One of the most honest ways to get to know yourself is to notice what lights you up. What catches your eye, what pulls you forward, what makes your heart sing without an explanation.

Noticing the color palette of an abstract oil painting. A table layered in mixed prints. A colorful beaded necklace sitting quietly in a dusty bin at an antique fair. These moments are not random, they are meant for you.

What you collect becomes a mirror. The colors, the patterns, the styles—they reflect something deeply internal.

But collecting is not the same as curating. Collecting is exploration. It’s experimentation. It’s letting yourself be drawn toward what feels alive without needing to know why.

Curating is discernment, when you pause and ask: Does this enhance what I already have, deepen the path I’m on, and make space for what matters?

Collecting gathers. Curating edits.

And style — style is what remains after both. Style is orientation. A way of speaking without saying anything at all.

Style begins where experimentation settles into self-trust.

And here’s the part that often gets missed. Taste does not arrive fully formed. You don’t wake up one day and “know your style.” It unfolds slowly. One bad buy, one splurge, one obsession, one tacky look, one unusual find, and one season at a time.

It reveals itself through living. Through noticing patterns in what you reach for— and don’t— again and again. Your soul doesn’t shout its preferences, it drips them to dance with.

So if you’re paying attention, the more you see, the more you know.

Vintage and antiques, for me, are simply a medium. They aren’t about hoarding. They’re about inspiring a room, a closet, a corner of your life that feels undeniably yours. They don’t tell you what to do, they spark original ideas to follow.

Some pieces carry stories — a rare find, a day spent out and about, a memory from travels. Others are purely functional. Both belong. A collection is where your internal tension finds form and a sense of belonging.

Curating is about remerchandising constantly — seeing your collection as an ever-evolving work of art, a living, breathing extension of yourself. It’s stepping back and asking: What is the point of view here? What feelings tie this together? What wants to stay? What wants to go?

More is not better. At the end of the day, this isn’t about things — it’s about claiming yourself, your direction, and the world you want to live inside. A calibration of your enoughness meter.

As I get to know my world — and you know yours — let’s meet there. Not to copy, not to compete, but to admire and exchange perspectives. When style has language, that’s when the conversation becomes interesting.

The more you see, the more you know and the more you know, the more the world feels like home.