of the cross whenever I step into a church. I avoid going in during mass, preferring to sit at the back and take in the silence, comforted by feeling small under high Gothic arches, the familiar scent of oak and incense. At the beginning of the month, I had a long layover in New York. I had recently gotten news of a friend’s parent having health issues, my mom had projects up in the air, and another friend was waiting to hear back from a job. Naturally, I marched down Fifth Avenue and dipped into St. Patrick’s Cathedral for a quick one-on-one with the big guy.

On New Year’s Eve, I rinse my body with saltwater to wash away bad energy. If a dip in the ocean on the last day of the year isn’t an option, I’ll add a couple of teaspoons of salt to a mug, bring it into the shower with me and awkwardly tip it over my head. I always wear white, a Brazilian custom inherited from Umbanda and Candomblé, afro-Brazilian religions whose influence permeates many traditions. Different colours of underwear also promise different things: red for love, yellow for money, green for luck, though I’m not sure where those came from. My hardest year to date was prefaced by a black minidress on New Year’s. Coincidence? Maybe, but I wouldn’t risk it again. This January, I wore white and tied a thick red cotton string to my wrist ahead of the Year of the Horse for prosperity.

My dad might be the only person I know who can rival my level of superstition. My mother, one of the most logical and level-headed people I know, still managed to absorb some of it via osmosis over the course of a twenty-five-year-long marriage. She’ll never walk under a staircase, and always wears white on Fridays. I’m obsessive about hats on the bed and upside-down shoes. The easiest way to get me to do something is to tell me it’s good luck! I’m surprisingly fond of black cats, and have no particular aversion to the number thirteen, though I had something important coming up and scheduled it for the fourteenth lest we tempt fate.

Turns out you CAN have it all!

I don’t discriminate. When it comes to good luck, I appeal to every deity; the contents of my bag and bedside table will tell you that much. Rosaries blessed in the Vatican, a Bhutanese prayer wheel, a shamrock tucked inside an envelope, picked on a sunny day in the middle of nowhere in Ireland. A small army of darumas, Japanese wishing dolls, some missing an eye. Buddhist scrolls, a small woven bag filled with Guatemalan worry dolls, a ceramic scarab given to me by the man behind the counter in a spice shop in the Souk in Aswan, a plastic figurine I bit into whilst devouring a Galette de Rois, an olivewood cross gifted by a Franciscan Friar with whom I beefed with and subsequently befriended over a summer in Florence spent learning Italian. A friend once told me she feels very safe travelling with me; my collection of good-luck charms means no flight I’m on is going down.

God, the universe, delusion, call it what you want

I used to say I grew up Culturally Catholic. I wasn’t super religious; Sunday school was first and foremost a social place. My relationship with religion has ebbed and flowed over the years, but my faith in something has always been present. It was a comforting thought, the idea that there were things beyond my control. Letting go was an exercise in restraint for a compulsive control freak. Letting things play out, hoping that it will all make sense in the long run. I’m a big believer. I believe in signs and fate and kismet and karma. I’m forever entangled in a dance with the universe, a tango between us, a healthy mix of letting things happen and nudging things along.

I’ll do everything in my power to optimise luck. Knocking on wood and crossing fingers has become an involuntary reflex. I try to give everything meaning, even though I know some things can’t be explained. This past weekend, I had friends visiting and got to redistribute my wealth of luck as I handed out free drinks I’d gotten by chance. Whenever something good happens, I tend to see it as good Karma. Finding money on the floor, the barista accidentally making your drink hot instead of iced and then letting you have both, the bartender mishearing and handing you a free pint, an airline upgrade, a complimentary pastry because the cashier was in a good mood. I told my friend about my theory, and she quickly disagreed. She said that believing good things happen to people who do good means that if something bad happens to you, it’s the consequence of negative actions. As a chronic optimist, I’ll be charmed by lucky coincidences, but refuse to believe I’m being punished when I’ve been dreaming of a latte and wake up to find out that my milk has soured and the shops are closed.

Pavlov-ing the universe into making you lucky

Kismet, serendipity, luck, chance, all firmly entrenched in my personal lexicon. Through positive reinforcement, I have conditioned the higher powers to keep sending good things my way. I’ve turned strangers into friends after bonding over our mutual love of indoor cycling in the queue outside a club, or dishing out recommendations to a girl picking a bookseller’s brain. I’ve met authors I admired at parties, and since last names were not exchanged, I failed to connect the dots, and proceeded to send them gushy texts telling them how much I love their work once I got home and realised who I was talking to for most of the night. I make a point of reaching out and am a notorious DM warrior. I believe enthusiasm is rewarded. At the Oscars red carpet, Ethan Hawke was interviewed by Amelia Dimoldenberg, and the video has been all over my social media feeds. On being asked for advice for people dealing with unrequited love, he says the one who’s in love always wins. The sentiment resonated, and the clip went viral. Whilst most people reflected on the experience of romantic love, I believe the statement applies to all areas of life. Loving your friends, your work, having zest for life makes it worth living. The same friend told me maybe I’m just luckier than most, that luck is evenly distributed amongst the population, and I just happen to be on the far end of the bell curve. I’m not sure if I believe some people are luckier than others; talking about privilege here would be a different conversation entirely. I’m considering the little things: your favourite chocolate being on sale, spotting a double rainbow, finding the book you’ve been meaning to read for a pound at a charity shop, running into a friend you haven’t seen in ages on a day you’re both free and can spend the afternoon catching up. Lucky moments seem to show up more and more once you start looking for them.

For the fourth edition of Sexy Jobs, I’m joined by Annabelle Jordan, the mind (and face) behind the home fragrance brand Flammes. Before founding her brand, Annabelle worked in fashion, PR and marketing. If 2026 is the new 2016, the girlboss has gotten a makeover. She’s still aspirational, but now with a healthy dose of honesty about the struggles behind the glamour. On a Zoom call that felt more like a much-needed catch-up with a girlfriend, we talked about experimenting in your twenties and figuring out your purpose, how there’s really no such thing as cringe, and the ups and downs of starting a business on your own.

How would you define a Sexy Job?

I think that ultimately, a Sexy Job is something that you love to do. I think an unsexy job is a job that you hate, that doesn’t align with your values, that doesn’t creatively stimulate you, and that doesn’t fulfil your life. We spend so much of our lives working, so if you don’t enjoy it, then that’s not very sexy.

What is your current role? What do you do, and what does that look like day to day?

I’m the founder of Flammes, a home fragrance brand that launched just over a year ago. Within 9 months of launching, it became exclusive to Selfridges, one of the most well-known department stores in the world. It’s been pretty wild, and I still don’t quite know how to describe what the experience has been like (laughs).

I’ve always been fascinated by entrepreneurship and the idea of creating something of my own. I was raised by parents who built something for themselves, which I found incredibly inspiring. Growing up in that environment gave me this belief that anything is possible if you’re willing to go for it, and maybe even be a little bit delusional in your thinking. If you’re not slightly delusional, you’re probably not thinking big enough. For a long time, though, I wasn’t sure what that thing would be for me.

Everything changed when my mum was diagnosed with cancer. It was a real sliding-doors moment where life suddenly flashed before my eyes, and I thought, holy shit, I’ve really got to try and create something for myself. I think until you experience something traumatic like that, you can feel somewhat invincible, but that’s not reality. Watching my mum fight for her life was incredibly difficult. Thankfully, she’s now in remission, but it was truly life-altering.

Towards the end of her treatment, I worked closely with Jenny Halpern Prince MBE, an incredibly inspiring businesswoman who founded Halpern PR, one of the first PR agencies in London in the 90s, and who is also the co-founder of The Lady Garden Foundation, a gynaecological health charity raising awareness and breaking taboos around women’s health.

After going through such a difficult period with my mum’s illness, I really started questioning what I wanted from my life and what my purpose was. Flammes had actually been brewing in my mind for about a year, but I hadn’t quite found the courage to go for it. Jenny was unbelievably supportive and encouraged me to take the leap.

Flammes is all about redefining home fragrance for a brighter generation, combining unique design with feel-good scents. I saw a gap in the market for a design-led, next-generation home fragrance brand, and I was delusional enough to believe I could create it.

Honestly, I think that’s such a common theme among a lot of my friends - that question of when do you know you’re ready? It comes up all the time. And I really do think it comes down to being a little bit delusional and just deciding to go for it. You are very present in the brand’s identity; your face is the face of Flammes, so how was your experience stepping into that very public-facing role compared to your previous experience in PR, where you’re more behind the scenes?

When I started Flammes, I didn’t consciously decide to be the face of the brand. But very quickly it became clear that I would have to, firstly because it’s just me running it, and secondly because so much of Flammes’ story is tied to my own journey - finding my inner flamme, encouraging self-expression, and of course creating scents that people genuinely connect with.

If you want the world to know your brand, you have to shout about it. And today, consumers don’t just want to know about the product - they want to know about the person behind it. They want to understand the story, the personality and the intention behind the brand.

Coming from PR, where you’re typically behind the scenes building someone else’s narrative, stepping into that more public-facing role was definitely a shift. But in many ways, it also felt natural, because I understood the importance of storytelling and brand identity from the very beginning.

In such a digitally driven world, I don’t think there’s really an option to be completely incognito as a founder anymore. People want that connection. So embracing that visibility became a really important part of building Flammes and sharing its story.

Putting yourself online can feel really vulnerable, especially at the beginning when you’re worried about what people might think. Was that ever a barrier for you?

Quite frankly, I don’t think cringe exists. If people think something is cringe, that’s their problem, not yours. That’s what I always tell my friends who say they’re too scared to post online. At the end of the day, who really cares? There are far greater things in life to be afraid of, and posting online should definitely not be one of them. I realised that when my mum was fighting for her life. Experiences like that really shift your perspective. Suddenly posting something online just doesn’t feel that deep anymore.

It’s really not that serious!

It’s really not that serious. People’s assumptions and judgments are usually a reflection of themselves, not of you. Once you realise that, it becomes a lot easier to just put yourself out there.

You document a lot of your journey founding Flammes, but what would you say is the biggest challenge of your job today?

It’s definitely not for the faint of heart. I honestly don’t even know where to start. When I launched Flammes, I was completely blindfolded. It was my first time starting a business, so I’ve really been learning as I go. Sometimes it feels like being on a permanent driving lesson. There hasn’t been a moment when I’ve thought, okay, I’ve completely got this now. Every single day, there’s something new to figure out, especially as a solo founder.

I also think there’s a lot of glamourisation around entrepreneurship. I fall for it too. Online, everything looks very easy and very achievable. Everyone seems to be starting a business or founding a brand, and I have friends who feel like if they’re not doing that, they’re somehow falling behind. Social media has definitely made the whole landscape feel more competitive.

But the reality is that it’s hard work. Every day I’m balancing marketing, financials, projections, raising investment, planning for the year ahead, retail opportunities - all while still figuring everything out as I go.

What’s really important, though, is trusting the process. I have to remind myself of that constantly and try not to be so hard on myself. Whether you’re a freelancer, starting a business, or running one, I think we’re often our own toughest critics. It’s much easier to be self-critical than it is to acknowledge what you’ve actually achieved.

I think it’s especially intense when it’s a personal project. When you’re working for someone else, even if you take a lot of pride in your work, it’s ultimately their responsibility at the end of the day. When it’s your own project, you want to put your whole self into it.

Definitely! I went to an event this morning and was speaking to a co-founder of a creative agency. I asked her something I’m always curious about, how do you sleep? Because I really struggle with sleep sometimes.

She was very honest and said, “I don’t really sleep.” Not because she’s constantly working, but because she’s wired from running a creative agency, being a co-founder, and carrying the responsibility that comes with it - especially when the business is still so new.

When you work for someone else, and your name isn’t really on the line in the same way, it’s much easier to switch off. You clock in, and you clock out. But when it’s your own business, that boundary doesn’t really exist. It stays with you all the time.

Pivoting a little to your life outside of work, I’ve seen that you’re training for a marathon. What are the things that help you switch off, or at least attempt to switch off, from work?

Running is probably my favourite thing in the world, other than Flammes. Honestly, my life is pretty simple: I work on Flammes, I run, and I spend time with my partner. Who I am before a run and who I am after a run are two completely different human beings. I find it incredibly therapeutic.

For the last three years, I’ve been trying to get into the London Marathon through the ballot and never managed to get a place. Then I tried to get a charity spot through my mum’s hospital, The Royal Marsden. I was rejected last year, but this year I finally got a place1. A lot of people asked me if it was really the right time to be training for a marathon when Flammes is still in its early years. But for me, it didn’t really feel like a choice - running is the thing that keeps me balanced. Without it, I honestly don’t think I’d be able to do everything else!

I totally get that. I ran my first marathon this past October, and it was the one thing that kept me from going crazy. I’m so excited for you, the London Marathon is the dream!

I’m very much a Type B person, and I don’t have that early-morning, perfect routine. My life is generally quite chaotic, and somehow it works. But the marathon training plan I’ve been following has honestly been life-changing. It’s the first thing in a long time that’s really held me accountable to something outside of work. And I think that structure has been really good for me.

I’m still very much figuring my life out, so this is something I tend to ask everyone around me. When you were figuring out your path, what were the priorities that mattered most to you? I know we don’t always get to tick every box on our dream list.

I think your twenties should be a time to explore. You’re not supposed to have everything figured out. I definitely still don’t have it all figured out. For me, it was about exploring in ways that felt possible and interesting at the time. I’ve worked in fashion, art advisory, PR and marketing. Each experience helped me understand a little more about what did and didn’t feel right for me.

I also think the journey can be more complicated if you’re pursuing something creative. I have friends who were very academically driven and went into fields like law or medicine, where the career path is quite clear. With creative careers, it’s often much less linear and a lot more competitive.

So I think the most important thing is trusting the process and giving yourself permission to try different things. The more avenues you explore, the more likely it is that eventually something will click.

And finally, what’s the best career or life advice you’ve ever been given?

I think it’s simply: ask! Ask for help, ask questions, ask for opportunities. People are often much more willing to help you than you think. And if you’re working for yourself, you have to be a little bit delusional. It’s the only way you’ll move the needle forward. If you think too logically about everything, you’ll never start anything - you’ll see all the risks straight away and talk yourself out of it. You’ll also find your people along the way, and that’s incredibly important. Surround yourself with people who make you feel good and who support what you’re trying to build.

Thank you for keeping up with the fourth edition of Sexy Jobs. You can shop Flammes at https://flammes.co.uk/, as well as Selfridges and Maison Flâneur. Follow Flammes on Instagram @officialflammes and keep up with Annabelle on Instagram @annabellejordan and TikTok @annabelllejordan. If you (or someone you know) has a Sexy Job and would be down to talk about it and give me life advice in the process, please reach out to sexyjobsjulia@gmail.com.

And if you’re new to the Sexy Job universe, check out the piece that started it all:

My first kiss…

or at least my first real one. Not the playground pecks, but the real deal. I remember the anxious anticipation of having your first kiss. The neuroticism, wondering if you would know what to do when the moment came. The silent disbelief when people told you instinct would take over. Staying up late at camp, helping my friend sneak away in the dark and hanging on to every word once she was back and giving us a play-by-play. My first kiss happened when I was visiting a friend in Vienna, I guess Klimt’s work made an impression. It wasn’t premeditated, which would surprise anyone who knew my fourteen-year-old self because that girl was a planner. He was a friend of hers, I remember thinking he was one of the nicest boys I’d ever met. We both tasted like Peach Schnapps, syrupy-sweet liquid courage.

On kissing strangers

I’ve had my fair share of kissing strangers. I might even be an expert. If the dance floor make-out is an Olympic sport, call me Alysa Liu. I give gold-medal-worthy performances with a smile on my face. You’ve been making eyes from across the room. You smile, look down, they’re still looking when you check again. An exchange of words is not always necessary; you’re dancing to the same music. You thrive in the liminal space between strangers and something else. It doesn’t always happen in the dark and after midnight. Sometimes it’s under the scorching sun, there’s sweat and glitter and beer involved. It’s almost choreographed, you move in sync, high on life, and as you run to catch up with your friends, you declare that this is your favourite holiday.

On kissing friends

It’s late and you’ve had a few drinks, someone spins a bottle. It’s New Year’s eve and you make eye contact during the countdown, and figure what the hell, it’s meant to be good luck. You’ve been flirting and toeing the line for years, and your friends are sick of hearing you talk about this, about him, and you’ve exhausted yourself on the subject. You’ve been left alone with him so many times, and nothing ever happened, so you let it go. You convince yourself that you imagined the tension, you go back to just being friendly. You tell yourself it was a lapse in judgment, a trick of the light. Months pass, and you toe the line again, flirting over fries because you don’t want to go to the airport alone. You ride the train together, hug goodbye, you’re getting on a plane in an hour, fuck it.

On kissing lovers

The moment before the kiss that defies the laws of physics. The forehead kiss in the morning is infinitely more intimate than sex the night before. Kisses on the wrist, a palm, the crook of a neck, never just the means to an end. A barely audible whisper. A body memorised. An oscillating intensity, a familiar hello, goodbye.

On future kisses

If I keep randomly running into you, I think the universe wants us to kiss. I don’t make the rules. If we used to kiss on a regular basis, and I have a drink and you flirt a little, I will probably kiss you again. If it’s Carnaval and we make eye contact and you smile, I’m kissing you too. If it’s raining and I’m feeling cold and a little dramatic, I’ll look at your lips and hope you get the hint because I’ve made the first move too much lately. A kiss just for fun, or because I've missed you. A kiss to get them out of your system. A kiss that makes you realise you are so screwed.

A Slow Start

I started the month at a slower pace, making my way over to my grandmother’s house as soon as I arrived in the country. I was told my background was serving “Latin grandmacore” in a Zoom meeting and took it as a compliment. My days consisted of breakfast with my mom and grandma, flipping through photo albums, the occasional doctor’s appointments and several naps on the hammock. I once again caught myself thinking about ageing as I compared my ninety-year-old grandmother to the woman I once knew.

CarnaRio is my new religion

I reached my final form during Carnaval in Rio this year. I’ve always loved the city. I spent every summer growing up on those beaches; it’s synonymous with family, with home. For the past few years, though, I’ve been rediscovering Rio as a place that is also fun, young, exciting. It stopped being my past, and I considered a move in the future, largely thanks to one of my childhood best friends1 moving there for university, and showing me what my life could be like in the sunshine. Carnaval brought me back to life; it was everything I loved and didn’t know I needed. I also wrote all about it here, and have told all my friends they know where to find me forty days before Easter from now until the end of time (if anyone wants to join next year, let me know!)

Fairy Godmothers and Puerto Rican Princes

I have the best godmother, and I can prove it. I spent a good deal of the month catching up with mine. Val and my parents met at university, she once said I’d be a best selling authour when I was a child, and my mom has never let me forget it. If I ever publish a book, she’ll be at the top of the acknowledgements. She’s a journalist, and now more than ever, I look to her for guidance. Whenever we came back to Rio as a family, I’d always tag along when my mother would catch up with her friends. This time, she was busy, and I went on my own, realising I had developed my own relationships with these women who watched me grow up, grateful for the people who have become my chosen family. Before leaving to spend a weekend in São Paulo with one of my mom’s oldest friends, I gushed with my godmother and her sister about Bad Bunny. He was playing a concert on Friday, and Irene was going, I joked about being jealous. Val defied all odds and managed to snag a last-minute ticket, letting me know just hours before the concert. I arrived in the city an hour and a half before Benito went on stage. With no time (or space) to change, I popped my contacts in at the back of my Uber and coated my lashes with several layers of mascara (which would end up streaming down my cheeks a few hours later). I was reminded of my middle school, wattpad-reading days as I worried about my greasy hair and travel clothes, how was Bad Bunny meant to fall in love with me after spotting me from the stage when I was dressed like that?! Nonetheless, I had the best time, and will be recruiting Irene for more nights out, as she has more stamina than a lot of my twenty-something friends.

What I bought (or wish I bought) in Brazil

• Sushi → I love going out for dinner whenever I’m in Rio, and a stop at Gurumê is a must. Canoa Sushi was a new and welcome discovery.

• Carbs → My favourite food group, I went to Il Leone and ordered from Cucco multiple times. The starters and drinks at Sult were incredible, and the lasagna was big enough to share (I didn’t). In São Paulo, I love Almanara for Lebanese food that tastes like home and Bachir for ice cream as you’ve never had before.

• Chopp - preferably Brahma, in a chilled glass. Jobi and Belmonte are the holy grounds. Drinking around Rua Arnaldo Quintela also never disappoints.

• Outfits from Carioca brands that will have you showering in compliments → though I barely had enough room in my suitcase, I always make new additions to my summer wardrobe when I’m in Rio. Everyone already knows about FarmRio, and I love shopping there (especially in Brazil where it’s so much cheaper), but I also reccommend checking out Oh Boy and Cantão for the best printed dresses, Richards for timeless pieces to pass down to your daughter (everything I have from there was poached from my mom’s closet) and Salinas for the perfect Brazilian bikinis.

• Body Care and Beauty → Real Brazilians don’t shop from Sol de Janeiro. Instead, we love Granado (their perfumes are my favourite souvenir to gift), Natura and spending an hour at the pharmacy.

  • My Brazilian Pharmacy Shopping List:

    • Nail polish: Rebu, Gabriela and Licor from Risqué, Jabuticaba from Colorama (you’ll never go back to Chanel’s Rouge Noir)

    • Granado’s Cuticle Balm

    • Azelan → an over-the-counter azelaic acid, you can get it in Europe (under the name Skinoren), but you’ll need a prescription

    • Paixão Body Oil (I can’t do moisturiser in hot or humid climates, this gives the perfect sheen, and the Bridgerton collaboration smells incredible)

    • Creamy Vitamin C serum → I’m trying this out, will report on results in a few months

Julia’s February Recommendations - To Read, To Watch and To Eat

To Read - An Apprenticeship or The Book of Pleasures by Clarice Lispector

• Full disclosure, I’ve never read anything by Clarice Lispector. Yes, I know it’s not very patriotic of me, but I’m trying to do better. This is my aeroplane read, and by the time this newsletter goes out, I’ll most likely have finished it. I also have The Hour of the Star for my next flight, and I’ll share my thoughts once I’m back in London. This year, I’m making an effort to read more in Portuguese (or just less in English, so any French or Spanish book recommendations are very welcome) and was waiting to come home to buy it as I refuse to read Latin authors in translation.

To Watch - The Secret Agent

• I also haven’t seen this. I’m terrible. It’s our Oscar contender this year, and I have been in love with Wagner Moura since forever. This scene in the telenovela Paraíso Tropical was my sexual awakening, and Tropa de Elite (Elite Squad) gets a yearly rewatch.

To Eat - A Brazilian Feast

• I consumed my weight in all my favourite foods this month. I left some restaurant recommendations above, but I’d never get sick of Pão de Queijo, Biscoito Globo, Mate com Limão and Agua de Coco.

Honourable Mentions and Other Things Bringing Me Joy

Watching

• Love Story on Disney+. If you see me wearing a headband, mind your business. If I consider going blonde, talk me out of it.

• Cazuza Além da Música on Globo Play. I’m feeling patriotic, and this made me cry. A touching docuseries about one of Brazil’s most important musicians and the impact of the AIDS epidemic.

• The Super Bowl Halftime Show on Repeat. I love being Latina. I love Bad Bunny.

Loving

• Punch the monkey; he has taken over my Instagram feed, and I would die for him.

• ’s Tale Tellers Writing Club, the time zone gods were working in my favour this month, and I love how Caroline has managed to bring a community feel to Substack!

• Alysa Liu. That’s it.

Party Prep

Whilst some of my friends started warming up for Carnaval on the first weekend of January, I was braving an unexpected snowstorm that cast a white cover over many major European cities. I stifled my FOMO with the knowledge that in a few weeks I’d be joining them on the streets of Rio. My actual prep started two weeks before Carnaval when I got to Brazil. My brother’s godmother (whom I also call Dinda because I love her dearly and am a little greedy) is a stylist for TV Globo, Brazil’s largest TV network. My mother and I joined her at Saara, a street market in the centre of Rio, where you can find anything and everything, and Dinda Teresa was our guide and Carnaval fairy godmother all in one. The only thing I’d packed for Carnaval was a pair of beat-up Converse, so I loaded my basket up with sparkly tops, hot pants, fishnets in every colour of the rainbow, as well as headbands and feathers and loud earrings to distract from my lack of outfit planning. Knowing the temperatures could reach 40 degrees, I took less-is-more quite literally, and kept my clothing minimal as a survival strategy.

Rules to Live By and the Cardinal Sins of Carnaval

Listen, I don’t claim to be an expert here. Whilst I was born in Brazil, and will tell people I’m almost carioca thanks to my entire extended family being from Rio and Summers spent at the beach, I moved abroad as a child, and this was my first proper time back for Carnaval. I had the perfect week, but I wouldn’t chalk it all up to beginner’s luck: I listened to those who were older and wiser and learned from their mistakes. In case you’re thinking of going, these are the dos and don’ts in my book

Do

• Wear comfortable shoes → I don’t care if you’re Carrie Bradshaw herself, this is not the time for heels (you’ll be standing all day and doing upwards of 20,000 steps) or your new Havaianas (the ground is covered in questionable fluids and someone will undoubtedly step on your feet)

• Eat a proper breakfast → you’ll be drinking all day every day for four days straight. As someone who has run a marathon before, let me tell you, this was harder. Carnaval is an extreme sport, so act like an athlete. A decent meal is not a guarantee during the day (though I’d recommend taking a proper lunch break, avoiding fried foods and trying to get a healthy dose of carbs, protein and fibre in at dinner), so your best bet is making sure you eat enough before you leave the house to get you through the day. My friend’s go-to was the same thing she always eats before a long run. I was making eggs and a green juice at 5 AM. Again, this is not for the weak.

• Party responsibly → this is a marathon, not a sprint, you don’t want to collapse on Day 1 and end up DNFing the weekend. Make sure you’re having fun, and that everyone with you can enjoy themselves. Drink water, wear sunscreen, bring a fan and try to get out of the sun for a little bit.

• Get up early → the best blocos are the early morning ones (in my opinion). Cariocas are always late for everything, but Carnaval is the only time of year when they’re early. It’s not as hot, people haven’t been drinking all day, and you can get closer to the musicians.

• Bring cash → the only thing I didn’t do and wish I did. Having to faff around with a phone or a card after three drinks is not fun. I only brought one card and decreased the spending limit in case I lost it, but cash would have made things easier.

• Know when to leave → this is an art year-round, but especially during Carnaval, the vibes can change very quickly. I felt very safe the entire time, and most of the people I know who have had bad experiences all said they should have left earlier. Depending on where you are in the city, you don’t want to stick around after the blocos are over or once it gets dark.

• Go with the flow → plan your first bloco of the day and then see where the day takes you. You might bump into people you know or make new friends along the way. This is not the time to stress about an itinerary.

Don’t

• Keep your phone in your pocket or bag → if you have a Celular do Bandido even better, leave the real one at home. There’s a lot of petty theft in crowded areas, so a money belt inside your clothes is the best bet for your phone, credit card and ID. Use it to call your Uber, take the occasional photo and use your bag for things like sunscreen, gum, and a fan.

• Meet your friends there → you can’t and you won’t. There are too many people, meet at the metro or go together.

• Make prolonged eye contact with someone you don’t want to kiss → people have told me I have no game, and whilst I normally wouldn’t disagree, my Carnaval alter ego was pulling left, right and centre. I take little credit; everyone is a little slutty this time of year, and making eye contact and raising your eyebrows is sufifcient invitation.

• Do late nights → my one exception for this is if you’re going to Sapucaí. There are loads of parties during Carnaval, but I’d argue the best experiences are during the day on the streets. You can club year-round, but Carnaval de Rua only happens once a year. The key to surviving all four days is making sure you’re getting enough sleep.

• Leave anyone behind → safety is key: arrive together, leave together. Nobody does anything alone; you’ll lose them in the crowd. If you’re in a big group, adopt a buddy system.

Blocos — glitter, sweat, singing crowds and kissing all the time

These are moving street parties; there’s one for every taste. Big ones, little ones, techno ones, jazzy ones. My favourite was Céu na Terra in Santa Teresa, and it was 1000% worth getting up at 5 am for. Boi Tolo was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before (don’t believe me? Read all about it in The New York Times). If you hate crowds, sweating, and getting up early, then don’t bother, but if you can handle those with a smile on your face (and maybe some Samba at your feet thanks to the drink in your hand), then you’re in for the experience of a lifetime. If you’re lucky enough to find a friend who matches your vibes, hold on to them (a special thanks to Ju, Lau and my CarnaSoulmate Lu).

Sapucaí — Watching the sunrise at the Apoteose is a religious experience

For the people who were obsessed with the movie Rio, this is a must. I grew up watching the desfiles (parades) on TV, but seeing it up close is an entirely different experience. I’ve always had a huge appreciation for Brazilian culture, and am especially grateful to my mom, who made sure to keep that alive even after we moved abroad. In what has been described as the biggest spectacle on earth, twelve Escolas de Samba create a parade around honouring a specific theme or historical figure. Portela and Mangueira are my mom and dad’s favourites, respectively, and also the most decorated schools. I was lucky enough to see them both, along with Imperatriz and Acadêmicos de Niteroi, on Sunday night. I watched the cars and the dancers and sang along with the band into the wee hours of the night, and after the last group had made its way across the Sambodromo, I jumped the fence along with thousands of other people to follow them and watch the sunrise after what I’m sure will go down as one of the best days of my life

Glossary

Carioca — someone from the city of Rio de Janeiro (different from Fluminense, which is someone from the state of the same name)

Celular do Bandido — the thief’s phone, AKA the phone you bring out with you. Pull out your retired, cracked iPhone 7, delete all banking apps and make sure to give your friends your burner number. Tell everyone the bad camera quality adds to the aesthetic.

Bodies Bodies Bodies

I’ve been forced to confront ageing this month. Not because I once again met a twenty-one-year-old at a party that filled me with jealousy, this time it was more intimate, familial. I could trace a straight line across generations: me, my mother, my grandmother. All under the same roof. My grandma’s back in the shape of a question mark. The pale skin that sags and easily bruises. The sun spots and veins like lightning on her calves. My mom’s sprinkle of grey hairs, she now tires more easily. I need to remind myself she’s almost sixty, though you probably couldn’t tell, her posture still impeccable, inherited from a previous life as a dancer, her unwillingness to stay still, I don’t have to wonder where I got that from. My mom has been living with my grandma for the past six months. I’ve seen it weigh on her, how my grandma’s complaints, her slower pace, her pains and aches contrast with the woman she once was. The grandma I remember growing up, running around the house, keeping tabs on the grandkids, making lunch and baking cakes and telling stories seems miles away. She used to stay with us for months at a time. We lived in a different state, then across an ocean, growing up. For three months of the year, I’d take up residence in the guest bedroom, tell me a story, I’d say every night before bed. I’d taken it upon myself to become the next keeper of the family lore.

Growing up is hard, but growing older is a privilege. To become wiser, to see the fruits of your labour, the kids turning into teenagers, then adults, then parents. To get more time. My mom and I had a fight over Christmas, not over me leaving my clothes strewn around the house or borrowing her hairbrush and not putting it back. This time, she said she’d be fine to live until eighty, and that was enough. I lost it. I had seen enough close friends lose their mothers, first when we were thirteen, then seventeen, then twenty-two. They didn’t get enough time, though I don’t know if you can ever get enough time. Every time I’d come back from a funeral, I’d crawl into my mother’s lap, allowing myself to come undone as I mourned what my friends had lost. I couldn’t bear to imagine their pain, I couldn’t think of my life without my mother in it. I’ve spoken to her about it. My grandma is ninety, and my mom also struggles to think of her life without her. It’s hard to lose someone you love, full stop. It’s hard when it happens slowly, to see them fading. You get glimpses of who they were, but after a lifetime together, I find myself becoming reacquainted. Some traits remain, stronger than ever. The stubbornness, the pathological need not to bother anyone or get in the way. Some things change, always incredibly polite, I now laugh at my grandma, who could out-cuss a sailor. She has trouble hearing, though that is momentarily suspended when a particularly juicy bit of gossip about the neighbours enters the conversation. A few years ago, I had to be driven away from her house sobbing. I had a bad feeling, for the first time, I thought that this was the last time I’d be seeing her. I come back once a year; a lot can change in that time. I’ve come back again and again, and I no longer get the growing anxiety and desperation as I count down the days until I have to leave.

Dealing with someone at that age comes with a different set of rules. Some things can’t be fixed, some things don’t matter anymore. It’s no longer about optimising, but about easing discomfort, maximising pleasure, holding on. My grandma never smoked, though if she asked now, I’d be the first to volunteer to run down to the gas station and fetch her a pack. How I spend my time with her has also changed. She doesn’t have as much energy anymore. It forces me to slow down; I fight physics and logic and time itself and try to hold on to moments for as long as possible. A few years ago, I was home alone with her, and throughout the night, I kept going to her room, watching her closely and holding my hand next to her nose and mouth, making sure she was breathing. I’ve never slept so poorly. I’ve become emotionally detached almost in a healthy way. I hold her hand often. I flip through photo albums. I massage her back and legs and swollen feet and offer an arm for stability. I go to doctor’s appointments and drag her out into the sun. I try to be present. I tell myself to remember. I’ve come to look at ageing with kinder eyes. My fear had been misplaced. I’m still scared, but it looks different now. I dread the day my parents will have to hold on to me for support, when I have to take them to doctors’ appointments, when they complain about pain or when their memory fails. But I also want all of those things. My parents say they don’t want to trouble me, but I want the trouble. I want to have enough time with them to need to deal with all the messy and ugly parts of getting older. There are aspects of growing older that excite me. I think of all the people who will mean so much to me whom I still haven’t met, the milestones I dream about, and the confidence that comes with experience. I’m still a little scared. Growing up is terrifying, growing old as well, but it’s better than the alternative.

I’m considering the past month as a trial period for 2026. In Brazil, we have a saying that the year doesn’t start until after Carnaval, and as it lines up with the Chinese New Year, I intend to celebrate in full swing on the 17th. I am yet to meet anyone who wasn’t glad to see 2025 go. As someone who is super superstitious, I’m blaming the Year of the Snake, and as an ‘02 baby, I’m very excited for the Year of the Horse. Catch me wearing red all year long.

I’m a Nostalgic Freak

I spent a lot of my time back in Brussels reminiscing. It was mostly triggered by seeing the people I went to school with, but being back also means visiting places that feel frozen in time. Being home has a specific taste, moules-frites washed down with a Chouffe, and a Gaufre de Liège bought on impulse thanks to the smell of caramelised sugar taking over the street. The second I land in Brazil, I also crave the flavours of my childhood, Pão de Queijo at the airport, Bicoito Globo, Mate and a Chicabon at the beach.

168 busy hours in London — I’m loving the taste of the socialite life

I was back in London for exactly a week, and I really made the most of it. I am an Olympic medalist in calendar tetris, and I put my skills to good use, reminding myself that I could always catch up on sleep on the plane. I showcased my range with wholesome brunches and Sunday roasts, work calls, interviews, nights out, drinks and dinner with friends old and new, and the unique trauma bond that comes from being held hostage by a man with a tote bag and an inflated ego1.

Things are about to get hot and sweaty

Literally, I’m writing this from Rio, where I’ll be spending the next month. Expect dispatches straight from the Carnaval front lines: minimal clothing, glitter everywhere, kissing all the time. I haven’t been back in Brazil for over a year, so I was more than due for a homecoming, and I couldn’t have picked a better time. 2026 is the year of fun, the year of the Hot Girl, and as I’m planning to party for four days straight in 40-degree heat, I’m sure to tick all the boxes.

Julia’s January Recommendations - To Read, To Watch and To Eat

To Read - Half His Age by Jennette McCurdy

• I loved this book and featured it as one of my top 2026 recommendations. I got an early copy, but it officially came out on January 20th, and I am so happy my friends are finally getting to read it (I love a lit debrief). It’s provocative and funny and makes the age-old story of an age-inappropriate relationship feel fresh. If anyone caught ’s interview with Jennette on pub day at Town Hall, I am so jealous, and if I were home, I’d be going to her London tour stop hosted by .

To Watch - Rulers of Fortune (original title: Os Donos Do Jogo) on Netflix

• I binged this with my family over the break. Sensitive viewers, be warned, there is some pretty graphic violence. The fictional show follows the dynamics of the Jogo do Bicho, a lottery that’s over a century old, managed by the ruling families of Rio.

To Eat - Sunday Roast at the Holly Bush

• My friends and I have made it our personal mission to find our favourite roast in the city, and whilst I think the Sticky Toffee Pudding at The Spaniard’s Inn is the best in town, the roast at the Holly Bush is the best I’ve had so far (I always get Lamb in case you’re wondering). The only downside is having to book months in advance, so if you want to go whilst it’s still cold, I recommend getting a date in the diary ASAP.

Honourable Mentions and Other Things Bringing Me Joy

My therapist was on vacation this month, which meant I was doubling down on self-care. I re-read the original Hunger Games trilogy (anyone who knows me knows I am a MASSIVE fan of the films, I will do unspeakable things to get invited to the Sunrise on the Reaping premiere in November), and it was the best way to start the year. I also am perpetually wired and have always said I can never stay still enough for yoga, but in the spirit of the new year (and also because I’m going to be spending a lot of time wearing very little clothing in February), I decided to give it another go. I signed up for a yoga membership and made the most of it during the week I was back in London. I have become a vinyasa rat and a hot yoga regular. I expect my third eye will be opening soon, and I’ll be reaching Nirvana by Q2.

What I Wrote This Month

I reached out to some of my favourite literary voices in Hot Girl Books 2.0 — ALL STARS EDITION for book recommendations to kick off the new year. After spending a lot of time with people I hadn’t seen in ages (and also having someone ask if I was on the spectrum), I dissected my [near]perfect memory in I Remember Everything. Continuing on a massive theme of 2025, I also wrote about how I’m In Everyone’s DMs (but not in a sexy way, though I promise to date for the plot in 2026).

The best thing I’ve ever gotten that started with a DM

It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’ve just gotten back to London after being away for two months. I’ve got a week in the city before I jet off again, and I think most sane people would use this time to rest, put their lives back in order, and enjoy the silence that is only possible in an empty apartment. Instead, I’m unpacking as quickly as I can, grabbing my wallet, computer and a toothbrush on my way out the door to head over to my friend’s house. I’ve spoken about Giorgia before, how her presence has an uncanny ability to regulate my nervous system and how our friendship makes me believe in a higher power. Gio and I actually met several years ago in Brussels, where we went to the same school. We were in adjacent social circles and were friendly enough, but once she moved away for high school, we lost touch. A couple of years later, I started university and moved into halls in an apocalyptic landscape. It was 2020, and my dreams of getting messy drunk and making lifelong friends during freshers’ week had been promptly crushed. Instead, I moved in after a two-week government-mandated quarantine, making conversation with the security guards because they were the only people around. One geo-tagged Instagram story later, and Giorgia was the one sliding into my DMs. As luck would have it, her room was only one courtyard away. Whilst I now have little to no reservations about reaching out to people, my seventeen-year-old self, who was brand new to the city, was incredibly grateful. That one interaction went on to become one of the most meaningful relationships that carried me into adulthood.

In my attempt to maximise our time together for the brief week I was back in London, I schlepped over to her house on a Sunday night, with the promise of a work-from-home Monday that had me counting down the days to be back in the city. I slipped into the comfort of familiarity, pulling out my favourite sweatpants from her dresser and getting started on dinner as we caught up on the past couple of months. I felt at home looping in her housemates. I asked Irene about her work crush and put my life in Ines’ hands as I sat on a chair in her room, towels lining the floor as she chopped off as much hair as she deemed fit1. Oh my god, look how far we’ve come, *snip snip*, five years ago I barely knew you, and now you’re cutting my hair! As she snipped my hair away, I considered my luck that Giorgia swiped up on my story all those years ago.

With the reinforcement that came from that initial success story, I’ve continuously used the DMs to fan the flames of a budding friendship. Last May, I saw loads of people I was peripherally aware of and friendly with at a High School reunion. Once we’d covered the how have you been and what have you been up to, I found myself deep in conversation, laughing till my stomach hurt and asking myself why did it take me so long to properly speak to you? On my way back to London, I scrolled through my contacts, mentally drafting my [probably too] earnest it was SO nice to see you message. Realising I never texted any of these people in school, I switched over to Instagram, feeling awkward and a little dude-y but pressing send nonetheless. I’ve since had coffee and dinner and drinks to properly catch up with them, though we’ve graduated to texting.

Ask, and You Shall Receive

My first DM crusade came in the first term of my Master’s programme. Previously a Literature student, I was unfamiliar with the struggle of having to beg everyone in your life to fill out a questionnaire so you can pass your Research Methods required credit. As my group tried, and mostly failed, to gather enough primary data on the eating and shopping habits of Brazilian consumers, I realised I had no other option but to personally reach out not only to family and friends, but also to everyone I still followed from my elementary school. I felt awkward messaging these people whom I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years, and made sure to start off by reminding them how we knew each other, because I was pretty sure many of them had no idea who I was. I quickly got over all of that once the responses started rolling in, and was delighted to catch up with my brother’s childhood friends who once practically lived in our house and the girls I hadn’t seen since our sandbox days.

Though I [re]encountered my best friend thanks to a DM, in true post-grad unemployment fashion, I really honed the skill in the process of trying to find a job and life purpose. I reached out to family friends and Instagram mutuals and strangers on LinkedIn, desperate for some direction. I became an expert on the coffee chat,2 and my calendar, which was once littered with lectures and sports nights and drinks with my girlfriends, became my LinkedIn feed come to life. I had always been apprehensive about networking; it felt too transactional, and I almost always felt inadequate, too inexperienced to bring anything of value to the table. I physically cringed attempting to type out dear network posts, sick with inauthenticity, though I knew my confessional writing had no place in the corporate sphere. Slowly, I realised that it wasn’t all that scary or all that bad. I’ve always been chatty, and I’m naturally curious, so sitting down with people from a variety of industries and going down the rabbit hole of all of the careers I was considering was surprisingly enjoyable. When I started flirting with a more creative line of work, the personal and professional lines started to blur. I asked a friend in the industry for career advice over dinner and ended up pitching her the next morning. I liked someone’s work and let them know, and found myself laughing at their stories both in writing and over drinks.

In Defence of Enthusiasm and the Parasocial Relationship

I’ll be the first person to admit that the internet is a wild and weird place. You won’t find me restacking those Substack feels like this posts with aesthetically pleasing photos of girls giggling at a sleepover or frolicking in the wild. I’ve fallen victim to wasting the day away switching my attention from a medium screen propped up on my lap to the tiny screen denting my pinkie, and the term enshitification has entered my personal lexicon. Still, I occasionally fall into a parasocial relationship. When I was younger, it was the beauty vloggers who helped me perfect my winged eyeliner, their big sister advice peppered in the background of my teenage years. In later years, I binged literary nonfiction, becoming enamoured with the voices of Nora Ephron, Joan Didion, Eve Babitz and Elizabeth Wurtzel, their words working overtime at the back of my head. I rationed their works, knowing there was no more coming and making sure I read responsibly. When I ventured over to Substack last year, I was quickly drawn to the diaristic confessions that thrive on this platform. I had been an avid reader of Man Repeller, Into the Gloss and Camille Over the Rainbow back in the day. , Emily Weiss and had distinct voices; I could spot their writing without needing to check the byline. Slowly, the same thing started happening here, the same writers popping up on my feed as I slowly curated my can’t-miss weekly reads. I felt self-conscious texting the first writer I admired. It’s one thing to do the whole mutually liking each other’s Instagram stories and another thing entirely to message them out of the blue. My friend Zee, with her endless wisdom, nudged me on. Enthusiasm is a good thing; don’t feel bad about it. As I met up with more people I admired, my impostor syndrome dwindled, though never completely disappearing, because I thought these girls were so cool and talented, and I was just happy to be there. I started seeing the benefits of having people who were doing the same thing, just at a larger scale. I once again found myself asking for advice.

2026 is the Year of Delusion

Being delusional used to be a joke; we’re so delulu you’d say rolling your eyes, laughing over cappuccinos with a friend as you dissect your situationship’s latest text or convince yourselves the universe is actively putting your crush at every bar you walk into. I always had my delusional moments, but prided myself on having at least one foot planted firmly on the ground at all times. As my life turned upside down after graduating, and I had no idea where to go next, a canonical event for most twenty-somethings, I’m told, I started wearing delusion as a badge of honour. Instead of asking myself why? I’d wonder why not? I still haven’t reached that state of unadulterated confidence that everything will work out, but I’m choosing to trust the process. I’ve spent the past year asking people of all walks of life for advice, and while I lack any real expertise (on anything besides dating and looking for a job), I’m still passing on some wisdom: you should be in everyone’s DMs.

What I’m reading:

• Because 2026 is the year of fun:

  • ’s Niche Internet Crush series is a new and delightful discovery (I love it just as much as ’s Cheat Sheets, but people are sick of me recommending it) - I miss reading about celebrities’ makeup bags and medicine cabinets in Into the Gloss

  • ’s You found it cringe, I found it fun is my new life philosophy

  • ’s help! i want to be Rachel Sennott! and ’s My Debilitating Obsession With My Crush’s Ex-Girlfriend on were both hysterical and relatable reads

• Because I still think it’s resolution season:

  • ’s The Case for a Single New Year’s Resolution and ’s my new year’s resolution is to be messy

• Because other people also think you should be delusional:

  • I recently watched read what would you do if you believed in yourself more? at a event and re-read it on the tube home. ’s Flirtation, Delusion, Abundance gives you the perfect words of affirmation to start the year.

• And if you’re looking for my favourite diaristic pieces on Substack…

  • no one does it better than , I recently loved I am not sexy right now, sauna romance is only real if you bring a swimsuit, and ayahuasca might be in my future and Partying in Your Hometown Means Being 16 Again, Drinking Cheap Vodka, and Hoping Your Childhood Crush Notices You, which she wrote for

I would be the first to know. I’m one of those people who rarely forget a face or a fun fact. I collect details about people without ever noticing it1. I’ll remember your favourite book if you pointed it out once when we were browsing a bookstore. I might text you about it four years later when I finally get around to reading it, even though we haven’t spoken since graduation. I have to jot down birthdays, but I know my friend’s allergies and coffee orders and the bands they obsess over and how they’ve fully processed their most recent breakup, but never got over the situationship that never quite happened. I’ll keep running into the same people at bars and parties and ask how their dissertation is coming along, or how their cool girlfriend who smokes skinny cigarettes is doing (might result in an awkward beat or two if they’ve broken up), or if they went to the restaurants I eagerly wrote down on a napkin when they told me they were going to Florence for the weekend2. Some things I know not to bring up, secrets and stories whispered late at night, drunk on wine or spirits or not enough sleep, never to be spoken of once the moment passes.

I was recently reminded (and slightly embarrassed) of my supernatural abilities whilst hanging out with some people from my High School over the winter break. Apparently, not everyone remembers random bits of information shared in a moment of boredom at the back of a math classroom. In my defence, I don’t know many people whose parents owned a zoo, so that was a highly memorable detail.

I was placed in the spectrum at the function

Someone wondered out loud if my uncanny ability to remember things was an undiagnosed symptom. For context, the function was my introverted friends’ personal hell. Those who have been keeping up with me since last year might remember my absolute delight in making rounds during my five-year High School reunion in May. I didn’t exactly consider myself particularly extroverted3. I was always friendly and chatty in school, but I’d rarely go out of my way to befriend people outside of my comfortable circle. In the past years, however, things have changed, and I found myself once again surrounded by former classmates. This time, I’d texted and DMd and performed calendar Tetris to make sure I’d be able to properly catch up with them before the holiday bubble burst, and everyone went back to their real lives. I’m not sure if there was a single turning point or if it was something that accumulated over time, if the positive reinforcement every time I reached out rewired my brain. When someone says they’re a people person, I assume they’re outgoing and work well with others. There’s more to it, though. There are people with a genuine curiosity about everyone around them, the ones who ask not to be polite but because they care. I see it in my friend Zee, who we joke has become the mayor of our favourite bar, because she can recite the life story of everyone who works there. When my friend Clara was visiting me last summer, I was enamoured by how she would strike up a conversation with anyone around us, befriending the tipsy girls in line for the bathroom at a dingy club or middle-aged women queuing for Wimbledon under a (surprisingly) scorching English sun. My friends often tease me for saying someone new is the love of my life on a semi-regular basis (remember the time I was convinced the universe was pulling strings because I kept running into the same guy in a city of nine million people? And then proceeded to tell his best friend that I thought he was the love of my life?) but I can’t help it. I tend to see the best in people, sometimes to a fault, and few things light me up like a budding friendship. When I drunkenly tell people in a sing-song voice, I think we’re gonna be really good friends, I always mean it and have been known to almost always follow up the next morning once the alcohol has left my body. As someone who values reciprocity, I’m always thrilled when people reach out, and delighted when they remember details; however, I have also told myself to shut up after having someone exclaim how do you remember that?! for the millionth time, even when no trace of malice was present.

Things that keep me up at night

I’m a naturally anxious person, and a dash of insomnia comes with the territory. I love remembering everything when people seem genuinely pleased when I bring up something they said in passing the last time we caught up. I love it a little less when I’m still awake, and the sun is about to rise, and I keep replaying social interactions, wondering if I was too much. It doesn’t happen that often, I don’t have a natural tendency to spiral. I know when I’m being ridiculous and rarely entertain it, but an uncanny ability to remember comes back to haunt you when you can perfectly reenact every mortifying and embarrassing thing you’ve ever said and done.

I promise to (probably) never forget you

I’ll listen and pay attention to the details. I’ll get the chocolate you like “just because” and the brand of oat milk you buy when I know you’re coming over for coffee. Even after you’re gone, for good or just for a while, I’ll remember. If we fought or you left or we just grew up and apart. I still think of you when I go to the spot that was ours, or I make a joke I know would make you laugh, or I listen to the band you showed me. I’ll text my theatre kid (derogatory) friends whenever I watch a really good show and will get comforting bouts of deja vu whilst getting fries or coffee at the places where I spent all of my middle school allowance. I’ll remember your birthday even if it’s impossible to reach out. If you’re still around, I’ll suggest coffee or drinks. I might text you out of the blue or ask if anyone has heard from you lately. Maybe I see you once a year, if that, whenever we’re on the same continent, but I’ll surprise you with a postcard from the other side of the Atlantic. People will do something a certain way, go to certain places, love certain things, and wonder where they got it from. Remembering everything and everyone means you never have to wonder.

Izzy and I bonded over our shared love of the hot girl bible, Happy Hour by on the first night we met (I’m a loyal reader of and slid into her DMs when I realised we’d be at the same event), and I’m obsessed with her list of books where women have FUN, so she was the first person that came to mind when I was trying to come up with literary hot girls to dish out book recommendations.

Something I’m realising as I get older is that one of the hottest things you can be is funny. Also, that funny books are often denigrated as being less literary or less worthy or less impressive than sad books. To that I say: having a sense of humour in this world is both an act of moral strength and a deeply sexy quality! Books about funny broads (and even funny gentlemen – yes they exist!!) are therefore very necessary in the literary diet of a hot girl. I am constantly recommending, for this reason, Anita Loos’ Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, which is one of the maddest (in the most British sense of the word) books I have ever read and also one of the most delightful: you could swallow it down in a sitting over a couple of French 75s and call it a party. I am also deeply in love with Elaine Dundy’s novels The Old Man & Me and The Dud Avocado – the latter is much funnier and the former leans more towards black comedy. And a special mention to the series I pick up when I am very sad and desperately to laugh out loud: P. G. Wodehouse’s Jeeves novels (which also happen to make WONDERFUL post-break-up reads – no romance, just life-affirming silliness).

This isn’t to say I don’t love an intense novel which makes me cry and think and brood. The first book to make me cry in 2024 was Set My Heart On Fire by Izumi Suzuki, which I picked up in a bookstore in NYC and read it in the bath at The Public, a nicely melancholic but actually quite nice setting in which to devour this weird, dirty, fizzing, erotic, dizzying novel about a young woman in the underground music scene in 1970s Tokyo. I also cried on the tube reading two James Baldwin novels this year: Giovanni’s Room and If Beale Street Could Talk. Because you know what else is hot? Being moved to tears by great art!

I have been a long-time reader of and in the midst of a career crisis, I slid into Madison’s LinkedIn DMs to ask for advice (if you learn anything from this piece, it’s that you should be in everyone’s DMs in 2026). Once again, I regained my faith in humanity as we performed time-zone gymnastics and got on a call where we bonded over our childhoods spent in dance studios, so I was obviously back in her DMs when I started working on this piece.

Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin - I dove into James Baldwin’s work for the first time this year, and Giovanni’s Room was such a great place to start. It’s such a rich exploration of love, internalized prejudice, and what you love about someone being the exact thing that causes you to resent them. I’ve never read a book that’s managed to articulate the feeling of release and anxiety that comes from someone holding a mirror too close to your face. Regardless of how deeply we try to suppress our true selves, elements always have a way of bubbling back to the surface. The last scene of this book left me so speechless, I had to put the book down and take a lap around the room.

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver - Demon Copperhead is a modern retelling of Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield, set in a working class community in the Appalachian Mountains in the late 90s and early aughts. Resurrecting a beloved novel like Copperfield doesn’t come without controversy, but I adored living in this book’s universe, narrated by a hilarious, thoughtful, horny, comic-book-obsessed teenage boy protagonist. This book confronts weighty topics like opioid addiction, rural poverty, and the gaps in American social services, while maintaining a heart and a sense of humour. Laughs, tears, sentiment, it’s all there.

The Bee Sting by Paul Murray - The Bee Stingfollows an Irish family experiencing financial and interpersonal crises following the 2008 recession. The book switches perspectives between all four members of the family: a teenage daughter, a preteen son, and a middle-aged mother and father. Murray does such a great job inciting empathy for each of these deeply flawed characters, even developing distinct writing styles for each of their inner monologues. The book is deeply emotional and hilarious and builds to a satisfying conclusion, in which all four storylines converge unexpectedly. I also loved watching Dua Lipa’s interview with the author after reading it!

Bea Isaacson

When I first met Bea, she was wearing a fur coat, impossibly low-waisted jeans and her eyeliner smudged under her eyes in a way that made her look incredibly cool (and makes mere mortals look sleep-deprived and hungover). She radiates hot girl energy, and she’s yet to let me down with her reading recommendation, so I figured I’d redistribute the wealth.

On the Road by Jack Kerouac - OMG I’m so sorry. It’s four hundred pages of some of the most indulgent prose of the last century. Women exist within a dogmatic commitment to the Madonna Whore complex, a product of its time, homophobic and racist slurs are thrown around with abundance. Often nothing really happens. As Paris Geller puts it: edit, man, edit. And yet On The Road really is as madly brilliant as its legacy dictates. Something of a counterculture bible, this madcap assortment of bohemian students race across the vast American cities and plains, under the white picket fences of its postwar zeitgeist, and earnestly pledge themselves to a hedonist mandate of dancing and drinking and drugs and jazz and everything that falls in between the cracks of a law-abiding life. Of course it comes with its moments of pathos. But even when the characters are not actually at a party - Kerouac pens probably the best party scenes I’ve ever read, no doubt aided by his copious drug taking when writing - with its aching commitment to freedom and nihilism, the party spirit pulses throughout the novel like circulation of red, hot, All-American blood.

Elle’s has something for everyone, including comforting nostalgia via teenage-magazine-esque quizzes and some of my favourite thought-provoking though never pretentious pieces here, including let’s be snobs again, and in the club table economy, women are the currency. Scrolling through her archive is the digital equivalent of finding your favourite lip gloss at the bottom of the bag you never cleared out and haven’t worn for the past six months—a true delight.

Laughable Loves by Milan Kundera - Laughable Loves is a collection of seven short stories which are comedic, tragic, and erotic (sometimes separately, and sometimes all at once). If you haven’t read The Unbearable Lightness of Being, that should be your first Kundera, but if you’re looking for something genuinely funny, profound, and easy to read on the train, Laughable Loves is the one.

Female Friends by Fay Weldon - Criminally underrated by younger readers into feminist literature, Female Friends follows three friends, Marjorie, Grace, and Chloe, through post-war British society. All Fay Weldon has the ability to make you feel unbearably seen, but Female Friends is the best combination of funny, poignant, and political without bonking you over the head with obvious ‘social commentary’.

Less Than Zero by Brett Easton Ellis - Read with caution, as with all of Ellis’ works, but he really started his career with his best. Many 2000s novels about vacant rich kids doing horrible things are poor emulations of this one, and it’s a masterclass in creating unease. The LA wind blowing through Less Than Zero is the same one whistling in much of Joan Didion’s work, and Ellis’s gross descriptions of heinous acts will appeal to readers of Ottessa Moshfegh, Irvine Welsh, John Waters, and the like.

Leah writes and has impeccable taste in films. She has a recommendation for every mood and situation, and I’ve enjoyed all of her suggestions so far, so I figured I could trust her taste in other mediums as well.

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini1 - I have read this book only once, for it wrecked me all those years ago so much so that picking it up again was met with unwavering trepidation, but I would still not hesitate to call this my favourite book of all time. This is a heartbreaking tale not all that untrue which follows two Afghani women, Miriam and Laila, who must live their lives in line with the Taliban’s rule. Despite there being 20 years between them, they are united by the cruel Rasheed and must adapt to a life with one another in it. Hossein’s writing is arresting, penning the most tragic of moments with words that can still manage to inspire levity and awe. I looked back over some of my favourite quotes from this novel and couldn’t help but cry, feeling just as impacted as I did when I first read my mother’s copy of this which she gave to me 5 years ago. Sometimes it takes a book like this that truly solidifies the idea that there is nothing more enduring, more indestructible than the human spirit, even when life has dealt you an awful hand.

Evenings and Weekends by Oisín McKenna - As a Dubliner in London, I couldn’t help but feel that I was one of the background characters in this stunning debut novel from Oisín McKenna. This read features a well executed ensemble narrative, which helps you sink your teeth into the intertwining stories set to the backdrop of a very realistic London. Oh, and there’s a whale too. I actually listened to the audiobook of this, which was my first foray into listening to a story on my walks around the park or on my way home from work. It added another layer to my experience of the book that made it even more enjoyable for me, plus the fact that the narrator is brilliant. This one is messy, raw and gritty in the way the life truly is - which made this so all consuming of a read, what more could you ask for?

The ultimate hot girl final boss. Happy Hour is every hot girl’s Bible; I’m due for my yearly re-read. I’ve gifted it more times than I can count, and it’s usually the first thing I recommend when I meet someone new. I once again did some DM sliding (it’s an art) and was over the moon when Marlowe sent over her recommended titles. Consider this required reading to tide you over until her next novel, Petty Intrigues, comes out next year.

If Only by Vigdis Hjorth - This novel is for those who have purposely invited someone to ruin their life. It’s a book of discord and obsession, which sometimes we choose for relationships because we think that’s where we’ll find the most growth. This book is a Scorpio in the worst way.

The Old Man and Me by Elaine Dundy - Everyone always recommends reading The Dud Avocado by Dundy, but out of the two, this one is my favourite. I’m realizing that I’m recommending books that use men as levers for personal growth and torture. This was a theme for 2025.

Life with Picasso by Francoise Gilot - I listen to biographies of artists constantly. Francoise Gilot was one of Picasso’s long term partners. By listening to biographies of 20th-century figures, I can now map out the social circles of groups like the Surrealists or Modernists. Francoise was really from the school of hard knocks, never letting Picasso destroy her like he did to many of his partners. As I listened I started to call my friends to exclaim, “He acts like Picasso but he just isn’t Picasso!”

If you made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed this piece! It was one of my favourites to put together, and though there was very little writing on my end, I am honoured and excited to share recommendations from some of my favourite literary voices. If you liked this piece, tell a friend! If you’re not already subscribed, consider dropping your email below (it’s fun! it’s free!), and if you want some of my book recommendations, check out some of my other pieces!

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A Very Merry Family Holiday

As an early Christmas gift (thank you mom) I went on a trip with my mom and brother to Morocco. I loved the Majorelle Garden in Marrakesh and lunch at Pétanque Social Club, and put my bargaining skills to the test at the Souk. We got lost in the Medina and held mint leaves to our noses whilst visiting the leather tannery in Fez. I strategically packed light and came home with lots of trinkets.

Holiday Parties Galore and My Favourite New Year’s Traditions

This was a month full of drinking festive festivities. I kicked off the celebrations with my annual White Elephant Christmas Party. Gifts were stolen, I made an obscene amount of mulled wine and sent everyone home with a ziplock bag full of cookies2. I spent Christmas Eve with family friends, and we hosted on Christmas Day at my brother’s new apartment for the first time. For the third year in a row, I made my way over to the Belgian coast to ring in the new year with my High School friends. We ate Raclette and presented our years via PowerPoint.

Julia’s December Recommendations - To Read, To Watch and To Eat

To Read - The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford

• Hilarious and witty with hints of cozy English countryside, I picked this up after and recommended it. Did not disappoint, would highly recommend for lovers of Eve Babitz and Marlowe Granados, and hot, funny-girl-writing. A slim read perfect for kicking off New Year’s reading resolutions.

To Watch - When Harry Met Sally

• The perfect New Year’s film, and maybe one of my Nora Ephron favourites. I’ll be staying at my brother’s for most of January as well, and he has the best home theatre setup, so I predict a lot of guilty pleasures in my near future (think binge watching Lord of the Rings, Twilight, Harry Potter and The Hunger Games.

To Eat - Cheese, in all it’s forms

• This has made up 80% of my diet at the end of the year. Cheese boards, burrata salads that were mostly burrata, and lots of Raclette. My body doesn’t always really agree with it but considering I’m barely moving from the couch, I’m picking my battles and making the most of the most dairy-filled time of year.

What I Wrote This Month

Continuing with my Sexy Job streak, I spoke to my friend about her work as a Chef and Small Business Owner. After chatting with my fellow creative freelancers, I wrote about the highs and lows of having a fun, creative job. Finally, I put my tallying and book recommending skills to good use and wrapped up everything I read in 2025, and suggested some titles I think you should pick up for 2026. For Wonderland I also hopped on the Gift Guide bandwagon and came up with a Literary Gift Guide with some big and little treats on the side (maybe make the most of the sales and pick something up for yourself? You’ve earned it!)

My (Reading) Year in Numbers

I read 51 books this year, totalling up to 16,512 pages. If I’m being completely honest I’ll probably squeeze one more in before the 31st because I like the idea of reading one book for every week of the year. Of those 51 titles, 63% were written by women and 37% were written by men. I love reading for escape, so it makes sense that 84% of the books I read this year were works of fiction, with 37 novels, 3 novellas and 3 short story collections. Of the 8 nonfiction titles, 5 were memoirs. The longest book I read this year was The Fragile Threads of Power with 652 pages, and the shortest one was Animal Farm with 95 pages. The oldest title was White Nights, which came out in 1848, and the newest ones were Half His Age and Lost Lambs, which are both coming out in the first quarter of 2026. I’m apparently a fan of current works, as 65% of the books I read this year came out in the 21st century, with the 20th century lagging behind at 31% and the 19th century barely entering the chat with 4%. My most read authors were Emily Henry and V.E. Schwab, with 5 books each, with Elena Ferrante right behind with 4 books (the Neapolitan Novels, which kicked off my 2025 reading).

What I Think You Should Read in 2026

If you’re searching for eloquent book reviews, you’ll probably be disappointed, but if you’re looking to have the experience of being my friend (that I’ve known since childhood or just met in line for the bar) and having me rattle off recommendations based on your aura, outfit, birth chart or most recent breakup, you’ll be delighted!

To Laugh

• Happy Hour by

  • I re-read this every year, it’s the Hot Girl bible.

• Lost Lambs by Cash

  • The Virgin Suicides, but funnier, scratch the suicides and add conspiracy theories and backyard bombs, I was cackling in public. Will be out in February 2026.

To Read in One Sitting

• Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger

  • Precocious teen representation, my favourite work by Salinger and a skinny read for long(ish) train rides or the liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s.

• Bonjour Tristesse by Françoise Sagan

  • If you want to feel bad about your writing, remember an eighteen-year-old wrote this.

• Half His Age by Jenette McCurdy

  • I’ve been a fan of Jenette’s writing since her memoir, I’m Glad My Mom Died, hit the shelves, so I was super excited to get an early copy of her first novel. Whilst it’s not a slim read like the rest of the titles in this category, I couldn’t put it down. Will be out January 20th, 2026.

To Escape

• The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

  • This book is old news, but the news hadn’t gotten to me. I love a mystery and ate this up over a Sunday I spent in bed nursing a hangover. Do not start if you have an early morning lined up. I didn’t go to sleep until I finished it.

• The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman

  • It’s a best seller for a reason. I volunteered at a retirement home throughout High School, and unfortunately (or fortunately?), there was no murder mystery afoot. I haven’t gotten around to watching the Netflix adaptation, but I’m sure it won’t disappoint (I’ve got an age-inappropriate crush on Pierce Brosnan).

• All The President’s Men by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein

  • I was reading this on a trip with my mom and told her I thought Bob Woodward was very hot. She informed me that the picture on the cover was from the film adaptation and that I was in fact thirsting over a young Robert Redford. We all make mistakes. I also love the fact that Carl Bernstein and Nora Ephron had the same hair for a good chunk of their marriage.

    

To Learn

• On Writing by Stephen King

  • Part-memoir part-writing 101, if nothing else this will light a fire under your ass and make you pick up a pen.

• Talking to My Daughter by Yanis Varoufakis

  • Capitalism for Dummies, I love being spoon-fed economic concepts. If you’re trying to become more financially literate in 2026, start here.

To Bring Up in Therapy

• The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

  • I say I don’t want to date someone in the industry (creatives can be a lot, there’s only room for so much diva energy in a relationship) and that I don’t want to be codependent but then I’m reminded of the Didion-Dunne relationship and I take it all back. Perfect for those who relish in masochism (and whilst you’re at it, pick up Just Kids by if you haven’t already)

• The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

  • I started antidepressants right after I finished reading this (for unrelated reasons), but you can probably guess that I had quite the reading experience, trully got the maximum Plath effect, did not feel the urge to read her unabridged journals after my mental state improved.

• Stoner by John Edward Williams

  • My friend told me this was his favourite book, and I always find that reading people’s favourite books gives you unprecedented access to their psyche (I also had a slight crush on him at the time). After finishing it I was slightly concerned for his wellbeing. There’s nothing as depressing or scary (for someone in their early twenties at least) as unfufilled potential.

To Feel Like a Kid Again

• Sunrise on the Reaping by Suzanne Collins

  • If the Hunger Games series has 1000 fans, I’m one of them. If it has one fan, it’s me. If it has no fans, I’m dead. I unironically defend Catching Fire as one of the best films of the 21st century and the entire book series as modern classics that should be taught in schools. I felt like a middle schooler again staying up until 4AM to finish this.

• The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams

  • I got a gorgeous edition as a gift from my brother with illustrations by Chris Riddell. This was such a fun read and a guaranteed way to get out of a reading slump. I’m slowly making my way through the entire series, using it as the ideal palette cleanser in between heavier reads.

Honourable Substack Mentions

I’m nothing if not consistent

• This year, I also gifted myself a paid subscription (à la Carrie Bradshaw buying Vogue instead of dinner because it fed me more) and read every single dispatch that landed in my inbox (because I’m all about getting my money’s worth).

• I also read every single one of ’s Cheat Sheets.

Writers on Writers

• For book recommendations, I loved ’s The Best Books on Writing and ’s books where women have FUN.

Reads with a lasting effect

• Anything from reminded me to not take life too seriously and to have a lot of fun along the way.

• ’s We Should All Talk to Strangers is a piece that I revisit on a monthly basis and reminds me of the best parts of being human. Ice Cream Innocence has inspired me to go out for ice cream every week (if you’re looking for me at any given moment, there’s always a 30% chance I’m demolishing a coupe of Salted Blueberry Ricotta and whatever seasonal flavour tickled my fancy at The Dreamery).

• ’s Great Offline Dating Experiment had me deleting all the apps. I have not found the love of my life, but I have gotten some good stories and friends out of the process, so I’m counting it as a win.

• On getting clarity and life advice from Substack articles, I loved ’s How To Turn 30: Advice From (My) Greats and ’s How to Make the Most of Your 20s.

I am Narcissus, and Substack is my Pond

• I’m an insomniac and sometimes re-read my own pieces late at night. Some of my biased favourites this year were I Miss Being the Youngest Person In The Room and What’s the most unhinged thing you’ve done for a crush? — I’ll go first...

If you made it to the end, I’m wishing you a wonderful end of the year, and I’ll be back in your inbox in 2026!

Creative Ways of Explaining What I Do

I’ve cycled through every possible description and have trained my fellow fresh grads and unemployed friends in the process. I’ve lived through the early stages of funemployement (when the newfound freedom is exciting and you’re trying to make the most of it as you’ll probably be corporately employed in no time), the “waiting to graduate” months between submitting your thesis and picking up your diploma, the questioning of how long you can call yourself a “fresh grad”. I’ve made my lack of a job everybody’s problem (which has started to pay off as friends and friends-of-friends have started to reach out to me whenever their companies were hiring, kindly offering to review my CV and cover letter and put in a good word with the hiring team). Last month, I travelled home with my best friend to spend Thanksgiving with her family. I was meeting her parents for the first time (and had briefly, drunkenly, encountered both of her brothers at the occasional house party, but I doubt that counts), and I was, for the most part, excited. I tend to do pretty well with adults. I can talk to a brick wall, and I was already a fan of their work (Gio is one of my favourite people in the whole world, and after meeting her siblings, I’m convinced her parents could choose the path of early retirement and make a fortune selling an online parenting course). I had a weekend of meeting new people lined up, which in normal circumstances would be one of my favourite activities, but after the past year, it had quickly become my idea of a personal hell. I no longer felt charming or interesting, and dreaded having to explain what I was doing with my life, convinced that my personal judgment of my current situation was mirrored by whoever was sitting across from me. As I was introduced to her family, family friends and classmates from school, I was grateful for at least having something to show for the past year, and I proceeded to plug this newsletter at the breakfast, lunch and dinner tables with varying levels of success. I had to backtrack and explain that, no, I haven’t published a book (yet?) and “Culture Writer” mostly means talking about books, films, music and airing out my personal qualms on the internet. I was reminded of the time my aeroplane seatmate misunderstood my one hundred subscribers on Substack for one hundred thousand (I didn’t have the heart to correct this sweet old man, and he said he’d recommend my stuff to his granddaughter, so if you’re reading this, thanks!)

Running a Non-Profit and sucking up to Patrons of the Arts

I have recently realised that my close friends don’t find me nearly as funny as new acquaintances do. The reason for that is plain and simple: I have a tendency to recycle good material. The first time you drop an expertly timed “toughest battles, strongest soldiers,” you will most likely get an excellent response, but the positive feedback dwindles as it becomes a recurring joke. Like any good comic (though I’m yet to meet one in real life, but I’ve been told this is how it goes), I believe in testing jokes, adapting your content for the audience, and perfecting your comedic timing. I will always deliver the punchline, and have made my peace with it sometimes falling flat. I’ve taken to saying I run a non-profit when describing my field of work. My parents can now proudly state that they are patrons of the arts (unfortunately, my landlord does not accept advanced copies of the hottest upcoming novels as payment for rent). Whenever my brother comes into town, I tell him he’s doing the lord’s work and redistributing wealth as he puts down his card to cover dinner. We’re quite a pair catching up on work. He spends most of his days talking to clients at big banks and looking at a dark screen with indecipherable lines of code. I make sure I’m up to date with pop culture references and rehash the gossip going around my increasingly incestuous social circles1. He’ll send a picture of his new grown-up purchases on the family group chat (think nice rugs, a new couch, a surround sound system), and I make the most of my leisurely work schedule, snapping a picture of the latest books delivered at my doorstep or whatever friend has joined me for a weeknight drink at Café Kick. When promoting my newsletter, I employ a range of different approaches, and if my Master’s in Marketing taught me anything, it’s the importance of knowing your audience. When I meet a girl who is cool and intimidating in equal parts, and I’m itching to befriend her, I let her know that all the hot girls are reading Novis Newsletter. When I meet lanky guys with a chain, moustache and bad tattoos (what was once my kryptonite but I’ve changed my ways), or get chatting to someone with a quarter-zip in line at the pub (the guys at the The Drayton Arms are responsible for 80% of my financial literacy), I ask them if they have girlfriends or sisters and tell them to spread the word.

The Quest for a Sexy Job

At this point, anyone I’ve encountered this past year is well aware of my quest for any job. As a professional chatterbox and someone who loves asking for advice, I have taken to exploring the realm of Sexy Jobs, and in the process, have reached out to the people with the coolest job descriptions in my contacts list. I’ve slowly shed my layers of cynicism and have come to accept that it is not childish or naïve to want to do something that makes you happy. Somewhere along the way of growing up, I had convinced myself that following your dreams was the stuff of fairy tales, something to outgrow as you mature. Of course, there are still practicalities to be considered; the burdens of adulthood, bills to pay, health insurance and an alluring cycle-to-work scheme, but the more I spoke to people who truly loved what they did, the more I was inspired to find a way to make it work. Falling [back] into writing this year felt like Kismet. I was lost and bored, and doing one of the few things I felt good at made me feel like myself again. I was dipping my toes into an industry that is famously portrayed as bitchy and cutthroat, and was expecting grown-up mean girls working in glossy magazines or influencing. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised by how welcome I was. I’m naturally unable to curb my enthusiasm. I said yes to everything, reached out, slid into DMs, asked people out for coffee and treated strangers like intimate friends. I ignored the age-old advice of never mixing business and pleasure; I was genuinely connecting with people and couldn’t help wanting to befriend the girls I kept running into at work functions. Instead of being told that there weren’t enough seats at the table, I was invited to pull up a chair. I met people who inspired me, who showed me what I wanted, who dished out advice and introductions and didn’t roll their eyes when I asked stupid questions. I’m forever grateful to the girls in fur coats and slip dresses offering me skinny cigarettes and their phone numbers and their friendship.

My New Year’s Resolution is to Have Fun

Which sounds ridiculous even to me, but I’m rolling with it. I’m all for doing the things that scare you (I was very frightened for the majority of this year), and a lot of growth can come from that, but I think there’s also so much to be learned by chasing the good feelings. I’m still in the process of figuring things out, and I have a feeling I’ll be doing that for a long time, so I figure I might as well enjoy the process.

For the third episode of Sexy Jobs with Julia Novis, I am joined by . I first met Laura a few years ago in London when she was getting her bachelor’s degree in nutrition. She has since done a plant-based cooking course at the Cordon Bleu, worked in a renowned plant-based restaurant in London, hosted incredible dinners, worked as a private chef, gotten a master’s in Marketing and opened her own cookie business. We talked about all things cooking, the challenges of starting a small business and following an unconventional career path, and what her advice would be for young professionals who are unsure about taking the leap. You can listen to our entire conversation here (it’s a goodie) or check out the highlights below.

How would you define a Sexy Job?

Honestly, I think a useful one… not that all jobs aren’t useful! But I think one that actually impacts people in a tangible way. Something you can hold in your hands, there’s something sexy about that, about creating or fixing something real.

Could you tell me a little more about what you do?

Currently, I own my own cookie business in São Paulo, Brazil, and it’s called Bodô. I do everything myself, from production and product development to branding and marketing. It’s a mix of creative chaos and a little bit of spreadsheets.

And would you say that you have a Sexy Job?

I think society would define it as a sexy job. I think people have something with chefs and people who actually know how to cook. I don’t consider my job sexy, but if someone else had my job, I would consider them sexy because of their job. So I guess, yes, I do have a sexy job.

You’re a real multi-hyphenate, but in your current role, what does your day-to-day look like?

I work every single day. When you’re an entrepreneur, I think you get used to not having days off, even when you do give yourself a day off, because there’s always something you have to do. My business opens from Tuesday to Sunday, so I only close on Mondays. I’m in production all throughout the week. I work from about 9 am until 5 pm, which is when I stop doing deliveries. So there’s a lot of time spent in the kitchen. Then there’s the marketing side, I’ve kind of built the whole brand by myself. I did get someone to do the initial design, but nowadays I don’t have anyone helping me on that side. So when I finish my “9-to-5”, I go into the side of spreadsheets and scripts for videos and campaigns. Product development takes a huge amount of time since there is so much testing. You really have to be up to date on what’s trending and what flavours people are looking for. It’s a really fast-paced business, and people get bored with seeing the same thing over and over again.

I’d say you have a pretty creative role, both on the product development side and also on the marketing side. I’m really jealous of your neighbours who get to try all the test recipes! Where would you say your inspiration comes from?

On the product development side, I travel a lot, and I think I get a lot of inspiration from that. Brazil also has such a huge culinary scene, but in regard to specific flavours, I think lots of things get trendy in the US or in Europe before they get popular here. I think people here, at least from my experience and what I’ve seen with my clients, tend to be a little more close-minded to different flavours. For the marketing aspect, I’m not sure if I have a specific answer for that, but I think I’ve always had a very clear vision of what I wanted Bodô to be. This minimalistic but cool vibe, running away from the classic pastels that we’re used to for bakeries. And then if you have a look through our Instagram as well, I try to add humour, which people seem to enjoy. It’s a break from pushing products and sales, a different approach to get people to notice the brand.

At least from a consumer side, when I’m supporting a small business, I’m quite interested in who’s the face behind it, and I think that’s something you do really well. So pivoting a little bit, what was your relationship with cooking like growing up?

I’ve always loved food, not necessarily cooking, but everyone in my family says I had a surprisingly adventurous palate as a kid. Cooking was always very big in my family; it was something that brought everyone together. My grandma played a huge role in that and taught me a lot. It was something I was always interested in but never considered as a potential profession. It wasn’t until later, when I went plant-based, that I really got into cooking, because I went from being a huge meat eater to cutting out about half of my diet. That led me to experiment more in the kitchen, and I realised how much I enjoyed being in that environment and creating and sharing what I made with the people I love. To this day that’s what brings me the most joy.

Could you talk a little bit about your trajectory from university to now? Going from a nutrition background to fine dining and then into starting your own business? What was the thought process behind all that?

Honestly, I don’t think there was much thought going into it! I think if you look at everything I’ve done on paper, it looks so random, but it makes a lot of sense in my head. Right after graduating high school, I went on to study one year of Communications in the US, and while I was there, that’s when I went plant-based. My whole idea of my professional life changed around that time. I didn’t love living there, and around that time, my parents moved to London. That’s when I got really into nutrition, and I decided to pursue my bachelor’s in Human Nutrition at the University of Westminster. At the same time, I started hosting these dinners and trying to experiment with different things to see what I liked. I think we talk a lot about the things we do and enjoy, but there were so many things that I did that I didn’t enjoy and didn’t keep doing, and I think that’s equally important to consider. When I finished my nutrition degree, I went on to do a plant-based culinary course at the Cordon Bleu, and right after I finished, I started working at a plant-based restaurant in London. It was a great experience, and I learned more than I ever thought I could working in a restaurant. At the time, it wasn’t something I wanted to keep doing, but now I would love to do it again. I think there’s something really great about sharing and being able to bounce off ideas and learn from each other. I was in a kitchen with very experienced chefs, and it gave me so many opportunities to not only learn different techniques and recipes, but also about how to get into the culinary world. They took me in and gave me advice that I still consider to this day. I then moved back to Brazil for personal reasons and decided to start a Master’s in marketing, which was also something I’d always been interested in. I opened Bodô in tandem with that, which was a little crazy but also a great way to apply everything I was learning.

I think it’s so important to create things that you consume. I have friends who aren’t huge readers, and when they ask me if they should start a newsletter, I say, well… if you’re not reading any newsletters, then like probably not right?! You are someone who’s so naturally curious and excited about food, so I feel like it was a natural transition; you’re creating something that you really enjoy. When we go out to dinner, you’re looking at the food from almost a clinical perspective.

I’m used to dissecting things; it’s almost like research every time I go out to eat. It’s a field study, so it’s great because I can eat great food, and I’m learning along the way as well.

On the entrepreneurial front, did you always want to start a business, or was that something that came later?

I think I’ve always had that entrepreneurial mindset. I see it in my mom as well; she’s had so many businesses in her life, and I think I got it from her.

We need to get her on as a guest!

Yes please! My mom on Sexy Jobs? I would love that! I’ve also always been very creative. I remember as a kid, I used to sell postcards that I would draw for my family. I would do a tiny little drawing and sell it for like fifteen bucks, and they would pay for it! I’m really grateful for my family; they always made me feel like I could sell a product I really believed in. I also saw a huge gap in the market here in Brazil. I lived in London for almost five years, and the vegan scene is huge. I see it evolving here, I’ve been plant-based for over six years now, and every year I see it being more accessible and present in the market. In London, you’ll go anywhere, and you will have good options

Yes! Someone has thought about the menu, and it’s not just: you can have fries and a salad with dressing on the side.

Exactly! So I saw that, especially with sweets. And I think I chose to go with cookies because in London, I have some cookies that I’m absolutely obsessed with

OMG Crème!!!!

Yes! They have this double chocolate cookie, which almost tastes like a brownie, it’s incredible! I saw a gap in the market in Brazil, and there were some options, but they weren’t great. I think it’s hard to break through here. I don’t advertise my cookies as vegan because people have a preconceived notion that a vegan product is going to taste bad, and I think that’s so outdated. I’m trying to bring products that taste good, 90% of my clients aren’t plant-based.

Focusing a bit on your job today, what do you think are the biggest challenges you’re facing?

It can get a bit lonely. I do everything by myself, and it’s hard to disconnect. I miss the experience I had working in a professional kitchen, where I could brainstorm and bounce ideas off other chefs. I miss that exchange a lot because I’m such a people person. On the side of scaling up, it’s also difficult. I’m trying to get the cookies in different stores so have something that’s more stable, because the demand varies a lot with different seasons, a lot of things are out of my control.

And on the flip side, what would you say is the best part of your job right now?

I think the freedom is something I’m really grateful for. Also, getting to create something that only exists because of you is something that’s very gratifying. I can look back on everything that I’ve built up to now, and I’m very proud of it.

We’ve talked about choosing an unconventional career path or taking a non-linear road, and both of us have the luxury of being very young but also of having an incredible support system. Do you think that puts you in a position where you can take more risks?

I never really saw a “traditional career” as something that I wanted, not in general, but more so, there wasn’t one career that I aspired to have. I think that not having a specific dream helped me explore different things and figure out what I wanted. I also think that having the support from people that I love and admire also gave me the courage. If it doesn’t work out, at least you tried, and you know that’s maybe not something you want to do again, or you might want to give it another go, and that’s fine too. I think that once you take a few leaps and you survive, you start to trust yourself more.

What would be your advice for someone who wanted to go into your area, whether that be from an entrepreneurial perspective or the food side?

I think that, honestly, the best advice is to not wait until you feel ready. I know it’s cliché, but we never really feel ready to do anything, and if you wait for that feeling, it might never come. You’re gonna learn along the way, and you’re gonna mess up, and that’s fine too. I opened my business a year ago, and there are so many things that I would have done differently and that I have done differently when given the chance. I think if you’re going into something food-related, the best advice is to taste everything like fifteen times. You can’t have enough trial and error.

I think the Just Do It mentality is so important, and like roping in the food comment, I think you learn so much by doing. I was talking to a friend, and he was like “it’s so cool that you’re doing all these things and you’re not embarrassed” and my immediate response was “of course I’m embarrassed!” It wears off, but in the beginning, I used to black out after publishing things. You’re mortified, and that’s a good sign; it means you care!

When I first started, I did have to be the face behind the brand, and it was the last thing that I wanted to do, but I think it was also the best thing I could have done. I was embarrassed; it was like sending a risky text to a crush. I’d post a video, and I wanted to throw my phone against the wall.

And finally, what is the best career and life advice you’ve been given? Let’s pass on the wisdom!

I think the career best advice I’ve gotten is to be a little dangerous, take the risks! You’ll never know if something is going to work out until you do it. And in terms of life advice, I think it’s important ot remember that not everything has to make sense right now. You don’t need to have an explanation and make everything make sense, and not just career-wise, but just do what makes you happy, and I think in hindsight a lot of things start to make sense.

Thank you for keeping up with the third edition of Sexy Jobs. Keep up with Laura on Instagram @lauramp.nutri, on Substack at and check out Bodô on Instagram @eat.bodo (for my São Paulo based readers, you are in for a treat!). If you (or someone you know) has a Sexy Job and would be down to talk about it and give me life advice in the process, please reach out to sexyjobsjulia@gmail.com.

And if you’re new to the Sexy Job universe, check out the piece that started it all:

This month was full of wholesome family moments, ranging from my immediate family coming to London to make the most of the festive season, my chosen London family getting together before more little ones join the group, or me crashing other people’s family gatherings (thank you Giorgia & Co. for the very warm welcome) to make my Thanksgiving dreams come true. In true Grinch fashion, my heart grew three sizes by the end of the month.

Highlights of the month (which are for the most part, London based, soz to my international readers) included watching Starlight Express (an early birthday gift from my brother) which was a fever dream on roller blades in the best possible way, walks around the Heath followed by a Sunday Roast at the Spaniard’s Inn, a very wholesome (and very Brazilian) Christmas brunch, seeing the lights on Bond Street and Regent’s Street and visiting the Ralph Lauren Christmas Pop-Up in Sloane Square with my mom, discovering a newfound love for stuffing, getting compliments on my Italian and making the most of other people’s musical siblings.

Julia’s November Recommendations - To Read, To Watch and To Eat

To Read - Exit Lane by

• As a devoted follower of a Nora Ephron Autumn, I binge all of her films as soon as the temperatures start to drop. I also had the most diabolical hangover of my life (or at least of recent memory) this month and I’m convinced that Meg Ryan with some Nancy Myers sprinkled in were the key to my recovery. Veurink’s debut was inspired by When Harry Met Sally and that was all I needed to know. This book got me out of a massive reading slump. The final third was very dramatic but in a way that is fun for anyone who enjoys hallmark cheesiness. I’m officially hooked and can’t wait to make my way through the rest of the 831 Stories titles.

To Watch - Wicked for Good

• I am an unapologetic musical theatre fiend, this will come as no surprise. I caught a double feature and was changed for good. Considering each film individually, I think I’m a bigger fan of the first act, but I suspect this will be a LOTR situation where I only ever watch the two together. Anyone who knows me will know I’m forever a fan of a several-hour-long cinematic experience.

To Eat - These Alison Roman Cookies

• AKA the cookies. I made five different cookie recipies last Christmas and these became known as the best cookies. This has basically become an Alison Roman fan account at this point, and I’m not mad about it. The shortbread dough is rolled in demerara sugar for crunchy edges and sprinkled with flaky sea salt as soon as they’re out of the oven. I brought these for Thanksgiving and they were a hit, would highly recommend if you’re looking for an edible gift in a pinch.

Honourable Mentions and Other Things Bringing Me Joy

• Karaoke sessions - impromptu or pre-planned. I discovered the joys of Karaoke with a live band last month and have been brave and relentless in my attempts to drag everyone I know out on a Wednesday night. I am also forever grateful for my best friend’s brother for indulging my showchoir fantasies and letting us sing along (I’m not totally tone deaf but I doubt I’d get very far with a singing career). Let this be your reminder that you shouldn’t let a lack of talent (or ability to carry a tune) keep you from having fun.

• Going to the movies (shout to to ’s maybe you just need to see a movie) For the London based readers: I have long professed my love for the Prince Charles Cinema and their overnight LOTR marathon this year was one of the most wholesome and joyful experiences I’ve had in the city. For a first date to impress, Everyman is a safe bet, and if you want to put your Soho House membership discount to good use, the Electric Cinema in Notting Hill never disappoints. For East Londoners who want to support indie cinemas, I was a regular at Genesis when my brother lived in Bethnal Green. Nowadays, you can find me at the Finchely Road O2 Vue on a weekly basis. It has a certain smell that has me nostalgic for rainy summer days in middle school, but I can’t beat the dirt cheap tickets, usually empty screening rooms and the fact that it’s a ten minute walk from my house. As an expert snack smuggler, my favourites are the salted popcorn from M&S (I’ve tried them all and this tastes exactly like movie theatre popcorn, just don’t check the label for the fat content), Maltesers, a crisp Diet Coke and fizzy strawberry straws.

What I Wrote This Month

Diving headfirst into sexy jobs, I asked my friends how to go about getting a job as either an Urban Farmer or an F1 Engineer. I added to the Is Having a Boyfriend Embarassing Now? discourse and put together a Modern Dating Dictionary for anyone who is braving the modern dating scene. Finally, in my most unflatering piece to date (though a lot of people seemed to have related), I bared it all and admitted that I Miss Being The Youngest Person In The Room, triggered by a downwards spiral after being jealous of the twenty-one-year-olds at the function (not a good look).

Who am I if not the youngest person here?

Somewhere along the way, being the youngest person in the room became my favourite party trick, an intrinsic part of my personal brand. When I didn’t catch a reference, I could always shrug; different generations was sufficient explanation. I’d secretly relish in delight whenever a new member of the group discovered my age and would exclaim, Oh you’re a baby! Let’s not unpack what I’m doing wrong with my skincare routine for that to become such a regular occurrence, I’m choosing to believe I was just too mature and put together for an eighteen-year-old, and not that all the time I spent baking under the Brazilian sun had finally taken a toll. Being the youngest took the pressure off. I wasn’t particularly keen on being taken too seriously. I always found being serious to be seriously overrated. Everyone gives you grace when being your age is a distant memory, hazy from too many shots and not enough hours of sleep. I was at my most confident and put together at nineteen3, but when twenty-two hit, and I was forced to leave the safe confines of a university hall and the student label I’d been carrying for my entire life up to that point, all hell broke loose. I never thought I’d be the kind of person who would be afraid of ageing. I read feminist literature and had spent a decade in therapy. I could verbalise my fears and neuroses. I worked through hating myself and my body in ways that only4 fifteen-year-old girls can, and somehow thought that I had gotten through all the character development of my youth by the time I finished my undergrad. Not knowing what to do with my life came with a whole new set of fears. Once the most social person in the room, buzzing from the high of meeting new people, I was now haunted by the What do you do? that came immediately after introductions. A summer where my motivation to cook and eat had left simultaneously, and I was sustained exclusively by hummus and bread, meant that all my jeans now hung low on my waist. As a heavily therapized child, I had worked on detaching my worth from numbers, on the scale and on clothing tags. When I managed to leave the house, I’d alternate between haggard and emaciated and a sexy mess. How I looked was no longer the issue, though I was still obsessing over the newfound lines on my temples and would be lying if I said I didn’t get some joy out of having to dig out my high-school jeans from the back of my closet. My new insecurities were heavily related to my personality, and unfortunately for me, you can’t fast and squat your way into being interesting.

Being afraid of something ridiculous doesn’t make it less scary

I feel ridiculous saying I’m pushing 23. I’ve never held on so tightly to my age as I have now, clinging on for as long as I possibly can. For the past year, the passing of time has felt increasingly panic-inducing. I started questioning when I’d start feeling too old for things. I was told to act my age for the first time,5 and it was earth-shattering. I had leaned into the pretty young thing bit without even noticing. I started spending more time in front of the mirror, scrunching my face and asking myself if the lines on my forehead were always there when I raised my eyebrows. I oscillated between telling myself I’d never look this good (or at least this young) again and questioning whether I could still pull off the miniskirts of my student years. I reached the uncanny valley of being attracted to men in their thirties6 whilst also being put off whenever someone old enough to be my father (if they had knocked up their high school girlfriend) offered to buy me a drink. I’d say age is just a number, but that number became the only label I could still claim, and I was holding on tightly to any sense of self.

I hate being jealous of the twenty-one-year-olds at the party

It’s really not a good look. Being the youngest in the room had become my bit. I’d lean into being young and inexperienced. I was welcomed and babied and hand-held through parties and dinners and meetings with industry people, receiving the kind of kindness from strangers exclusively reserved for non-threatening, up-and-coming, mysteriously funded creatives. I’d introduce myself with the earnest eagerness of someone who’s not sure how they got the invite but is just happy to be there. I reconsidered the girl who told me I could do this7 before I even thought of it as a real possibility, who encouraged me to pursue what at the time I saw as just a hobby, who slipped so easily into a big sister role, and then slipped away like she was never there. I met some of her friends, they told me I reminded them of her. I took it as a compliment. She said the same thing to me after we downed a couple bottles of wine. She apologised for rambling about her ex, but I was engrossed, following along, forever delighted to gossip with full government names about people I’d never met8. Once again, I was just happy to be there. As I started spiralling over the unescapable plight of ageing, catching myself wishing I was once again the youngest person in the room, I started wondering how I’d feel confronted with a mini-me. I told myself I was being ridiculous as I twiddled my thumbs, expecting a reaction to my first byline. Messages from family, friends, old classmates and virtual strangers littered my inbox. People whom I admired and respected, and if I’m being completely honest, was a little intimidated by, made me feel validated. And yet, there I was, wondering if I’d hear anything from the person who’d given me the initial push. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal, but then again, every writer I’ve ever spoken to remembers their first byline. It’s a career full of firsts that fill you with a giddiness and excitement that is difficult to translate to your friends with respected and well-paid corporate jobs9. The first time you see your name in print, the first time you get paid for your writing, the first PR invite or freebie sent to your house, the first comped meal, the first time you’re introduced as a writer and the first time you don’t get the urge to vomit as soon as you use the label yourself. I realised the need for community after my first taste of writer friends. Conversations without the preamble, reassurance that I was doing something right, people to turn to for advice.

More than a bad case of the pre-birthday blues

I started spiralling about my age a couple of weeks ago, or maybe it was already underway for months, unbeknownst to me, the makings of a crisis waiting for an inciting incident to send me on a full blown meltdown, and as unfortunate collateral, having me tell all of my friends, most of which are older than me, that I was terrified at the thought of turning 23. As someone who is notoriously superstitious (which is what I was planning on writing about this week until my therapist cancelled, the radiator dried out my skin, and I was left ruminating, wrinkly and scaly to deal with the fallout), I grew up with the Brazilian concept of Inferno Astral, which literally translates to “Astral Hell.” It refers to the period before your birthday when the stars seem to misalign especially for you. For anyone who’s made crying on their birthday an annual tradition, you’re welcome to have other planets to blame in case Mercury isn’t in retrograde. Earlier this month, I found myself at a party where I simultaneously knew everyone (or at least recognised their names from bylines, mastheads and book covers) and no one at all. I slid into DMs as a Hail Mary attempt to have someone on my corner and was thankfully taken in by the loveliest girls at the function10. Through every introduction, I leaned into the role of the new kid on the block. I mingled and covertly tried to recruit people to talk to me about their sexy jobs. I was downing French 75s and nibbling on croquettes and developing a quick friendship with the waiter as I seemed to be one of the three people there actually eating. We were on a first-name basis by the end of the night. I was generally having a grand time until I met two girls who were also fresh grads (I say “also” here, but I’m not quite sure what the acceptable timeline is to continue to call yourself a fresh grad). Oh cool, so when did you finish uni? I asked performing the mental maths, just this summer, we’re twenty-one! In the span of thirty seconds, these two girls just went from being the cool lingerie designer and the girl with a pixie cut I could never pull off, to being responsible for ruining my life, or at the very least, my night. Rest assured, I hated myself for it.

I’m still scared of ageing, but at least so is everyone else.

After chastising myself on the way home for being jealous of the twenty-one-year-olds, I hoped I would leave these icky feelings behind. I bring a chaotic energy to the function that stops being charming the second you’re no longer the youngest person in the room; you go from fun to embarrassing the second an eighteen-year-old walks through the door. There are other less vain and vile reasons why I love being the youngest. I’ve felt lost for long enough that it just feels like that is my resting state, so I’m inherently comforted by being surrounded by people who are wiser and more experienced. I’m still going to make my own [unique] mistakes, but at least I can take theirs into consideration before diving headfirst into regrettable haircuts, jobs and relationships. As I started talking to my equally young friends, rest assured, I’m not one of those socially inept or incredibly high-and-mighty people who don’t like people their age or think they were born in the wrong generation, I realised the fear of ageing has reached us all. It’s not just about being perky and charming. There’s a building pressure to make decisions, to have it together, the bittersweet feeling of becoming a role model. There’s the realisation that your parents are ageing, that your friends will move for work, and that life will get in the way and that the fairy tale land of low responsibility has an expiration date. I have found that historically, voicing my fears has often made me realise how silly they were. In this case, I never had to voice them to realise that losing my shit over no longer being the youngest in the room was decidedly uncool. Alas, I took what I learned from my short-lived meditation stint and accepted the thought, observing it as it floated away like a leaf on a stream. I also wrote an essay about it. It helps to be surrounded by badass women in their 30s, 40s, 50s and beyond, but also to have some hand-holding camaraderie from other twenty-somethings who are very much in the process of figuring things out.

I am notoriously all over the place, and have written about it at length if you want to commiserate:

For the second episode of Sexy Jobs with Julia Novis, I am joined by Claire Bonnisseau, who currently works as a Data Strategy and Insights Engineer at Red Bull Powertrains. Claire also happens to be my former flatmate, one of my best friends and a fountain of knowledge. You might also know her as a regular recurring character (and minor celebrity) in Novis Newsletter. This week, I asked Claire about how she ended up working in motorsport after an unconventional start, her advice to other young women who might want to get into the industry and as an added bonus, she dished out life advice that will have therapists everywhere questioning their job security. You can listen to our entire conversation here, or check out the highlights below.

How would you define a Sexy Job?

I think there are two different ways to look at it. There is what you actually do and the industry you’re working in. I know that when I first started in F1 last year, you were already saying I had a Sexy Job, and that was one hundred per cent because of the industry, because my actual role was not that fun. What I’m doing now is a lot more aligned with what I actually want to do and with racing, so it definitely feels like a cooler job, even though to the outside world it probably looks very similar.

I always mention that you work in F1 when I’m introducing you to anyone new (a perfect litmus test to identify if someone has a sexy job), but what do you actually do?

In Formula 1, each team has a chassis team which designs the car, and the powertrains team, which designs the power unit, which is the engine and all the electrical stuff. I’m in the power unit team. Right now, we’re not racing; we start in 2026. I recently changed roles, so it’s all very new, and there is a lot of me asking my boss and my colleagues why things aren’t working.

Were you always interested in working in motorsport? When did that interest first arise?

Not really. I studied at UCL and I was always interested in science and physics. I did my undergrad in Biochemical Engineering. I was really interested in biology, and I thought I wanted to be a Vet for the longest time, until I did an internship at a Vet clinic and realised that it was not for me. I went into engineering so I could do whatever I wanted. Halfway through my degree, I realised that I hated it, and at the same time, Julia’s brother started coming over to our place to watch F1 races because we had a bigger TV. Our old landlord will forever have my undying gratitude for that1. So I started keeping up with F1, and at the same time, I was having a degree crisis, and I realised that it wasn’t really meant for me. I started saying that I wanted to work in race strategy, and at first it was a joke, and then a few weeks later it wasn’t a joke anymore, and I was sending out applications for a master’s in Mechanical Engineering.

In life, timing often plays a big role in how things play out. I don’t want to attribute your success so far to luck, but I think in terms of ending up at your current job, it was a combination of the right opportunity coming along at the right time, but also being the most prepared when those opportunities did arise. Can you tell me a little bit more about the things you started doing when you decided that you wanted to go into motorsport, besides the Mechanical Engineering Master’s?

I think in all industries, but in F1, probably even more, your network is everything. There’s this competition called Formula Student, where lots of universities compete in a race, and they have to build a car. It’s all student-led, some teams got banned last year because their cars caught on fire, and they set fire to their uni building. So I’d say joining Formula Student was a pretty big one, and every student who wants to go into motorsport will probably try to join. I know that most of the people I’ve met there, I will probably meet again throughout my career. When I got my first job (before RedBull), I was told afterwards that the recruiter had reached out to the leader of Formula Student in my year because he knew her through placements, so yeah, the network is huge. And then I think it’s also about knowing what you want and doing everything you can to get there, even if the positions don’t already exist. For example, what I’m really interested in is the data analysis part, and the Formula Student team didn’t have someone for that, so I just went to them and told them that that was what I was interested in, and if they had the right sensors to collect the data, I’d be happy to be on it. I also made it my master’s project. I knew that a lot of people had been dreaming of working in motorsport for years and spent all this time getting experience, so I just tried to find every opportunity I could. I think when I started applying for jobs, they could see that even though my initial degree was pretty unrelated, I put a lot of effort into getting experience during that year, and I think that definitely played a part in their decision.

I think it’s something that’s starting to change, but in sport, and especially in motorsport, it’s not exactly an industry where we see a lot of women. What has been your experience as a young woman in motorsport? Have you faced any challenges, and how do you see the industry changing?

It’s still very male-dominated for sure. Overall, people have been very open and very encouraging, and I think being so young is more of a factor than being a woman. I think getting into motorsport as a woman is also maybe a little harder because you don’t really get pushed in that direction as a child. But within the company, they do promote a lot of events organised for women to grow their network.

I think we’re seeing a real push towards bringing more women into motorsport. There’s F1 Academy, and you’ve been involved with Girls on Track, right?

Yes, that started at uni, one of my friends who was the leader of Formula Student recommended me. She was very involved with Girls on Track. They organise events for girls in motorsport or those who are interested in getting into motorsport. You can network, and they have panels with interesting women in the industry. I volunteered a lot for them, and we’re still in contact.

Okay, my next question is pretty personal. I think you’ve become a bit of a local celebrity on my Substack2. In the years we’ve lived together, I always found you to be very practical, and I never got the sense that you felt like you couldn’t achieve anything you wanted. To what do you attribute this confidence, where a lot of people might feel delusional going after their big dreams?

I think it’s kind of like dating, you know? If you wouldn’t date yourself, why would you expect other people to want to date you? If I don’t believe I will be head of strategy, why would anyone else believe it? And it obviously depends on the days you know, some days I know 100% that I will get there, and some days I feel like I will end up sorting oranges at Lidl because I’m not good enough and I don’t understand anything about my job. I also think that if you break things down into small enough steps, anything is doable. And obviously, you need some luck and you need opportunities and you need to work for it, but every step is achievable. It has always surprised me when people don’t think like that, that if they want anything, they can just go for it.

I’d say your plans are pretty on track (pardon the pun), but where do you see your career going? What do you want to be doing in the next ten to twenty years?

I know I want to do race strategy, so I’ll say head of race strategy because, well… Why would I be in the team when I can be the team leader and get paid more, you know? And then after that, well, I don’t know. There are positions that are higher up, but I’ve got a decade to figure that out. I think I’ll definitely stay in sports, hopefully for my entire career. If you have ever met me, you know I’m super competitive, so that definitely keeps me going. For now, it’s F1, who knows, maybe in twenty years I’ll get bored with that and want to move into tennis or football.

Alright, final question: what would be your advice for readers who want to follow a similar career path? So, anyone who might want to go into motorsport, F1 specifically or something a little broader?

I think don’t be afraid to go for it. Like, no matter where you are in life right now, there are steps that you can take to get closer to what you want. Also, just reaching out to people. Not everyone is going to reply, but if you’re prepared and you reach out to people on LinkedIn, and you know what you want and you’ve done your research and you’re not wasting their time, I think a lot of people are willing to help. Everyone I’ve met since I started working has been so helpful, even people who are super busy and important reply really quickly, I guess because no one thinks to reach out to them. I think people tend to limit themselves, like worst-case scenario, they ignore you, and you move on with your life.

Thank you for keeping up with the second edition of Sexy Jobs. For more information on Formula Student, visit their website, and to learn more about Girls on Track, visit their Instagram at @girlsontrackuk. If you want more of Claire, you can check out more of her life advice at Jesus Isn’t Hiring — and other life lessons from a blunt Parisian. If you (or someone you know) has a Sexy Job and would be down to talk about it and give me life advice in the process, please reach out to sexyjobsjulia@gmail.com