I write as if I was not a young womanette but as if I were Venus born of an ocean filled to its precipice with sparkling cider and seeded with the monumental history and sensual weight of cosmopolitan literature. I have set foot on the earth as my most realized self at once fully formed yet constantly in need of shaping and cultivation and rebirth. my pen is an ostrich feather quill dipped into the congealed essence of the great baroque, rococo, southern gothic, and mid century modern psychoanalytic novelists. My vocation is to weave the intellect drawn from the milky sap of the fragrant magnolia trees alongside the seductive rose petals of seduction heisted from parisian salons into one decadent never ending ribbon of coquetry.

I fancy myself and aspiring scholar in the realm of feminine philosophy, art history, and overall decadent domesticity.

I dissect magnificent artwork, fashion, and glorious rooms in prose for the imaginary grande dames, and transcribe the forgotten languages of features, flora, and lace. My every essay is both a study and a seduction. Each lecture both altar and confession

"Though I draw aesthetic inspiration from continental Europe, I much prefer countries with sordid colonial histories and maddening heat. Where men are cultured beasts and the women lilies."

"Slim Aarons is both as modern and as masculine as any respectable belle ought to venture–in design that is. For literature, the red tape begins just after Capote. And for film? At Minnelli. Emily post practically declared it."

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