My weekly report detailing my personal edit of outfits I wore, products I use, books I’ve read, movies I’ve watched and so on. I provide links and do the research so you don’t have to.

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What I’m Wearing:

I’m in love with this linen halter top. I wore it to the Farmer’s Market with my Ugg leopard print flipflops and my big market bag and sunglasses. But then I wore it out to dinner another day with the same Levis but with a black blazer and my Rothy slingbacks and my vintage Coach crossbody.

I love a clothing item that does double duty and that can take me from morning to night.

Tap here to shop my look.

What I’m Using:

1. Cute French Hair Pins! I have them in black, gold and silver.

2. The black canvas sturdy AF market tote bags in the picture above
   
   Tap here to shop.

What I’m Watching, Reading & Listening to:

Disclosure:

This week was entirely about the books. I didn’t watch a single thing on my TV or at the movies. Instead, a bunch of library books came ready and I dug deep into my Girly-Parisian-French-Era.

What I’m reading:

I’ll have what she’s having. I picked this up yesterday after I quoted Chelsea Handler in an IG/Facebook post and a woman told me this book was fantastic. I’ve only read the first two chapters but I’m loving it.

In Paris It Parisian Girl Jeanne Damas and her pal take us around Paris by introducing us to different Parisian women.

Parisian Charm School. A cute little book that might cater a tiny bit too much to pleasing your man.

What Parisian Women Know. Good background info to understand French culture a little better.

Before. The only fiction on my list. Lovely moody novel set in NYC during the 1970s.

Tap here for links.

What I’m Obsessing Over:

1. Salsa and Bachata.

I’ve found I enjoy Bachata more than salsa. The first class I took I had to stop because I was getting barfy and dizzy so this time I brought Dramamine which helped.

Not sure if I’ll continue to study this particular dance form but I am definiltey going to be dancing more as I grow older.

Several studies show dancing is great for brain health, even if its dancing alone in your kitchen. There is also some belief that it will reduce your risk of dementia.
Bring it on.

This article in The Harvard Medical School Journal, said this:

“A 2003 study in the New England Journal of Medicine by researchers at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine discovered that dance can decidedly improve brain health. The study investigated the effect leisure activities had on the risk of dementia in the elderly. The researchers looked at the effects of 11 different types of physical activity, including cycling, golf, swimming, and tennis, but found that only one of the activities studied—dance—lowered participants’ risk of dementia. According to the researchers, dancing involves both a mental effort and social interaction and that this type of stimulation helped reduce the risk of dementia.”

1. These electrolytes (in pic below) during these steamy hot weather warning days.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

If you’ve read this far, thank you! And I have an ask: Please share this with a friend you think might like it. I’d love for it to find the right audience. Thank you!

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Kristi

The Single City Girl Dispatch is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

My weekly report detailing my personal edit of outfits I wore, products I use, books I’ve read, movies I’ve watched and so on. I provide links and do the research so you don’t have to.

Share

What I’m Wearing:

So I wear this combo A LOT A LOT.

It’s a formula: Jeans. Tank Top. Velvet Man’s Blazer. Flipflops. Market Bag.

I was dressed this way walking down the street in my neighborhood this week and a man and his friend stopped me to tell me he LOVED how my bag coordinated with my flipflops and my phone.

“Thank you!” I said out loud.

In my head, I thought, “Damn it! I hate when I accidentally match.” True story.

I wondered why I hated to match. So I did some digging around and found I’m not the only one who thinks this. Cliffnotes: It implies I took a lot of effort with my outfit and look. Coming from someone who has many times in her life thrown on her jeans and a sweater she found on the floor to go to the coffeeshop, this isn’t necessarily the image I wish to convey. Don’t get me wrong. I care deeply about how I look. I believe it serves an important purpose:

"Know first who you are, and then adorn yourself accordingly." — Epictetus

"Style is a way to say who you are without having to speak." — Rachel Zoe

"You're considered superficial and silly if you are interested in fashion, but I think you can be substantial and still be interested in frivolity." — Sofia Coppola

In my rabbit holing, I found this article:

The Psychological Reason Over-Coordination Reads as Insecurity, Not Style

“A perfectly matched outfit, bag, shoes, belt, earrings, all in the same cognac, should signal control and intentionality. Psychologically, it often signals the opposite.

Here’s why. When every element of a look is tightly coordinated, observers subconsciously register the amount of cognitive effort behind it. The more perfectly matched the details, the more visible the planning. And visible planning, in the psychology of impression formation, reads as anxiety about being perceived correctly.”

It’s better to look a little bit “undone.”

There’s a reason this lands so hard psychologically. A look with one undone detail doesn’t ask for your approval. It doesn’t need it.

One thing I know about me. I try to be a kind person but I don’t need anyone’s approval. It’s one of the best parts of growing older.

Tap here to shop my look.

What I’m Using: Every. Damn. Day. And then some.

My baby.

When I buy something I almost always consider the cost per wear when it comes to clohting but when it comes to other items I consider whether it will elevate my day-to-day life, make my life simpler, or bring me happiness.

My espresso machine does all three. It elevates my coffee drinking and turns it into an experience and taste I used to have to leave my house to have. It makes my life simpler, by giving me my daily coffee fix without leaving my apartment, and oh boy does it bring me happiness. I don’t drink much alcohol. I don’t drink soda. I don’t drink anything except water and coffee.

So this machine is my baby. I set up a little coffee station (above) and simply looking at it makes me happy. It’s the first thing to greet me when I stumble into the kitchen in the morning to feed my puppies and is a welcome pick me up in the afternoon. It’s also a lifesaver if I have plans for later in the evening and need to stay up past my 9 p.m. bedtime. Yes. You read that right. A shot of espresso before I’m out the door usually does the trick.

Sometimes I forget about the things I’ve splurged on that bring me great pleasure and take them for granted. I had a new friend pop over this week and when she saw my espresso machine she commented on it and was rewarded with some damn fine espresso.

It reminded me of how much I’m obsessed with my Breville and wanted to share that with you.

Tap here to shop.

What I’m Watching, Reading & Listening to:

What I’m watching:

A tale of springtime. Confession. I mostly watched this because it’s in French and I’m studying French (are you getting sick of me saying this yet) AND someone said this is how real Parisians dress. No idea if that is true and I immediately forgot the reason and became absorbed in the story. Like most French films I’ve been watching there was no tidy, happily ever after and I like that.

Emily in Paris. STILL.

What I’m reading:

Rewilding. By the fiction writer Jane Green (Jemima J.) this memoir is part of my required reading/study for my homeschool Memoir Writing 101 class which basically involves devouring post-divorce memoirs by women. However, right now, I keep putting this one down. Which is a bad sign. It seems like reading a divorce memoir by another fiction writer would be the perfect fit but so far not so much. I’m not giving up yet, though.

Tap here for links.

What I’m Obsessing Over:

Sardines!

(Ignore the mackeral that snuck in the photo but most of what I say also applies to that little tin.)

Let’s talk sardines.

Why eat them?

Sardines punch above their weight class.

They provide a ton of goodness in a small, affordable package:

• Omega-3 fatty acids. A single serving can cover or exceed your daily omega-3 needs.

• Protein. About 23g per 3.75 oz tin, lean and complete.

• Calcium. Serious calcium hit, around 30 to 35 percent of daily needs per tin.

• Vitamin D. One of the few food sources that provides a meaningful amount.

• Vitamin B12. A single serving can blow past your daily requirement.

I don’t always get Fishwife. I adore the packaging but honestly I’m often just as happy with the sardines I pick up at Trader Joes (although now that sardines have become trendy) those little tins are the first thing to go on a weekend morning. They have become a pantry staple.

Here are some of my favorite ways to eat them.

On toast or sourdough: mash a tin with lemon juice, black pepper, and capers, spread it on toasted bread (I often spread on sourdough or baguette slice)

Mashed with avocado - also good on toast with crushed red chili flakes.

In pasta: sardines with olive oil, garlic, chili, and breadcrumbs is a Southern Italian classic (Pasta con le Sarde).

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

If you’ve read this far, thank you! And I have an ask: Please share this with a friend you think might like it. I’d love for it to find the right audience. Thank you!

Share

x

Kristi

The Single City Girl Dispatch is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

My weekly report detailing my personal edit of outfits I wore, products I use, what I love, books I’ve read, movies I’ve watched and so on. I provide links so I do the research and you don’t have to.

Share

What I’m Wearing:

I thought it might be fun to show three outfits this week.

I don’t have a lot of clothes but everything is my closet is something I love. I read once that when you open your closet door it should be like opening the door into a party where you like everyone there.

Because I have a minimalist closet I’m always searching for just the perfect item to add to it and am very particular about the pieces I keep long term. I frequently cull items that don’t work.

The photos above show a mix of new and old items (some REALLY old as in vintage) but new to me. In the middle photo I am wearing a vintage Gucci top I bought a few weeks ago at a Minneapolis vintage shop (Shop My Closet). This top is 100 percent my style (in fact, I’ve owned several variations of this top over the years.)

In the last photo for the chamber orchestra I have vintage Levis 501 jeans from the 90s that are one of my most beloved wardrobe items. On top, I have a vintage navy and black velvet man’s tuxedo jacket that is the softest thing ever. I could live in that one. Although I have a small wardrobe I ended up with two navy tuxedo jackets. Go figure. Navy velvet blazers have been a part of my armoire since 1992 when I backpacked through Europe for two months after graduating from college.

I had all my belongings for two months on my back - you better believe I was in great shape that summer. I did a pretty good job deciding what to bring until I got to Scotland. Bitter cold. At one point, I think I had layered every single top from my backpack on me to try to keep warm. My boyfriend and I went into a thrift store and I found a gorgeous man’s navy velvet blazer and immediately bought it. It was the only jacket I had for the trip. I thought backpacking during the summer wouldn’t require more than a sweater, particularly because we weren’t going to the Scandinavian countries. Plus: Summer.

Somehow that blazer was lost and I’ve spent the last three decades trying to replace it with one as perfect as it was. Needless to say that has never happened. The most recent interation - above - is making me extremely happy though.

Tap here to shop my look.

What I’m Using: (Hair Care Edition)

These are my tried-and-true hair products that have served me well over the years. However, I should say that every month or so I wash my hair with a different shampoo and conditioner (usually something random I’ve picked up) because I’ve heard it’s good to vary the products every once in a while.

Tap here to shop.

What I’m Watching, Reading & Listening to:

What I’m watching:

Coupe de Chance. A fun light-hearted thriller I watched in French (with subtitles) as part of my French language study.

The Worst Person in the World. Again, a French film for the same reasons as above. Not my favorite film but it was entertaining .

Emily in Paris. Still making my way through this same as last week. Confession: I have surprisingly grown fond of Emily. (If you recall last week I found her annoying)

What I’m reading:

Summer of Reckoning: The writing was good but I found it strangely disturbing. And I like disturbing. I also I like gritty and realistic so I’m not sure why this didn’t hit home for me. I guess the truth is I don’t need to immerse myself in dismal.

Big Magic: Missed this popular book but recently had it recommended. Not sure what I think so far. It seems geared toward people who are afraid to take a creative leap, which is not me. I’m not afraid to pursue my writing dreams and have done so for the past 12 years.

What I’m listening to:

Nina Simone.

Mostly her songs in French. Are you sensing a theme here?

Tap here for links.

What I’m Obsessing Over:

This essay from Joan Didion on Keeping a Notebook was published in her book Slouching Toward Bethlehem. (I’m also obsessed with this iconic photograph by Julien Wasser shot for a Time Magazine article on the book.)

Here is a snippet:

“Keepers of private notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss.

“I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were.

I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be; one of them, a seventeen-year-old, presents little threat, although it would be of some interest to me to know again what it feels like to sit on a river levee drinking vodka-and-orange-juice and listening to Les Paul and Mary Ford and their echoes sing “How High the Moon” on the car radio. (You see I still have the scenes, but I no longer perceive myself among those present, no longer could even improvise the dialogue.)

The other one, a twenty-three-year-old, bothers me more. She was always a good deal oftrouble, and I suspect she will reappear when I least want to see her, skirts too long, shy to the point of aggravation, always the injured party, full of recriminations and little hurts and stories I do not want to hear again, at once saddening me and angering me with her vulnerability and ignorance, an apparition all the more insistent for being so long banished. It is a good idea, then, to keep in touch, and I suppose that keeping in touch is what notebooks are all about.”

ALSO, this Chapata I had at the local Farmer’s Market.

Mine was made the following way: “Combining chapati (or paratha) with cream cheese and honey creates a rich, sweet, and savory treat popular in Middle Eastern and South Asian street food scenes. The soft, warm flatbread contrasts perfectly with the creamy, tangy cheese and the sweet, sticky honey”

OBSESSED!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

If you’ve read this far, thank you! And I have an ask: Please share this with a friend you think might like it. I’d love for it to find the right audience. Thank you!

Share

x

Kristi

The Single City Girl Dispatch is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Fabio R. left me at the altar (aka the barn bar at Cowboy Jack’s) Thursday night.

He was my second match at a singles night in Minneapolis this week. More than 200 people showed up, which is bonkers, but whatever, because it just proved my point that it doesn’t matter how many options I have, it’s nearly impossible for me to find someone I want to kiss.

For the uninitiated, Cowboy Jack’s is a three-story honky-tonk in the Warehouse District, kitty-corner from Target Field, with mechanical bull and a wall of TVs downstairs and a packed rooftop patio up top. Tucked in between on the second floor is The Barn, all exposed wood, couches, two bars, a giant stage and dance floor, and a massive movie screen (playing Love Island on mute all night Thursday). This is where our matchmaking event was happening. So actually, when I say “altar,” I mean a bar called a barn. Fun fact: This location had consistently made the news during Covid as a superspreader venue.

Dozens of us milled around this cavernous space on Thursday night eyeballing each other or bowing our heads over our phones to fill out the online survey that would be used to match us with three people at the end of the night. I mingled with my tap water and slice of lime until I met Craig and we hit it off. Smart, witty, evolved, 35-year-old guy. But zero physical attraction. The story of my Minnesota dating life since I became single three years ago, with the exception of three gorgeous guys that I had fabulous, albeit brief, affairs with.

Craig and I talked for about an hour — talked as in screamed over the blaring music — until I got a fantastic fucking idea.

“Craig!” I said, grabbing his arm. “Let’s walk around and stop to talk to groups that contain women you want to meet. I’ll be your wingwoman.”

He was down for it.

But sadly, I suck as a wingwoman. I became less concerned about finding Craig a date and more concerned with all the people sitting alone, so I ended up dragging Craig with me to chat up sad-looking saps nursing their plastic cups of gin and tonics.

At one point Craig ran into a friend and I was left alone until a tall, thin guy with Peter Frampton hair and an even longer, pointy, trimmed beard walked up. Despite the beard, he was cute.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“I love your hair.”

“Thanks.”

I’m not sure if our conversation would’ve become more scintillating with time, but just then an announcement was made and the matchmaking began. The 200 of us were herded into groups of 30 in various areas of the room. I was assigned to the “Upper Barn Bar.” We huddled and clutched our phones as the magical matchmaking app did a countdown from 60 to reveal the name of our first match. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Mark K!

I looked around at the 15 men in my group of 30. Nobody was heading my way. So I walked up to each guy and read their nametag. No Mark K.

Pretty soon everyone was paired up but me.

I leaned against the barn bar (I don’t make up the names here, folks) and then a guy came running in. Mark K! He looked interesting. Bald head. Hawaiian shirt. Thin mustache with the ends curled up. Best part: kind eyes.

Within seconds of chatting, I realized he was a good dad, without him telling me he was one, based on the comments he made and the way he smiled talking about his kids.

A few minutes later we were deep in conversation about Jon Krakauer books. Time flew, and it was time for Match #2.

I felt confident. Mark K was a good match. The matchmaking software had nailed it (except the sexual attraction part, and that’s not the app’s fault).

For the second matchmaking session, we were directed to a new location and new group. I was sent to the “Wild Wild Westies” section, where about 29 other people waited. I was happy to see Craig in my new group, and we were catching up when the new countdown began.

“Your second match is Fabio R!”

This time, I decided to play it cool and let Fabio come find me instead of running around to each man and leaning in to decipher their name from their shitty handwriting. After all, how hard could it be? There were only 30 of us in the “westies” group. So I sat there, chilling. Until everyone paired up. And again, I was the lone man standing. There wasn’t anyone else solo. Just moi. This time no guy rushed up late to introduce himself.

By then I was yawning.

One more match left, I told myself. But I was getting sleepier and sleepier. If I stuck around I’d be out way past my bedtime.

If I left early, was I a dick? I mean, Fabio had ghosted me and I actually didn’t care. But what if the person I ghosted did care? It was a dilemma. My social battery was hovering around 2 percent at this point.

And I was 99.9 percent sure, after scanning the room, that my match made in heaven was not in that room. Was it better to not even meet up with the guy if I knew it wasn’t a match? I mean we were each other’s third best option?

It was probably kinder at this point just to leave because I knew after scanning the room that my person was not there.

Not my First Rodeo

After all, the matchmaking night at Cowboy Jack’s wasn’t my first rodeo. In fact, it was my third organized dating type event since I separated from my husband three years before.

The first one was a speed dating event also in downtown Minneapolis. I’d arrived early and spent the wait watching the room. When the other women showed up I glommed onto them, made fast friends, and we all did a quick scan together. Uh oh. The only guy I found attractive was the bartender. I leaned over to the woman next to me. “Too bad the bartender isn’t doing this.”

“He’s so cute,” she agreed.

Headcount: 15. Eight women, seven men.

When the bartender brought our drinks, I said, “Hey, if enough guys don’t show up, can you sit in?” He grinned and walked away. I wanted to yell after him, “I’m serious.” But I decided to play hard to get.

Since we were one guy short, every woman got a round sitting alone, and when it was my turn, the bartender noticed and came and sat beside me. We made lame small talk. Where do you live. Across the river, you? Just a block down. You from here? Nope, South Dakota. And so on. Ten minutes later he stood and went back to the bar.

The men were either nice, on their best behavior, or just genuinely good guys — too hard to tell which one it was in the ten minutes we chatted. Not even a glimmer of spark with any of them. Story of my life.

I found myself in a familiar role as I spoke to the earnest men: Speed Dating Life Coaching.

“I’m thinking of going to Italy in the fall,” one guy said.

“Oh my God, you have to go! Life’s too short. It will change your life!”

You get the point. Our conversations were a lot of exclamation points, encouragement, and enthusiasm on my part.

And that was just the guys. With the women, during breaks or in the bathroom, I went full mother hen, Brené Brown, cheerleader. “You are the whole package, girl.” “Babe, you’re killing it and you don’t even know it.” “You’re not nervous, you’re just ready.”

At the end of the night we filled out a survey rating each man and whether we’d consider going out with them again. I gave them all four or five stars and checked “no” to seeing each other again.

On my way out, I fished a scrap of paper from my bag, wrote down my name and number, and pushed it across the table to the bartender, who was leaning over wiping it down. “Here’s my number.” He looked up and smiled. “Thanks. You’re really cute.”

He texted that night. We briefly discussed getting together. Then nothing. I don’t chase.

I just want to find a guy who knows how to kiss

By the time I walked into Cowboy Jacks this week, I hadn’t dated in a year. And when I had, it hadn’t really been “dating” it had been two dates with just one dude. We got along great on our first date at a little Italian restaurant and met at a coffee shop in a park for our second date.

After grabbing our coffees we sat on the grass under a tree. And he kissed me. Closed mouth. For thirty minutes. Or an eternity. Not the good kind. The entire time I was thinking, what the hell is going on, are you fucking kidding me, how is he not as bored as I am, is this actually doing something for him? Does this turn him on? Despite all these thoughts, for some reason I didn’t pull back from the kiss, mostly out of pure curiosity about how long he could possibly keep going.

Spoiler: a very long time.

When he finally pulled back, he smiled and said, “Your lips are so soft.”

That was our last date. I texted my friends that night: “Can someone be a terrible kisser and still good in bed? Asking for a friend.” The consensus was mixed, but not worth finding out. I decided I needed a good kisser before there was any further action, and dating went back on the back burner. Not counting the Fifth-Grade Kisser, it had been two years since I’d actually actively dated.

Which brings us back to Cowboy Jack’s, where I’d been ditched by Fabio and was falling asleep while losing the ability to string words together to form a sentence. It was time to go home.

But before I left I turned to the beautiful young woman beside me.

“Hey, see that guy in the white shirt? His name is Craig and he’s a great guy. Just too young for me.”

“Really?”

I nodded enthusiastically.

“I’ll go talk to him before I leave.”

“Wonderful,” I said, and walked out. My job here was done.

I was in my comfy pajamas, in bed with my two dogs, when I got the text: “Your third match is John P.”

Damn. Poor John P. I was no better than Fabio.

Before falling asleep, I lay there hoping that Craig, Mark K., and John P. would all soon find love, preferably with a woman who can stay up past 9 p.m.

My weekly report detailing my personal edit of outfits I wore, products I use, what I love, books I’ve read, movies I’ve watched and so on. I provide links so I do the research and you don’t have to.

Share

What I’m Wearing:

Confession: I own three of these dresses. I loved the first one I bought so much I ordered two more and I wear them all the time in the summer. For everything I do in my life. In fact, there are a billion, give or take a few, pictures floating around of me in this exact same dress at different events.

I throw it on to walk the dog. I wear it to the Farmer’s Market. I wear it to grad parties, sidewalk cafes, rooftop bars, the library, Target, baseball games, morning walks, meetings at the newspaper, bridal showers, retirement parties, visits to urgent care, covering crime scenes, five-star restaurants, dive-bars, hosting aperos at my condo, the beach, flying on airplanes, the mall, road trips, book signings, vintage store browsing, happy hours, writing dates with fellow writers, the movie theater, and so on. The only thing I don’t do is sleep in it, but I’m not saying that won’t happen by accident one day.

Tap here to shop my look.

What I’m Using:

This nail color. Opi’s Put It in Neutral.

I’ve spent the past 7 years having a signature red nail polish.

I’m not going to go so far as to say I’m over that, but I will say, I’m taking a little break. At least for the summer.

I found this color and am thrilled with how it looks on my nails.

Here is a fun article about the color in Who What Wear: The perfect color.

Le Shopping Cart. Hahaha.

Trying to fancy this up but that’s impossible.

Now that I live in the city instead of the suburbs, this simple little cart has enhanced my life. I live in a condo so that means I park far away from my front door. Using this cart is an easy way to get my marketing from my car to my place without my back going out. Ha. Just kidding. I lift weights to prevent that from happening.

I also use it to carry heavy packages from the mail room to my door.

I love this little black cart. It simplifies my life. The older I get the more I value anything that makes my life simpler.

Do you have something simple like that in your life? Something that makes your life easier? Comment below.

Tap here to shop.

What I’m Watching, Reading & Listening to:

What I’m watching:

Widow’s Bay. I’m obsessed. After two writer friends recommended it (Hey Sam and Jess!) I tuned in. It’s rare that a series has me screaming out loud watching it. Highly recommend. The last episode comes out tonight so I’m canceling all plans. (Just kidding Jane, we’re still on!)

Apex. I’ll watch about anything Charlize Theron is in. This creepy thriller was possibly a little predictable but still damn good.

Emily in Paris. Full disclosure. When this series premiered I watched the first episode (or at least most of it) and decided the Emily character was incredibly annoying. Not to mention her wardrobe choices were so cringy.

I recently binged two seasons (yes, recently, as in since my newsletter last week) after I was interviewed on a podcast (see below) and Emily’s chic older boss was mentioned. Sylvie! This sent me down a rabbit hole about the actress Phillipine Leroy-Beaulieu.

She is fantastic. Now I’m watching the rest of the seasons solely because of her character, Sylvie.

If you haven’t watched the series because of Emily’s atrocious taste in clothes, here is why I adore the Sylvie character: She is older and sexy AF. She is unapologetic. She has a hot young lover. She has boundaries of steel. She is powerful and successful.

And she has better style than Emily.

I found this wonderful interview with her at the American Library Paris and listened to her praise Darren Star for creating the role of Sylvie and how older women in Hollywood (even if it’s filmed in France) don’t get the types of roles that Emily in Paris provided her:

“There’s something about writing for women of that age - they become a victim of life for some reason (a lot of roles about the poor wife because her kid is doing something or her husband is cheating on her…a bit of a victim)

“It took Darren Star to write a role of the woman who was not a victim of her life”

What I’m reading:

Want: Hundreds of anonymous women write frankly about sex, desire, shame, and power (Submitted by Anonymous). Edited by Gillian Anderson.

Insightful. Expected it to be sexy but instead it ended up feeling like a confessional from (mostly) unsatisfied women. Which made me sad. But still very good.

Here’s a little about it: “An instant New York Times bestseller, Want is a collection of confessions from women around the world. This revelatory, sensational and game-changing exploration of women’s sexuality asks, and answers: How do women feel about sex when they have the freedom to be totally anonymous?

What do you want, when no one is watching?
What do you want, when the lights are off?
What do you want, when you are anonymous?”

Intimacies by Katie Kitamura

This highly acclaimed novel (A New York Times Top 10 Book of 2021, Longlisted for the 2021 National Book Award in Fiction, One of Barack Obama's Favorite 2021 Reads, an Instant National Bestseller, a Best Book of 2021 from Washington Post, Vogue, Time, Oprah Daily, New York Times, Los Angeles Times, San Francisco Chronicle, Atlantic, Kirkus and Entertainment Weekly) was worth the read.

I loved the mood it evoked and despite a pervasive sense of dread, it had a lovely thread of hope and light underneath it all.

What I’m listening to:

Strangers with Kittens.

(Gen X stories from the least parented generation. Join Eileen Kelly and various guests as they relive the nostalgic trials and tribulations of growing up in the 70s and 80s.)

I’m listening to this podcast because Eileen is amazing and the episodes are terrific AND I was honored to be a guest on this episode last week.

Tap here for links.

What I’m Obsessing Over:

The fact that you need to actually relax (SIT DOWN AND CHILL. Read a book. Don’t smoke.) to be your most productive.

It’s true. Don’t believe me? Smarter people than me say so here: https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/q-a-why-a-rested-brain-is-more-creative/

And here: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/your-authentic-joy/202508/why-rest-is-productive-the-science-of-doing-nothing

And here: https://www.inc.com/geoffrey-james/neuroscience-relaxing-makes-you-more-creative.html

If you’ve read this far, thank you! And I have an ask: Please share this with a friend you think might like it. I’d love for it to find the right audience. Thank you!

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Kristi

The Single City Girl Dispatch is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

This is the my third weekly report detailing my personal edit of outfits I wore, products I use, what I love, books I’ve read, movies I’ve watched and so on. I provide links so I do the research and you don’t have to.

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What I’m Wearing:

A few months back, I went on the hunt for the perfect fitting linen pants.

I had soooo many requirements. Most linen pants have an elastic waist. When you have a figure like mine, an elastic waist makes you look like you’re wearing a diaper. IFKYK. So first requirement was no drawstring bunchy, elasticky waistband. But wait, there’s more. Also: No gaping waistband in the back. No cropped style that makes my legs look like they are two feet tall. No bulky pockets. No clinging to my hips or thighs. No linen blends. 100 percent or bust, baby.

Friends, it took a while. Many orders and returns. Many in-person shopping trips and try ons in bad dressing room lighting. But it was worth it.

I found some I like.

And found my summer uniform: The perfect-fitting tank top; my beloved, worn-in flipflops from Ugg that are my second (exact pair) and that aren’t available anymore : (. my crossbody bag, sunglasses and my beloved leopard print tote that ALL the Parisian girls in Montemarte were carrying. It was a promotional item Balzac gave away last year and reminds me of Paris every time I use it. Balzac doesn’t sell it and stopped giving them away, but lucky you, I tracked it down.

Tap here to shop my look.

What I love:

I love my Italian friends who would totally cut a bitch for me the same as I would cut a bitch for them. Lol. Kidding. Not kidding.

Also, this particular friend was the baddest of the bad police reporter in the San Francisco Bay Area who wore dresses and skirts and high heels to crime scenes. Like the Queen of Crime.

We saw and reported on some wild stories and saw some crazy things: Decomposed bodies. Autopsies. Car crash victims. Drownings. Missing children. Horrific murders. Things you can’t make up. Truth was always stranger than fiction.

We worked hard to have the best sources in the county. That meant being trustworthy and having impeccable integrity. It also meant being willing to go to jail instead of reveal our sources.

I remember one day I got a call from a law enforcement source who told me. “There’s a dead body in Central Park. Wait a few minutes to leave so you don’t beat the homicide detectives to the scene.”

We’d cover wildfires and then dress up and go to the fanciest restaurant in town because the Sheriff invited us to dine with him and his head honchos.

I’m so glad we are still friends for so many reasons including the fact that we can reminisce about what it was like covering the crime beat during the HeyDay of newspaper reporting because so few people would ever understand.

What I’m Using:

What I’m Using on repeat:

Old-fashioned earphones and this portable coffee cup I bought in Paris. It’s the perfect size for a double espresso or Americano.

Tap here to shop.

What I’m Watching, Reading & Listening to:

What I’m watching:

The Double Life of Veronique. Part of my journey to learning French is watching French cinema. Such a chore. ; ) Haha. (See below.) This film was not my favorite but I did enjoy it.

Lee. THIS MOVIE! Kate Winslet plays Lee Miller, a woman who essentially elbowed her way into WWII as a photojournalist when the military specifically didn’t want women journalists anywhere near them. She forced her way in and then this former fashion model proceeded to change history with her photographs.

She walked through liberated concentration camps and photographed what she saw, and those images became part of how the world was forced to face the realities of the Holocaust. She fought for every inch of access that she had. And as women, we know this wasn’t easy in those days. Hell, it’s not easy now.

One of her most famous photos is ballsy and poignant. She photographed herself bathing in Hitler’s bathtub in his abandoned Munich apartment on the same day she’d been to Dachau. Her boots were still caked with mud from the camp, sitting right there on his bath mat. As a journalist this floored me. Nobody could look away from her coverage after that.

Winslet was the perfect actress to play Miller: a ferocious reporter who doesn’t apologize for taking up space and risks everything to share the true horrors of the Holocaust.

What I’m reading:

The Last Debutante. Another one of the domestic suspense books I’m reading from Joffe Books, my new publisher! I enjoyed it.

The Big Leap. I was recently told this should be the first book to read if you’re interested in self-development books. I have been reading self-development books for years but somehow missed this one. I’m about a quarter of the way through and enjoying it so far.

What I’m listening to:

Lana Del Rey. Because summer.

Tap here for links.

What I’m Obsessing Over:

French films. I’ve always loved them. In fact, one of my top three favorite films is the sexy thriller La Piscine with Romy Schneider and Alain Delon and Jane Birkin. I have a similar poster to this one hanging in my home.

But now I love them more as an accompaniment to my French studies.

As I mentioned above, I watched The Double Life of Veronique and I have a long list of French movies I want to watch or re-watch.

Tap here for links.

If you’ve read this far, thank you! And I have an ask: Please share this with a friend you think might like it. I’d love for it to find the right audience. Thank you!

Share

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Kristi

The Single City Girl Dispatch is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

This is the the second of my weekly reports - my personal edit of outfits I wore, products I use, what I love, books I’ve read, movies I’ve watched and so on. I provide links so I do the research and you don’t have to

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What I’m Wearing:

It was (mostly) cold in Minneapolis this week so on many days I wore the same uniform with a few variations:

My velvet boy’s blazer. My Levis 501s. My burgundy loafers. Different black tops and on the really cold days I threw on a cashmere sweater I bought in Paris because I was freezing. It is the softest warmest thing. It is a staple in my wardrobe now and I wear it all the time. It was absurdly expensive at Paris boutique (I’ve since spotted it online at a more affordable price) but as far as the cost-per-wear, it’s been outstanding.

On the warm days (see what I’m obsessing over below for a photo) I shed everything and wear the jeans and tee shirt and am comfortable. (Like I did for my friend’s birthday below!)

Tap here to shop my look.

What I love:

When I first was divorced I realized I’d been so absorbed with my career, raising my daughters and my marriage that I had not made enough time for friends in my life. I felt so stupid. How could I have let female friendships go? I’ve made a point to try to make female friends one of the most important parts of my life. I’ve been incredibly lucky and am super grateful to find that my female friendships are EVERYTHING.

Here is a silly picture taken during a recent dinner with three of the best women I know: Jess Lourey, Sarah Stonich, and Lorna Landvik. (Who are also by the way all INSANELY talented writers)

What I’m Using:

These are the Holy Grail, Ride-or-Die Skincare products I refuse to live without and will immediately replace when they run out. Confession: I’m an organized planning freak so that never happens. I always have replacements locked and loaded. : ) Also: Ask me some time about Subscribe & Save.

Speaking of subscriptions, I do get the Vitamin C serum that way. There are definitely cheaper options but I did some research and in my humble opinion this one seems to work the best. Because I’m a minimalist in skin care products, it’s worth it to buy fewer products but the best ones I can afford.

Tap here to shop.

What I hate:

What I hate: Gray days. Rain. Cold. Especially when it’s may in Minnesota. By the way, I’m sort of regretting having this as one of the categories of the report so I’m considering dropping it. If you have feelings about this, let me know.

What I’m Watching, Reading & Listening to:

What I’m watching:

Obsession (in theaters). Creepy and more gore than I’m usually comfortable with. I won’t watch it twice but I did enjoy it.

Something Very Bad is Going to Happen (Netflix). I procrastinated on watching this because I thought the previews were stupid. But when someone recommended it to me (I think (?) Lisa Unger - an author I adore as a person and as a phenomenal writer) I clicked play on this mini series. SO WORTH IT. I loved it.

What I’m reading:

The Personal Trainer. This is a domestic suspense book from my new publisher Joffe Books. I gobbled it up.

My French book!! (see pic below)

What I’m listening to:

DO NOT LAUGH. I’m listening to a French rapper I stumbled upon. Again, do not laugh, it’s part of my French language study. Anyhoo, he’s called Orselan.

Tap here for links.

What I’m Obsessing Over:

It’s patio season in Minneapolis and I’m sooo here for it.

Here I am celebrating my friend Jess Lourey’s birthday on one of my favorite patios: The Aster Cafe along the Mississippi River with skyline views of downtown Minneapolis.

If you’ve read this far, thank you! And I have an ask: Please share this with a friend you think might like it. I’d love for it to find the right audience. Thank you!

Share

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Kristi

The Single City Girl Dispatch is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

This is the first of my weekly reports - my personal edit of outfits I wore, products I use, places I love, books I’ve read, movies I’ve watched and so on. I provide links so I do the research and you don’t have to

Also, if you are new here, please don’t forget to check out my quick little note: Women are apparently sorry for everything, trying to start a movement here to make our apologies appropriate.

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What I wore:

I loved dressing up last weekend at Glamorama, a fundraiser for children’s cancer research. It was great to see all the outfits that people wore. It’s rare we get a chance to dress up in our everyday lives, right? I mean if you’re a normal person like me and not a celebrity or influencer.

It was also a heartwarming, worthy cause.

And the fashion show was chef’s kiss and the live music was a blast.

10 out of 10.

Tap to shop my look.

What I love:

This (half-scarfed) Kouign Amann from a neighborhood cafe. Pronounced queen ahman Can we just talk about how hilarious it is that I’m even sharing this recipe because there is no, and I mean no, possible way I’d be able to make it. Take my advice: unless you are a talented baker, search up a bakery near you. https://www.davidlebovitz.com/long-live-the-k/

What I’m Using:

In the above picture, the Muji notebooks. I’ve been a Moleskine girl most of my adult life, but these slender little notebooks are my new favorite thing. (I’m going to do an entire post on journals and journaling coming up.)

Tap here to shop.

What I hate:

Dating apps. fish photos, beefcake shots, guys who stick out their tongues or flip the camera off. Grow the fuck up. I haven’t been on dating apps for more than a year. Do I dare go back? Comment below.

Why am I such an optimist? I know what I’ll find there: nothing. But then there are the stories. Friends who find great guys to date. Yes, few and far in between. Do I even WANT to date? Why can’t I find an emotionally evolved, into physical and mental health, 35-45-year-old man (warning: Don’t come at me for liking younger men because I’ll give you 1 million reasons why I do - and maybe why you should too) who doesn’t want to move in with me but wants to spend time together?

What I’m Watching, Reading & Listening to:

Books and movies—my two favorite things! This week I finished Martyr and have SO MANY thoughts. Mostly criticism, honestly. It’s one of those award-winning, acclaimed literary fiction books that receives such glowing reviews so I MUST read it. In fact, this one was basically hand-sold to me by a bookstore manager I trust. But alas, despite it moving along more swiftly than most literary fiction books, it left me very disappointed. Have you read it? Comment with your thoughts below.

I binged Paradise (available on Hulu and Disney) after my pal Jess Lourey told me she’d heard good things about it and IT DID NOT DISAPPOINT. I loved it.

I listened to a few episodes of BOY SOBER podcast. The jury is out on whether I’ll continue listening in. (See the dating apps post above)

Tap here for links.

What I’m Obsessing Over:

Learning French!

That’s it. But it’s a huge obsession of mine. I am astonished at how much pleasure it is bringing me. Initially, I thought it would be a smart thing to do after I landed in Paris last year knowing two words in French: Bonjour and S’il vous plaît. Granted these are probably the most important words to know if you want to avoid being the dreaded Ugly American. But still. I need more. My plan is to return to Paris every year until I can retire there. Whoa. Did I just say that out loud? Lol. Or in print, which is even more of a commitment? I guess I did.

Are you still here?

If so, thank you!

Please let me know what you think about this report. It’s the first time I’ve tried something of the sort.

And honestly the best thing you could do is share this with a friend you think might like it. This is all brand new to me and I’d love for it to find the right audience. Thank you!

Share

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Kristi

The Single City Girl Dispatch is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

I’m writing this from Minneapolis where it is forty-one degrees in May and I’m dreaming of moving to Paris where it’s warm enough to walk the city streets year round and winter doesn’t last six months.

Last fall I went to Paris. After a tumultuous few years—family member deaths, a divorce, a move, a daughter dangerously ill and hospitalized for four months—two weeks alone in Paris healed a part of my soul.

I’m still not over it. I’m not sure I’m supposed to be.

Here’s what I did: I turned 57 in the most romantic city in the world. Alone. I’d made plans with a friend to go but her plans fell through. If I’d canceled, as well, it would’ve been the third European trip I’d canceled in as many years. So I went solo.

I hired a photographer I’d never met — a six-foot-five Parisian named Fede who spent the morning of my birthday ordering me around the steps of the Trocadéro like a young Almodóvar while Storm Benjamin threatened to take us both out. I bought ridiculously expensive four-inch silver sandals the day before at the Galeries Lafayette because apparently that’s the kind of decision I make now. My feet went numb within ten minutes of trying to smile and look like I was having the time of my life. I have no regrets.

Then I got in a taxi, told Fede (and the poor taxi driver) more about my marriage than I’d told my therapist, and went back to my Montmartre apartment to pose half-naked in a Target corset for the second half of the shoot.

I’m still digging deep into why I scheduled a boudoir shoot. All I know is it seemed like a good idea at the time: get naked in front of a man I’d just met in a country where I didn’t know a soul or speak the language.

I didn’t do it for a man. Not a boyfriend. Not a potential lover. Not to make my ex rue the day he ever let me go.

I did it for me. But I’m not sure exactly what I was trying to prove. I think it was partly a dare. I think it was also a fuck you to society that tells women we shouldn’t feel sexy after a certain age. I think it was also a way to feel beautiful again. And even though, like most normal women, I struggled with getting flattering photos at times, I knew these pictures would be something special.

I splurged on Fede because I knew that even though I’d never lost those last 10 pounds, had C-section scars and a body that had lived five decades, he was an artist who would make beautiful art. And he did.

In my tiny Montemarte apartment, his manner was calm and professional. In other words, he made me feel comfortable standing in front of a Parisian window trying to look sexy at 10 a.m. in my underwear.

If I were writing this scene for fiction, my character would be wearing a matching set of silk La Perla I’d bought at the Paris flagship store. But this is real life, so it’s from a Minneapolis Target.

But that’s a secret for just you and me.

That’s what this letter is about. Not secrets. Not Paris specifically. Not lingerie.

It’s about doing things just for you. It’s about what happens when you stop living your entire life for someone else—a man, kids, a boss, society—and figure out you are without all of that.

I didn’t plan to be single in my 50s. I didn’t see it coming.

I thought divorce would feel like failure. Instead it feels like peace and freedom. And, I’m not going to lie—a little bit of loneliness as I figure out how to be alone not lonely. But I’m getting there.

It hasn’t been easy. I’ve looked for the easy way out. After all, women are brought up to believe that we need to be partnered. It’s ingrained in us from an early age. It is also a crutch I found myself relying on when I first started to feel lonely after my divorce.

The first night I found myself in my 100-year-old house alone, I sat on my velvet chaise in my sunroom with the star lights strung across the windows and thought: I could do literally anything right now. Go anywhere. Eat cereal for dinner. Download Bumble.

Spoiler: I downloaded Bumble.

That was two years before Paris. A lot happened in between. Some of it I’ll tell you about in this letter. Some of it is going in the memoir. Did I mention I’m writing one? It’s about what’s in this newsletter: The peace and freedom of being single in your 50s.

I had a friend from elementary school tell me that her high school sweetheart who she married has turned into a total dick. She wants badly to leave him, but she’s afraid to be single, especially at our age.

I told her, “Honey, let me show you how good it is on the other side.”

That’s sort of my goal. With the memoir. With this newsletter. Let me show you how good it gets when you choose yourself and your happiness. Not to mention peace and freedom. Warning. You’re going to hear those two words a lot from me.

I started this letter because of her and also because I kept meeting women — at readings, at coffee shops, in the comments of random Instagram posts at midnight — who were in the same place I was. Somewhere between who they used to be and who they’re becoming. Not lost exactly. More like: in transit.

This letter is for all of us.

If we’ve never met, here’s a little about me.

I’m Kristi. USA Today bestselling crime fiction author. Working newspaper reporter. Minneapolis. Two kids who no longer need rides. One divorce, final. One memoir in progress called Naked in Paris which is exactly what it sounds like and also not at all what it sounds like.

I’m going to write to you the way I’d text a close friend. Honestly. Specifically. Without pretending I have it figured out because I absolutely do not. My life is still messy. I still feel lonely at times. I am a work in progress.

I’m going to write about things such as solo travel, reinvention, romanticizing the fuck out of being an empty nester, and dating foibles, such as looking in the mirror at 3am in a stranger’s bathroom. I’m going to write about what it means to be the main character in your own life when you’ve spent decades in a supporting role.

Every month. Right here. No filters.

Come with me.

One ask: please share this newsletter with a friend. After being a crime fiction reporter for decades, I’m building this new community from scratch and would be terribly grateful for your help in getting this to anyone you think might enjoy it. Thank you so much!!!

Here’s how this will work:

The Single City Girl Dispatch drops once a month. That’s the main letter — where I’m at, what I’m thinking, what’s happening with the memoir and the life I’m apparently building in real time.

Every Wednesday you’ll get The Single Girl Report — my running list of what I love, what I hate, what I’m wearing, watching, reading, using, and obsessing over. With links. Because I do the research so you don’t have to.

Once a month: Notes from Naked in Paris. Excerpts straight from the memoir. The stuff I’ve been afraid to say for thirty years. That one’s for paid subscribers.

As a free subscriber, the Dispatch and the Report are yours. Some bonus posts too. The memoir excerpts, the off-the-record behind-the-scenes stuff, and the videos I’m adding — that’s all behind the paywall. Partly because I want to protect a little privacy.

No pressure to upgrade. If you get there, you’ll know. For now — I’m just glad you’re here.

Subscribe now

Kristi

P.S. The dating app fish photos. We need to talk about the fish photos.

P.P.S. Currently reading: “Blow Your House Down: A Story of Family, Feminism, and Treason” by Gina Frangello. Currently watching: Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, which has absolutely nothing to do with any of this but I have no regrets. Currently listening to: Echo and the Bunnymen’s Lips Like Sugar on repeat and I’m not ready to talk about why.

She tells the clerk at the post office she’s sorry she still has more packages to send. She tells the young man who accidentally rams his cart into hers at the grocery story that she’s sorry. She tells the woman who holds the elevator door for her that she’s sorry. She tells the hairstylist who botched her color that she’s sorry she doesn’t like it. She tells the man at the gym using the eqiupment she needs that she’s sorry but is he done? She tells the cashier who drops her money that she’s sorry. She tells the barista she’s sorry when it takes her a second to decide what to order. She tells the man who steps on her foot on the train that she’s sorry.

She tells the coworker she’s sorry when she asks if they can repeat something she didn’t hear. She tells the server she’s sorry when she sends back a cold meal. She tells the person next to her at the movie theater she’s sorry when she needs to squeeze past to get to her seat. She tells the delivery driver she’s sorry when she takes a second to find her wallet. She tells the barista she’s sorry when she asks for a different milk. She tells the librarian she’s sorry when she checks out a stack of books. She tells the neighbor she’s sorry when their dogs bark at each other through the fence. She tells the man in the meeting she’s sorry when she interrupts to finish her point.

She apologizes for having an opinion

• “Sorry, but I actually disagree.”

• “Sorry, but I don’t think that’s right.”

• “Sorry if this sounds harsh.”

• “Sorry, but can I play devil’s advocate?”

She apologizes for taking up space

• “Sorry for the long text.”

• “Sorry to ask again.”

• “Sorry to follow up.”

• “Sorry to interrupt.”

• “Sorry, I’ll be quick.”

• “Sorry for rambling.”

  
  She apologizes for having needs

• “Sorry, could we turn the music down?”

• “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

• “Sorry, could you move your bag?”

• “Sorry, I need to leave early.”

She apologizes almost as a reflex

• “Sorry, can I just squeeze past you?”

• “Sorry, do you mind if I sit here?”

• “Sorry to bother you, but…”

• “Sorry, quick question.”

• “Sorry, I just need one second.”

• “Sorry if this is a dumb question.”

• “Sorry, I might be wrong but…”

• “Sorry for the long email.”

She apologizes for existing

• “Sorry for the noise.”

• “Sorry, my hair is crazy today.”

• “Sorry my house is such a mess.”

• “Sorry I look terrible today.”

• “Sorry about the lighting in here.”

• “Sorry, I’m sweating.” (At the gym.)

Women apologize for taking up space, having an opinion, asking questions, being heard, being visible, and sometimes even being successful.

Apologies are only needed when a person has done something wrong.

Simply existing?

That requires no apology.

You’re allowed to take up space, to be loud, curious, opinionated, visible—everything the world told you to shrink. Take up the space. Ask the question. Speak the opinion. Walk into the room like you belong there—because you do.

x

Kristi

Welcome to the second half of life.

After my divorce and my children went away to college, I thought I was starting over.

What I didn’t realize?

I was just starting.

Subscribe now

Romanticizing midlife — one solo day at a time

For a long time, I believed the most interesting chapters of my life had already been written. The thrilling writing career. The thirty-year marriage. The babies all grown up and out of the next. I thought everything after that would be some soft fade-out into invisibility. But here's the plot twist I didn't see coming: My story is just getting good.

💌 Why I’m Writing This

This newsletter isn’t just about dating at 56 or writing a memoir about it—though you’ll definitely hear about both.

It’s about romanticizing the second half of life. It’s about showing up in your own damn story with red nails, a fierce desire to live fully, and a willingness to be seen—especially when you're no longer the youngest, skinniest, most filtered version of yourself.

It’s for women like me—and maybe you—who are single, seasoned, and finally starting to live with intention and joy.

I’ve been a crime reporter. I’ve flown with the Blue Angels. I’ve chased stories and chased dreams. But nothing has required more courage than sitting alone in my condo on a Friday night and choosing not to settle. Not for a man. Not for a lesser version of my life.

📝 This is for:

• Divorced women navigating the second half of life on their own terms
• Empty Nest mothers learning how to reinvent themselves without children at home
• Creatives reclaiming their voice (and power)
• Women who want to feel hot, healthy, and whole — even without a man, a plan, or a trust fund

💬 What to Expect

Every week, I’ll slide into your inbox with a love letter from a woman who's still becoming—still learning, still laughing, still dreaming.

You’ll find:

• ✍️ Raw, unfiltered stories from my memoir-in-progress

• 💋 Notes on midlife dating (yes, it’s wild out here)

• 💄 Little ways I’m romanticizing my day: from espresso to perfume

• 📚 What I’m loving (books, beauty, rituals, red lipstick)

Subscribe now

❤️ A Tiny Love Letter (Just for You)

You are not too old. You are not too late. You are not invisible. You are not behind.

You’re in the middle of the best rewrite of your life. You just needed someone to say it out loud.

So here I am. Saying it.

You deserve a life that excites you—even if it looks nothing like what you imagined. Especially then.

Let’s be bold. Let’s be soft. Let’s be women who love the hell out of our own lives.

📣 If this resonates, forward it to a friend who’s also ready to stop surviving and start romanticizing. Or reply to this email—I read everything, and I’d love to hear your story, too.

Until next time,

Kristi

Single City Girl, Main Character, Writer of life after the plot twist