This is not addressed to anyone with reproductive challenges. I’ve merely had a smoother-than-average pregnancy and wanted to share some of the things I did that many of the moms and women I know who had turbulent pregnancies (emotionally and physically) did differently.

I know many conditions are outside of our control. And to those struggling with complications outside of this realm of satire-Substack humor, I have so much grace for you, and none of what I’ll be sharing is meant to target you.

I’ve been blessed in many ways... with the belief, behaviors, and the body to make the most of this pregnancy. But I’ve also been transparent enough to publish my struggles.

I will continue to live by these simple habits and virtues for as long as my journey lasts. And I hope that these words may bless you as much as they change you on your journey through motherhood.

CLEAN UP YOUR BODY... AND YOUR HUSBAND’S

It’s safe to say this is the holy grail of pregnancy advice. And my husband and I have taken it very seriously for the last three years.

Long before I even thought of conception, I was sure to clean up my body. After all, what use are prenatal vitamins if you’re drinking, smoking, or doing drugs regularly? It’s been three years since my husband and I took our sobriety seriously. And after many conversations with mothers-to-be, I reckon that substance use is the most common denominator for preventable gestational challenges.

You’ve heard it: the quality of the sperm determines the quality of the pregnancy... But darling, the quality of your health determines the quality of your baby’s. Sure, we hear tales of old—mothers who smoked their entire pregnancies and their babies turned out ‘fine.’ And I have openly heard, “Well, some babies are born addicts,” too many times for my liking...

But is this really the standard?

When speaking to the women who’ve been on the same journey, I cross-examined the lifestyle-to-symptom ratio, and almost every case of miserable (but entirely avoidable) symptoms was absent in the women (and their husbands) who prioritized health and sobriety long before conception.

In that regard, months before our wedding, I was on a health kick. In part because I wanted to be a smokin’ hot bride... Well, actually... in full. But Google says that “It takes roughly 2–3 months for a man’s body to produce and fully mature new sperm.” And these 90-Day Fiancés took the assignment a little too seriously. While I was meal-prepping in between alterations, my husband was unknowingly participating in a sperm optimization program.

So with that said, I truly believe that our sobriety and healthy lifestyle contributed a million-fold to the ease of my pregnancy journey.

THE DECISION TO HAVE A HOT-GIRL PREGNANCY

It wasn’t long ago that I co-miserated with every other online mom who fussed about pregnancy. Not only was my first trimester extremely challenging physically and mentally, but my ever-changing self-image was a daily excuse to spiral.

It was only after a really serious conversation with myself that I changed the course of my pregnancy... permanently. The symptoms took time to improve, but my decision was immediate. I refused to ruin this miraculous journey with my bitching and complaining. And ever since, I’ve felt... dare I say, hot.

I started making the most of this incredible time in my life by leaning into my femininity, thinking more positively, and doing what I can to make pregnancy enjoyable.

At the six-month mark, I can confidently say I am thoroughly loving being pregnant. I am softer, nourishing myself better, feeling sexier, and establishing a routine that will take us right into baby life.

You can go the full nine months praising or whining about motherhood... Heck, you can go your child’s entire life doing the same. But pregnancy doesn’t ask you to get on board; it happens whether you choose to love it or hate it.

So, I recommend you shit or get off the pot, mama. Because no one is waiting for you to embrace being a mom.

BOUNDARIES... WITH MYSELF

The truth is: too many women are busy establishing boundaries with others, but I hardly see us building boundaries with ourselves.

Sorry, honey—your mother-in-law is not the problem here. You are. And sometimes, the weakest link in the village is actually you. So take this as a warning: if you don’t get your head out of your ass now, you’ll end up with third-degree tears.

Admittedly, I spent irreconcilable amounts of time in conflict with others that I couldn’t recognize that I was the problem. It wasn’t my daddy issues. It wasn’t my in-laws. It’s me, hi, I was the problem.

And blessed be that I was soon humbled. I realized that pushing away the people who were helping while spinning up unending sob stories was actually a self-fulfilling prophecy... and it left me feeling more alone and unsupported than ever.

So it’s time to clean up the act, get your mind right, and remember that you’re about to bring new life into the world. It’s time to put the excuses to rest and write a new story.

If you have any lingering grudges, resentments, or old narratives you’re still carrying around, it’s important to draw a line now before you dig a deeper hole for yourself. You can turn those childhood traumas and internal dramas into a new chapter, but you must get honest about who the real villain is. Because motherhood has a way of exposing every crack in the foundation.

And maybe that’s the real lesson here—it’s not just about preparing a nursery or a birth plan, but preparing yourself to be the kind of woman who can carry the next generation.

UNSHAKEABLE BELIEF

If there’s one thing that sets me apart from the pregnancies I’ve seen online, it’s that I’m neither guilt-ridden nor fear-driven. I have this unwavering conviction in my baby’s health, his future, and the God who authors it all.

I’ve been on my knees in prayer as much as I have been knee-deep in spiritual warfare. But I know the value of this baby’s life, and I know with rock-solid faith that I was made for ushering it.

I have so much trust in my body, in this baby, and in the God who is knitting him in my womb. It’s often hard to shout it from the rooftops of a fear-mongering social media landscape. But I know when it’s time to take a step away from the world and pray for deeper wisdom.

I don’t know where I get this belief from. Or how I just know my body has what it takes to develop a healthy baby. But I do know beyond a shadow of a doubt that no salami, sushi, or smoked salmon can outsmart the God who created this baby in the first place.

And with that said, I trust in myself too. Because I know Who is guiding me. I know that when God says rest, I rest. When He says eat, I eat. And when He convicts me to jump through the hoops of doubt, I simply ask, “How high?”

EXERCISING FAITH AS MUCH AS FITNESS

I recently published a piece on what fitness has looked like during pregnancy. And I could write entire books on what faith has looked like during this journey. But what you really come to know as your belly and wisdom expand is that motherhood is a marathon, not a sprint.

It’s the long game. A lifelong game. And pouring concrete on shaky foundations now will only result in groundbreaking cracks later.

You must remain malleable. You must bend and not break on the daily... Heck, you need to be flexible on an hour-to-hour basis... while also continuing to build the blocks of the life you will give your child.

Over the last six months, I’ve rewritten the story from below the ground up. I’ve re-evaluated every area of my life. Adapted. Changed. Started from scratch. And changed everything again.

I’ve had to look at the life I was living... and the life I was going to give my son. And as soon as I stopped complaining about the rug being pulled out from underneath me, I began building a nest to accommodate this new life.

We’ve looked at our priorities and had to make some changes. And we learned that what we used to overlook was the very thing we needed to create a stable home for our son.

There’s nothing that will test you more than peeing your pants with one sneeze or watching your reflection change at a moment’s notice. But that stuff only represents the tip of the iceberg of this immense parental transformation.

IF YOU WANT TO BE A MILF, START BEFORE YOU’RE PREGNANT

Perhaps that’s the irony of MILF-maxxing. I always thought it meant preserving my beauty, bouncing back, or finding a way to survive pregnancy without losing myself.

But six months in, I’ve realized that the opposite is true. The real glow-up wasn’t physical. It was learning how to care for my body before it screamed for it. How to steward my mind before motherhood tested it. Trusting God before I had the answers. And learning how to build a home before my baby arrived.

Turns out the hottest thing I did during pregnancy wasn’t growing a baby—it was growing up. Because if you want to be a MILF, you’ve got to maxx more than what’s on the outside.

The truth is, I haven’t given myself as much as I would have liked to working out. Mostly, I’ve been eating for the health and development of my baby while fiber-maxxing every plate: protein, fats, and since my son is almost 60% Italian... carbs.

I am proud of how far I’ve come diet-wise since it’s been sustaining me and feeding the energy reserves needed to grow this baby. Lately, however—be it the seasonal 5 a.m. runners or hot girl summer—I’ve been getting more serious about working out. In part, for the MILF status. Mostly, however, because the belly is growing beyond the butt.

I have always been into fitness. Full disclosure, before publishing I had my run at being a fitness influencer. I love the gym, I love a peach booty, but mostly, I love feeling hot.

So with pregnancy challenging me at a new level motivation-wise, body-wise, and energy-wise, I’ve had to adjust my fitness strategy more than once. Some weeks (like in the first trimester), there’s no bargaining with my body. But more often than not, it’s just about minor adjustments and working out to support my body for the season I’m in.

I won’t list all the pregnancy workouts I know work, only the ones I really live by.

But if you look up pregnancy-friendly workouts and diastasis recti prevention/recovery workouts, you’ll find a ton of fitness experts (specifically moms) who can inspire your journey. I also share some of their handles below. But for the sake of this article, I just want to share the workouts I do.

Take these workouts at your own pace and please be conscious of the baby inside of you. I don’t buy into mom propaganda that you shouldn’t be lifting (though it comes with its benefits when shopping publicly), but keep in mind that this is also not the time to be hitting personal records. My advice is to work out to stay fit, healthy, prepare yourself for labor, and also to smoothen your recovery.

‘Hug-the-Baby’s’

Since pre-conception, I’ve been doing these breathing exercises. They’re synonymous with vacuums, but a little more fetus-friendly. Not to mention, I am a devout Pilates and barre girly, so in-and-up (like you’re zipping a zipper) has been my best friend.

I learned a lot about diastasis recti before I even got pregnant, thanks to my social media algorithm and blatant self-image issues. Diastasis recti, for those who aren’t familiar, is ab separation that is very commonly found in postpartum women. So I informed myself quite a bit before conceiving to prepare my core, my back, and my... you know... for the demands of labor.

Since then, I do these hug-the-baby’s several dozen times throughout the day, starting in the morning and repeating literally any time I think of it.

Just inhale normally, and when you exhale, empty your entire diaphragm and engage your core upwards as if you were zipping your pre-pregnancy jeans. Disclaimer: this is not like vacuums where you intentionally hold your breath. This is more like a deep core-breathing exercise.

Overhead March with Dumbbell

This was my go-to exercise to tighten my core long before I got pregnant, and it’s still a daily exercise I do. Personally, I aim for 5–10 lb weights and do four sets of 8 reps with every workout I do. For this exercise, I do two sets on each side.

The goal here isn’t to march and blow through the exercise. It’s to hug the baby with every rep and raise your knee as high as you can while maintaining good posture. Slowly.

To add some difficulty for our advanced mamas, I also do another four sets (2x left/right) of eight while crossing the arm that’s holding the weight to the opposite (raised) knee. It’s giving Tae-Bo, but make it prenatal.

Toe Taps

Take an overhead march to the floor, and you’ve got another core workout that’s totally pregnancy-friendly. I personally LOVE this exercise because it slows you way down and brings all your attention to the baby and your belly.

Starting in tabletop position, hug the baby with every toe tap to the floor. When you start to feel confident, add a weight in your hands, keep your arms straight to the ceiling, and alternate one hand to the floor (behind your head).

This is a low-maintenance exercise that I do on those slow, low-energy days that I know have a big impact on core structure.

Weighted Bird Dogs

Hands down, a prenatal favorite. It combines a nice back/shoulder workout with your core and your glutes. I often add anywhere from 3–5 lbs in my raised hand, and I am ALWAYS careful to keep my core engaged, my back supported, and my hips square. Tighten your glutes when you raise, and really hug the baby when you come back into your tabletop position.

I love this workout because the alternating arm raises with the leg extensions also challenge my core stability and demand my focus on balance. You don’t always feel it like you would a high-impact exercise, but trust me, if you’re doing them right... they’re doing something deeper than what’s on the surface.

Glute Bridges

Now this is a controversial one. One: because I’m a glute girly and don’t feel like I’ve had a productive workout until I’ve done glute bridges. But two! You have to be much more cautious when pregnant. Like I said, this is not the time to hit PRs, and it’s not the time to add unnecessary weight.

However, if you structure these correctly and add just the right amount of weight (I usually range anywhere from 35–50 lb when I’m NOT pregnant, but have found the 20 lb range to suit me very well during pregnancy), these can defeat mom butt and prolong that booty > belly ratio as long as possible.

Not to mention, there’s something to be said about lower back support during pregnancy. You just have to know your body’s (and baby’s) limits and play within them. Keep your form right and your core engaged, always hugging that sweet little baby, and above all, stop when you notice any strain on your back.

When I first entered the gym in the second trimester and I was blooming with all this new energy, I admit to pushing myself too much and regretting it for days afterward. Back strain is amplified exponentially during pregnancy, so don’t wipe yourself out of the game before you’ve even started. Take my advice: if London Bridge is falling down... you’ve probably added too much weight.

Squats, Deadlifts, and Variations of Such

On the subject of mom butt. As a certified 45”+ girly, losing a third of my ass to the first trimester was no joke. I take absolute pride in my hip-to-waist ratio and still get triggered on those days the belly out-perks my booty. So I’ve been mixing a variation of squats and deadlifts with an exclusive focus on form over facade.

I can’t state this enough: this is not the time to add unnecessary weight. It is, however, the perfect opportunity to train for all the lifting and lowering of your baby you will be doing in the soon-to-come months. One of the most common complaints I’ve heard from other moms is that their lower backs were not prepared for the load of raising a baby.

So while you’re doing those squats, deadlifts, Bulgarian split squats, RDLs, and all of the kinds, do so by imagining yourself lifting an ever-growing baby.

I even play around with envisioning the weights as my baby and practicing how I will lift them from the Baby Bjorn Bouncer we were gifted and how I will get them out of the crib.

Calf Raises and Quad (Leg) Extensions

Cankles, who? I’ve been doing 80–100 calf raises daily because I refuse to let leg swelling become a thing. I do seated ankle rolls as often as I think about it. And... between you and I... I do leg extensions because I don’t want mom knees either.

I haven’t found it in me to do weighted leg extensions yet, but I focus on the isolated movements as my inner ballerina would have it... pointed toes and all.

Safe to say, you don’t need a gym for these exercises. Just do them whenever you’ve been sitting around for too long, just to get your lymphatic system draining and your blood flowing.

[On a side note to this, I’ve also been doing cold foot baths every evening, or just rinsing off my feet with ice-cold water after a shower to lower that heat-induced foot bloating. IYKYK.]

Cardio

I haven’t been 10k-steps-per-day-ing as much as I would like, but I do recognize the importance of cardio activity. I am a runner, and I love me a good StairMaster climb or re-enacting Elle Woods on the elliptical. It’s really based on the mood of the day.

But I do try to get my steps in, and whether I’m waddling through or confidently increasing my strides, I do recommend implementing some form of low-impact activity into your day.

With my pregnancy taking place in peak summer, I’ll also be swimming more. I hear that swimming is all the rage during pregnancy—being beneficial for both cardio health and preventing lower back strain. Not to mention, I bought a ton of cute bikinis to show off the bump as hot-girl summer takes a twist toward hot-mom summer.

Kegels

Last but most definitely not least... your coochie’s best friend! Kegels! I never thought we would be here, but alas—I’ve ruined too many outfits with a single sneeze. Enough said.

This doesn’t need a long paragraph. Just do ‘em. Do them when you laugh, when you cough, when you sneeze... Girl, just do ‘em when you breathe.

And there you have it, ladies. These exercises are on repeat with several variations, postures, weight classes, and playlists.

My goal is not to bounce back while I’m still bouncing on my medicine ball. Rather, I want to prepare my body, prevent any postpartum complications or injuries... and yes, look hot doing it.

I’ve stayed disciplined with my fitness without being overly diligent because I understand that every body is different and every pregnancy is, too. I made sure to prioritize my diet above all, fueling my body and not giving into every single craving I have. I am staying active and familiarizing myself with these new limits. But above all, I’m learning about the kind of wife, mother, and woman I want to be and showing up as she would.

Are there any workouts you’ve been loving or have sworn by during your motherhood journey?

Lately, some of my favorite prenatal/postnatal influencers have been:

@nikizoub
@violetta.fitness
@amycarmodymovement
@stef.williams
@every_mother

And let’s not forget the infamous Jane Fonda workout I did a little while ago. If you haven’t already, give it a read!

Ironically, carrying a little boy has brought me closer to womanhood than anything else ever has.

Maybe it was my decision to have a hot-girl pregnancy; maybe pregnancy forced me to slow down enough to become the woman I always dreamt I would be. But here I am, barefoot and pregnant, and feeling more feminine than ever.

The first bit of my pregnancy was challenging to every ounce of my identity. Watching my body change from morning to night and wrestling with the fact that my belly was now bigger than my ass, I got to a point where I needed to make a choice.

Become the mother and woman I wanted to be, or let this chapter get me down.

That very decision, that I published to the world (all 27 of my followers anyway), changed the course of my pregnancy… and, in an abstract kind of way, my life too.

It all started with the choice not to let pregnancy defeat me. That this chapter was asking that a new me be born as much as the little one inside me.

With the morning sickness and progressing spiral, I had to slow wayyyyyy down. Almost to nothing. If I woke up, brushed my teeth, and took a 💩 that day… it was a victory.

But eventually, second trimester entered the chat, and the symptoms subsided. (For those reading from the trenches, it does get better.) With the new season and new energy returning, I seized my forced “sabbatical.”

I knew that when I got pregnant, I’d slowly ease on the brakes of my publishing career to tend to my marriage and baby. But what I never anticipated was just how much I would love “just” being a wife and mom.

We’re just over halfway through the pregnancy now, and I have found my groove. Yes, as you’ll read in every post I’ve written lately, I still live in pajamas three days out of the week. But!! I have become a sort of knock-off Nara, baking in both the kitchen and my makeup vanity.

With all this free time, I’ve taken “trad wife” to a new level. I’ve somehow gotten better at cooking—accomplishing flavors and recipes in the last month that I haven’t attempted in the last decade. I’ve taken “dressing the bump” to a whole new influencer level. And while I haven’t come around to daily blowouts and perfectly curled hair, gold hoops, eyeliner, and claw clips have done so much of the same.

I never saw this coming. Not even an old wives’ tale could have predicted how “in my essence” I’d become, pregnant with a baby boy.

But here we are, growing into this MILF…ollow on Substack.

It’s not just in the kitchen or closet, either. My marriage transformed in ways I couldn’t see coming. It’s like by growing this little mommy’s boy… I’ve become more of his daddy’s girl. Though I still rebel against being seen as a fragile little lady, putting down the chronic independent-woman status has done wonders for our relationship.

I’ve read about this in books for years, but now I’m somehow living it. It’s different, of course. You should have seen how crazy I was acting when my body first changed. But once upon an unpublished draft on feeling sexier during pregnancy, I soon learned that our men don’t see us the way we see our own reflections. There is something primally feminine and, in other words, sexy about carrying their child. So dark nipples or not, we are irresistible.

That was a big shift for me—realizing that sensuality changes in motherhood, it doesn’t disappear. Now that I’m rocking the bump more freely… and, by evening time, more shamelessly (iykyk), I no longer shy away from my femininity. Sure, it’s taken an expensive order of new lingerie to remind myself I’m still hot.. But confidence is key, ladies, and it comes covered in coconut oil.

With that said, I still wonder if I’ll recognize myself when the bump is gone. Will this version of me remain when the sleepless nights take over? Some days, I fear losing myself as quickly as I found her. But then I realize that might just be the lesson motherhood keeps trying to teach me: womanhood is in constant bloom… It’s not a fixed mindset.

And as it turns out, that same lesson spilled into my job too. After a drafted debate in one of my latest articles, I made peace with my “up in the air” career. Sure, I’m not taking on projects and publishing clients at the moment… and yes, I worry if I’ll be a mid-life divorcée who needs to return to the workforce twenty years from now. But I’ve also found that the lessons I’ve learned in this early season of motherhood have amplified my writing in a way my “high-powered publishing career” never did.

So, for now, I’ll give everything I’ve got to being a good wife and mother. Perhaps I’ll share a few of the recipes I master in motherhood. Maybe even turn it into a cookbook someday (audacious claim, innit).

And I will own this season of fashion even though it doesn’t come with a steady waistband (Read my latest post here).

As for who I’m becoming on this journey to and through motherhood, I guess you’ll just have to subscribe to find out how that goes!

Hoping for the best and still writing x

Yours truly,

Sarah Elle

My social media is filled with bump-friendly influencers and I just… dare I say… accepted my first maternitywear hand-me-downs. I really thought I would avert that crisis when the time came, but behold… the bump always wins.

I would be lying if I told you I have mastered maternity fashion… In fact, most days I still have pajamas on repeat. The same Aerie and Amazon Basics sets on rotation for the last two trimesters. But having reached the halfway mark of the pregnancy and with SS26 taking place as we speak, there’s just no way I forfeit fashion in favor of this fetal hostile takeover.

So, let’s take a practical approach to pregnancy fashion. Hot-girl pregnancy isn’t just a mindset, it’s the state of your closet too. And if you’ve been reluctant to part ways with your pre-pregnancy wardrobe, do what we all do, and store ‘em in a bin until you’re brave enough to reopen Pandora’s postpartum box.

Perhaps, like me, you’ll postpone your cart until you’ve entered absurdity. Maybe you’ll keep buying non-maternity clothes (like we all have) to challenge the status quo (EDIT: the forces of nature). But sooner or later, you’ll meet the inevitable. I just hope you get more than one wear out of that fit before you uncontrollably Hulk out of it.

Little story time: We attended a wedding two weeks ago. I indulged a little and bought a gorgeous little candy-colored slip dress with a lace sweetheart neckline. I wanted my pregnancy debut to be fabulous as we reconnected with my husband’s Italian relatives. And yet, to no one’s surprise but my own, my Pucci-coded midi dress doesn’t fit me now. And probably won’t until further notice.

So, by all means, ladies… Be as delusional as I am. Get that unforgiving but totally fabulous statement piece. Spend an unwell amount of money on fits you won’t squeeze into in 3–5 business days. We’ve all done it, and we will all probably continue to.

But, take my word for it, you can bite the fruit-of-the-week-sized bullet now and embrace your maternity-fashion era. Fortunately, it’s more stable than the latest trends. And yes, you can probably still pull off the polka dots and color palette of the season.

So, here’s to it, ladies:

Let’s finally talk realistic style tips for rapidly expanding pregnant women.

The good news is that dressing the bump is actually way less complicated than social media makes it seem. Somewhere between sponsored maternity hauls and beige linen sets, pregnancy fashion has become its own subculture. But in reality, most women rotate through the same silhouettes… just with different levels of ludicrousy and Lycra.

The formula is simple once you stop trying to dress like a non-pregnant woman with a bloat problem.

FIRST TRIMESTER: OVERSIZED on OVERSIZED

The trimester is pure survival, and you’re probably not thinking of style until you’ve shared the news to your family and co-workers. So, unless you have a job or somewhere important to be, there is absolutely no reason to pressure yourself into structured pleats at the moment.

Frankly, if you’re anything like the vast majority of women, cute cotton pajamas and oversized Alo sets will take you through the worst of it. This is your era of H&M loungewear and Victoria’s Secret sleepwear collections. The bump isn’t bumping yet anyway, so aim for loose and comfortable—even if it’s an XL Oxford shirt and wide-leg trousers.

SECOND TRIMESTER: BIG TOP/SMALL BOTTOM or SMALL TOP/BIG BOTTOM

Oh goodie, the trimester where you finally start looking pregnant instead of desperately ill (Read my honest column from the trenches of early pregnancy). This is also the season of chronic body dysmorphia, so take it from me, commit to proportion play.

Pregnancy starts looking elevated the second you stop fighting your body and start dressing like the bump pays rent. Admittedly, I still struggle here. I write to you from the banana stage, where my fruit-of-the-week is no longer giving ‘bloat’ but not quite ‘pregnant’ yet either.

That’s why this formula matters—arguably more than all other trimesters. Because it’s all business in back and party at the front… Or should I say top and bottom.

Pick yours, whether you decide to go for a tank and linen pants look, or a cropped pant and open poplin top. There’s such a variety of combos you can go with—one of my favorites this season being wide-leg linens and a bikini top. But I love a good racer tank and maxi skirt moment, as well as an open button-up that just shows off the bump enough to say ‘this isn’t a beer gut.’ Oh, and don’t sleep on a tent dress (especially in the early second trimester).

I was lucky enough to have effortlessly timed our pregnancy for a full-bloom summer. So yes, I will be shamelessly rockin’ bikini sets and bento boxes on the bump.

THIRD TRIMESTER: FULLY FITTED (or BACK TO SECOND-TRIMESTER BASICS)

Alas, the third trimester. Where you’re either treading on Bae The Label model or blueberry girl from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

By the third trimester, you have two choices. You either fully commit to the bump or return to the second trimester basics (on crack). There is no in-between.

This is where bodycon dresses and fitted maxis look better than they did before. Ironically, the larger the bump gets, the more flattering fitted silhouettes become. And the more you eat without guilt… Is it bloat or bump? We’ll never know.

One caveat: don’t try to hide it under oversize. That can quickly veer into Oompa Loompa territory. That said, if fitted dresses make you feel like a sausage casing by 4 p.m., return to the second-trimester formula and let proportions do the heavy lifting.

POSTPARTUM: ABANDON ALL STYLE ADVICE AND JUST SURVIVE

Safe to say, the only advice I can give you from where I’m currently writing is to ‘slay the puke and make chronic fatigue look Vogue.’ I know for a fact that you will be living in pajamas and diapers. So, no style formulas here—just brace yourself… This is not the time to prioritize your career as a fashion influencer.

On a side note, as heroin-chic as it may get, just remember to take a few photos of yourself every once in a while. My mom’s mid-90s postpartum look may have been miserable in the moment, but it’s giving retro icon nearly thirty years later. Bask in the beautiful and bloody glory of newborn life, and just hold on for dear life, mama.

And now that we’ve discussed the psychological warfare that is dressing a pregnant body, let’s talk about the brands currently carrying me through this deeply humbling yet somehow Devil Wears Prada 2-coded chapter of my life.

Because yes, maternity fashion can absolutely drift into ‘Live Laugh Love’ if you’re not careful. But thankfully, a few brands still understand that some of us would rather perish than wear something from the ‘Swag' era.

Brands I absolutely am buying this pregnancy

Momanda
If I’m surrendering to maternity bras, they better emotionally support me too.

Bumpsuit
If you want to look like a Boca mom with an Erewhon smoothie and a private Pilates instructor.

Ingrid & Isabel
For basics that don’t abandon the plot.

Bae The Label
Because pregnancy may have taken my waistline, but it will not take my aesthetic.

Légoe Heritage
Dangerously close to taking all my money.

Ripe Maternity
Dare I say, they have a 4th Trimester Collection.

And even though these last two aren’t technically maternity brands, they deserve an honorary mention for stretchy fabrics and Kardashian-level audacity.

Skims
Because if anyone understands shapewear, body fluctuations, and the female delusion complex, it’s Kim.

Good American x Always Fits Collection
For denim that still believes in me when the zipper does not.

And there you have it, ladies. The Prose unofficial style guide to dressing the most challenging proportions of your life.

Will you still try to squeeze into non-maternity denim in three weeks? Absolutely.

Will you purchase at least one outfit while your body outgrows it in transit? Without question.

Will your algorithm slowly morph into bumpdates, ‘what’s in my hospital bag’ reels, and baby shower outfit hauls? Unfortunately, yes.

But somewhere between the oversized pajamas and the torment of waistbands, you’ll probably find your version of pregnancy style too.

I guess that’s all there really is to it. Accepting that motherhood is not always stylish. And understanding that you will not look like an influencer every moment of your pregnancy.

So wear the bikini top. Buy the satin slip dress (and store it for later). Let your bump show and eat off it too. And romanticize the fruit-of-the-week update even when it looks like this:

Because when all else fails, you will realize that no woman has ever looked back at a pregnancy photo and thought, ‘thank God I spent those nine months sucking in.’

And when you’re covered in puke and that baby is sleeping in your arms, I promise you won’t be thinking about denim.

Sincerely,
A sister in style x

Sarah Elle

It’s been like this for months now. Safe to say, being pregnant has radically changed my life. I eat better, dress with influencer-level intention (EDIT: when I’m not wearing pajamas), and somehow started living the life I spent years writing books about… But, to my surprise, none of it is actually on paper.

‘If you didn’t post it, did it really happen?’ Yes, Stacy… It did. And I enjoyed every second of it too. So, I’m trying to untangle the contradiction of finally becoming the woman I once dreamed of… and realizing that living it and branding it were two very conflicting experiences.

I think what confuses me most is that I organically live the kind of life people try to curate online. Traveling, baking, a closet full of Link-to-Shop-able items. But every time I try to step into the role of ‘publisher’ or ‘influencer’ again, it suddenly feels empty. And so, I feel stuck somewhere between the writer who spent years dreaming of a beautiful life she hadn’t lived yet and the woman who is finally living it but can’t seem to write about it.

The strangest part is that the fuller my life becomes, the less I want to send it to print. The most beautiful parts of my life now exist entirely undrafted.

Here I am… baking like Nara Smith, dressing like Alix Earle, and living like Becca Bloom. So, tell me… How is it that the moment I stopped publishing, I finally wrote my best story yet?

I admit I still fall into the trap of wanting to turn everything I do, eat, and wear into an Instagram carousel. But the second I pull myself out of the moment, I lose interest in the algorithm altogether.

Because the truth is… I would like to write again. And perhaps influence a little more. I’d love to talk about the Skin1004 Centella Ampoule and La Roche-Posay Cicaplast Baume B5 I slather all over my growing belly after a shower. It would honestly be nice to write about how absurdly good these new mommy-boobs look in a Lexi Rivera bikini. And can’t I just post a piece on banana bread and how the trick is mashing the vanilla and cinnamon directly into the butter and bananas first?

None of that feels fake to me. That’s the confusing part. I don’t think I’m afraid of sharing my life. I think I’m afraid of accidentally starting to live for posting it again while losing that deeper substance, you know?

I look at every corner of my life and somehow see an editorial. My breakfast. The coffee shop. My silk kimono draped over the leather chair. My prenatal vitamins beside a half-drank cup of coffee. My brain doesn’t just see life, it sees book layouts. Magazine covers. Substack titles. I visualize entire book concepts while I shampoo with Kérastase Gloss Absolu. So, you see, I already am the editorial woman I have in mind. And that’s what makes this paralysis so bizarre.

When I actually sit down to write, everything suddenly feels fraudulent. I’ll spend hours scrolling other writers and influencers. Meanwhile, I’m overthinking a sentence about which Skims undies have been my armor through the sneezes of this pregnancy (IYKYK). And I think the irony is, if someone simply asked me what I did five minutes ago, I could accidentally write a #1 Rising Substack.

But instead, I’ve been making Pinterest-perfect salmon bowls in creative silence and keeping my love for Aritzia Nightside Silk Pajamas to myself because the only pictures I take in them are too unhinged for the internet.

Maybe I’ve struggled with my drafts because I’m too scared of sacrificing this season to actually write about it. Here I am once again, trying so hard to write—nothing being typed because I’m more concerned with what should be published than what I really want to say. Maybe that’s why these throwaway sentences read better than my perfectly edited articles. Because you… like me… can sense the difference between when someone is living the thing versus when they’re just writing about it.

So, no… I haven’t figured out what I’ll do about the situation yet. Maybe you’ll hear from me, maybe you won’t… for a while, at least.

Should I muster up the bandwidth to pass on the little lessons I’m learning, run an editorial on my pregnancy skincare routine (Atmosphera, I’m coming for you), or finally write down my banana bread recipe—I’m going to do it from a lived-first vantage point and probably not a second sooner.

Notes from the pregnant lady x

Sarah Elle

I reached a turning point last night. Somewhere midnight and one a.m., I reached a breaking point… and then a turning one. I spent the last several days wallowing in self-pity, searching all of Substack and Instagram for further proof of how dismal pregnancy can be. And to my wretched surprise, there was absolutely no resistance.

High and low in the algorithm, I found proof of women around the world who were, for lack of better word, suffering as much as I was. Day after day, my body dysmorphia, insurmountable exhaustion, and gestational distress worsened.

My husband found me twice in the bath, face running with tears… Within the same day.

Everytime I called my mom, I’d present a new symptom to her to further my case against pregnancy…

And, it’s safe to say, I almost believed myself.

I almost let myself succumb to my self-inflicted afflictions. After all, if every woman online also partook in this anguish, how far could I be from the truth? Was this a universal experience every mother-to-be would face?

Some time between my self-image spiral and the words ‘you look beautiful’ came out of my husband’s mouth, I decided this could no longer be my reality. I was mere hours post an order of Papa John’s when my pregnancy dysmorphia peaked. I viscerally felt myself disconnecting from my body as the pizza bloat grew bigger than my actual bump.

Just hours prior, I was on my usual tandem—complaining to my mother on FaceTime about the latest pregnancy findings. I think my last ten calls with her were centered around how torturous pregnancy can be. To which she, as any good mother would, bypassed my experience completely and reminded me that this is the most magical time in a woman’s life and how I should count my lucky stars I got pregnant so quickly.

Well, that’s when I decided that no one really understood what I was going through.

On a daily basis, I gloomed enough to get sympathy. But when I finally got it, it invalidated the reflection in the mirror. I thus further concluded that I was alone in my experience and that I better keep my woes to myself.

Back to the night of cheesy sticks and marinara sauce, I felt myself rapidly spiraling. I couldn’t suck in anymore, not even for some semblance of control. Ironically, I was longing to look bloated again. But it was giving full-fledged pregnant!

I hyper-fixated on the things I ate that day, a yogurt, lunch, and chocolate bar just prior to the Uber Eats delivery. What was I doing? Had I become the pregnant woman who couldn’t tame her cravings? So early in the pregnancy, too?

For those with any preexisting body-image issues and eating disorders, nothing will test you more than watching your body change without your permission. I spent a decade ruminating on what I would do to stay fit during pregnancy. But, there I was… the woman I was running from all these years.

It’s funny because the chocolate bar was a substitute for the chia pudding and London Fog I was really craving. And the pizza was a rotten cherry on top of the way I was already feeling that afternoon.

So like any good (steadily declining) pregnant woman, I turned to ChatGPT to confess my innermost pities.

Have I become the pregnant woman I feared I would become? Just another voice in the crowd writing articles about about how miserable motherhood is?

My thread lasted about twenty minutes. It’s like I was just getting it all out—getting to the absolute bottom of this bottomless pit of self-pity I had drowned into. I was like every woman reading another Instagram post or Substack article, hoping this would be the time I finally got what I was waiting to hear:

That there is another way.

There is an outcome where I feel hot and confident while pregnant.

That motherhood actually is empowering—despite the millions of online claims proving otherwise.

So I made it my instant prerogative to shift the dynamic. That would be the last chocolate bar and pizza slice(…s) I ever ate in self-pity. I wouldn’t become the defeated woman I feared I would be. And that, for the (growing-)life of me, I would journey through motherhood optimistically and... blindly if that’s what it took to enjoy it.

I’ve already deleted Instagram more times than is socially acceptable throughout a pregnancy. But I am tired of people’s checklists and tainted experiences. Shit, I’m even tired of reading about the contrasting ‘positive’ experiences. As if negativity is the standard, and they’re the unique butterfly who got a miracle.

I wasn’t, however, prepared for Substack to be so tainted with prolific complainers. Most writers could win a Pulitzer for succumbing to the ‘realities’ of motherhood.

But, mark my written words, I will not.

I don’t want to be another cynical columnist who let the world weigh down their pregnancy.

And don’t get me wrong—I KNOW IT’S HARD!

I am familiar with the instinct to berate yourself in the mirror, and eat yourself into oblivion, and spend your nine months submitting to the ‘horrors’ of pregnancy. I know that when this baby is born, it will be hard.

But, letting those statements defeat me without giving the alternative a real shot?!

I will NOT let the world take that chance away from me!

I won’t let the world stop me before I try.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve had several drafts in the sidebar. I’ve started pieces on maternity brand editorials, feeling sexy, and some casual write-ups on staying fit during pregnancy. But none made it beyond the first few paragraphs because they were so far from how I was feeling.

But I made that decision last night to wake tf up and do things differently. I decided that a hot-girl pregnancy can be a thing and I didn’t have to be an influencer to have a highlight reel motherhood. So, from the bottom… of the bottom and climbed my way back to the top, I write you these very meager albeit catalysing notes so you can finally get what you’ve been waiting for: permission to do wtf you want.

This isn’t advice. Don’t add anything more to your already-overwhelming to-do list. Just give yourself a chance to receive what you want to hear for once.

Take a moment to recognize that the world is saturated with people who have already yielded to a version of motherhood that doesn’t have to be yours—and that you’re likely going to receive (more) unsolicited advice and recommendations along the way… Maybe even some very well-meaning but totally hampering suggestions that worked for somebody else.

But give yourself the chance to decide and figure it out for yourself… Un-done-before tactics that may actually lead you to realize that giving life can be totally life-giving and vitalizing, and sexy, and empowering, and not a drag whatsoever.

As I edit through this draft, I reflect on the common denominators of my gestational misery. There is an equation for why I felt the way I felt… and by tending to the variables, I know I can change the outcome.

So, as not to come off as any form of advice, here are some things to look out for if you’re not enjoying your experience of pregnancy (and/or motherhood):

Are you getting enough protein, woman?

Say less. I can earnestly tell you that those mid-day crashes and sugar cravings that lead you right into total-body distress are a consequence of not getting enough protein.

After transitioning from morning-noon-and-night-sickness in the first trimester, I was still only eating light breakfasts, and low-protein, high-carb meals for lunch and dinner.

There is a literal reason you’re turning to stale cookies and chocolate bars. But trust me, you’re not buying yourself time, you’re just going to feel like shit again in fifteen minutes.

I recently re-read a Substack I wrote a year ago called ‘Life is too short to eat stale cookies’. Well, pregnancy is too. We all crave a ‘sweet treat’ throughout our pregnancies, and should your old wives’ tale point towards a girl, you might be craving more sweet than savory. But UberEats-ing chocolate bars and McFlurries in the middle of the night is doing less for you than actually going for what you’re craving.

Not to mention, ladies, electrolytes and staying hydrated will not do the heavy lifting. The right combo is protein, healthy fats, and carbs. Protein will anchor your energy, the healthy fats will sustain and satisfy, and carbs are your body’s immediate source of energy.

So make it a priority to eat wholly—not just during pregnancy and early motherhood, though it’s a great start for a lot of us—but why don’t we make feeding ourselves more than a last resort?

Are you going for enough walks?

Luckily for me, first trimester was peak winter and just as my energy returned, so did the Spring. The changing seasons sparked this deep inner need to get out and walk. Not just from the thousands of Insta-moms who swear by 10k steps per day (I was lucky if I did 100) but because walking is both a physical way to fill your cup and a mental outlet to empty it.

It’s good to get out, change the scenery, and turn off the damn screens. I already spent my first trimester watching Sex and the City re-runs. Second trimester was giving The Good Doctor… on crack. I needed more than looking for chores to do, taking a hundred baths per day (I was literally averaging three) and trying to pump out articles with virtually no source of inspiration.

Trust me. Get out. Walk around a mall if you have to. Your neighborhood. Walk to the closest coffee shop. Walk with snacks in your pocket. Walk on the beach or through the forest. Put headphones in, a podcast on, or just your favorite tunes. Do it your way, but do get out for a little bit.

My husband, whom also works from home and is currently the sole breadwinner of the household, told me last night that he would rather I get out of the house and spend a couple bucks to come back replenished than wallow around the condo all day, silently disrupting the peace that we work so hard to maintain.

Which leads me to…

Are you doing enough of what you really want to be doing, mama?

Pregnancy and, worse, mom-guilt are at an all-time high. Maybe it’s because we’re so used to commiserating with other mothers… Maybe it’s because we’re stupid. But not doing what you really want to be doing isn’t serving anyone. Not your kids, not your partner, and certainly not yourself.

From trial and error, I can tell you with the utmost confidence that not doing what you really want to be doing… is not getting you anywhere. Like, why force yourself to clean the house for the fifth time today when you really want to take a bath? Why trade the panna cotta you’re craving for six pieces of Bueno minis? (tRUe STorY) Why not just take that drive when being home for another minute is literally driving you crazy?

You can take the kids out now if you want to.

You can put on spa music and take a nap if you want to.

You can workout how you want to.

You can eat, do, watch, make anything that pleases you.

But, let it be said, when you don’t… everyone in you and around you suffers for it.

Are you allowing your needs to be met? (You gotta speak up about your needs, lady).

Your needs can range from dietary to deluxe, and as a woman setting the biological tone for her life as well as her baby’s, leading by the example of getting your needs met—more importantly, speaking up about them—will set the bar at which you will be met in life.

There’s nothing noble about denying yourself. And as a mother (or mother-to-be) I know you don’t want to teach your children about depriving themselves either. But guilt-culture around the world entrenches women in nothing but sabotage, and it syphons the very lifeforce you need to be a good and happy mother.

Your kids don’t need a martyr. They don’t need a mother who refuses help and nourishment—not in the womb and definitely not at home. So get used to shifting the narrative. Not in a way that abdicates responsibility and common sense, as we often see on social media. But by finding a healthy balance.

Do you trust your own desire for motherhood?

It’s time to trust yourself, mama.

When I outlined my thoughts for this article, the original headline for this section was ‘do you trust your own design for motherhood’, not desire.

Because your pregnancy and motherhood experience are one of a kind. There may not be a one-for-all blueprint for parenthood but there seems to be a common construct everyone is obeying these days: be miserable and survive.

That’s why we look for so many loopholes. We try to find products that will ease the anticipated difficulty, methods and modalities for making routines lighter to bear. But, trust me, every girl who once dreamt of being a mother did not fantasize about this… Whatever this is.

There are millions of momfluencers on the rise because of this very challenge. The challenge to think for yourself, to decide your own journey, your own design, and yes… your own desires for motherhood.

Think back to when you used to daydream about being a mom. You used to dream about this phase in your life—holding your belly, dressing your bump, and creating the life you wanted to raise your baby in.

I wrote in a parallel draft that ‘the fantasy of pregnancy died when I actually got pregnant’. But, as of today, I will be Control + ‘A’ deleting everything from that copy and starting from scratch with a new mindset. You were born with a dream in your womb, and instead of buying into the billion-dollar-a-year belief that it’s delusional, you might as well treat it as your unique design for motherhood… Because it is.

I came into this draft hoping to be the voice someone needed to hear… Hoping that there was at least one permission slip on the Internet for mothers to do what the f*ck they came here to do.

We don’t need another momfluencer posting her reclamation and calling it ‘selfish’. (What even is a #mommymakeover and why does it need a hashtag?) We also don’t need another viral product list for making motherhood a little less miserable.

What we do need is more women who are refusing to compromise with self-pity. Who will not let themselves succumb to maternal negativity. Who will shamelessly choose joy, nourishment, and positivity during pregnancy. And who will decide that her vision is not something to be bought or bargained with, period.

You can have the motherhood you desire without a guilty conscience.

There are something like two billion mothers in the world. One in four people globally is a mother (thanks for the facts, Chat)… That means one in four opinions you get will either taint your view or empower your journey of motherhood.

It’s safe to say that motherhood became just as big an industry as it is a life journey. I hope that when the voices get loud and the self-depracating thoughts get louder, you choose, over and over, how your experience gets to be.

At some point, you will have to stop reading this article and stop consuming motherhood to start living it.

No, you don’t need another viral checklist, crash course, or content creator to validate your maternal instincts. You just have to close the tabs, mute the noise, and come back to yourself. Because, in this industry, no one will hand you the version of motherhood you’re craving, you just have to allow yourself to have it.

Unapologetically,
Sarah Elle

xx

But after coming across a fellow pregnant mama recreating a ‘Feel the Burn with Susan Harris’ reel, I figured why not give the ol’ leg warmers a shot.

Before I go any deeper, I must disclose that I was absolutely not prepared for the blood pressure spike that came with this workout. I experienced a lifetime of lymphatic drainage in a single Jane Fonda ep.

This is what they call post-workout endorphins. I can only manage about five words per minute because my veins are coursing with coke-level dopamine. Sugar-free, zero cal.

I’m impressed though. Modern day workouts are just gym girlies doing the same weighted bridges and squat routines, never tasting the real burn that comes with stretching, aerobics, and cool downs.

It’s almost as if we do them all separately while the 80s did them all in half an hour… and in a neon-spandex bodysuit. [EDIT: My cellulite could never.]

We jump on tiny trampolines and reenact qigong exercises we see on Instagram to achieve any semblance of lymphatic drainage when Jazzercise would unlock those channels in the warm-up section.

I did my first workout in pajamas because I genuinely didn’t think I’d make it through, let alone put a whole outfit on to match the aesthetic… Pregnancy might have gifted me Kathy Smith boobs, but the general energy is much closer to Richard Simmons… Say less.

Nevertheless, we started with the warm up, then arms, core, and to finish, as quoted, ‘buttocks.’

Oh, how the fitness industry has changed… and dare I say, not for the better.

There was something about being reminded to lift… and lengthen… and breathe… that pushed me past what I thought was my threshold. Of course, I’m cautious, being pregnant and whatnot. But somehow, I have more body-awareness during an aerobics workout than when I’m pumping iron at the gym.

Do I want to… ‘Feel the burn’?

I could totally see myself being an aerobics mom. A fanatic hot mama in spandex, jumping up and down in front of the TV, doing oblique twists. There’s something so 80s classic and feminine about it. And even if the reality is I don’t look half as good as CherFitness, I’ll take the delusion, leg warmers, and endorphins, thank you.

The high is settling down now. But feeling as flexible as I did in my late teens is a feeling I don’t think I want to let go of. Doing aerobics in the morning made me want to stretch that feeling out for the rest of the day—in how I move, how I eat, how I dress, and how I wear this changing body.

There’s something about it that makes me want to lean fully into eating, dressing, and taking on the world the way women did in the 80s. So, I’ll keep doing these workouts because they remind me of something we forget in modern times: it doesn’t have to be so serious.

Sometimes it’s just leg warmers, a questionable amount of jumping, and someone on a VHS telling you to feel the burn like it’s a totally reasonable thing to say to a pregnant woman at 9am.

Anyway… I get it now.

Still feeling the burn,
Sarah Elle

Alas, dreams do come true. And they sleep fourteen hours a day now!

If I’m being honest, I think the extent of feeling fabulous in the first trimester is Sex and the City re-runs as I wait for my Taco Bell order to arrive. Carrie Bradshaw and her literary sex-capades have fondly reminded me of what I’ve been missing these last few weeks. Oh… no, not just the sex. Though I never thought those same few letters would revolve more around x’s and y’s than the triple-x that, as of late, feels so nauseating.

No, the ‘fabulous’ I’m referring to is Manolo’s and writing articles; going to brunch with your gals and looking out the balcony window as you print and publish your best. But since peak first trimester kicked in, ‘fabulous’ is limited to this 90’s sit-com. It’s cotton pyjamas, silk scrunchies, and swallowing my prenatals without gagging.

Since week six, I haven’t had of a good enough day to write about anything. In fact, morning sickness—really meaning, all-day-everyday-sickness, hit me so hard I really considered the whole stay-at-home-mom-(to-be) thing. Permanently.

But nine weeks hit, baby is the size of a green olive, and this tiny burst of energy could pair well as a metaphorical martini after a creative dry spell.

So, let’s get real here. If first trimester feels anything but fabulous, what am I writing about in the first place? It’s as if the bar is brought so low that baths become spa days, unscented soap smells like heaven, and new pyjamas are a form of fashion I could walk the runway for.

… Is there anything fabulous about first trimester?

When you’re praying to dear God not to puke up your dinner again? Or when all of a sudden your husband’s favorite cologne smells as repulsive as the meat in your fridge?

… Is there anything fabulous about the first trimester?

I wish I could tell you that my eyes didn’t look so concave. That I was leaning more toward Vogue model than an extra on The Walking Dead. That body odor wasn’t the only designer perfume I was wearing these days. But I can’t. My only highlight is that I’m back to my pre-quarter-life weight class and the daily puking is indeed giving me an ‘Olsen twins prune’ look.

Oh… yes… and I’m pregnant.

It seems that’s the thing everyone keeps reminding me of as I fight for my life every moment of the day. That I prayed for this. I wanted it.

And I did. For a decade. But that doesn’t make it feel any better when I’ve got a bowl to my face and I’m hunched over the squatty-potty (try to read between the lines here, darling.) In fact, it just piles the guilt on top of every symptom I’m already dealing with.

Don’t get me wrong, symptoms don’t discount the fact that carrying life, itself, is iconic. That growing a baby from nothing is indeed the most fabulous thing I’ve ever done.

But as the pregnant person experiencing the very vast array of feelings and symptoms no one else is, I reserve the right to praise and to complain simultaneously. And I will complain.

First trimester is undeniably miserable. And though I do find joy in the little things, like my morning smoothies, binge watching SATC, and the princess treatment I get from my husband. Do not be mistaken… there’s nothing fabulous about how the first trimester feels.

It would normally take me less than eight hours to write an article.

Now, it takes me 5-7 business days. I wonder if I’ll ever finish this article, let alone publish it. Maybe this will remain a draft I stumble across when baby is off to college… But, for now, I’ll emulate my inner Carrie Bradshaw while I look and feel more like Miranda Hobbes. (Oh yeah, there’s no Charlotte York-ing the first trimester… Unless you count the first SATC movie where she 💩 her pants on Carrie’s disaster honeymoon.)

But perhaps that’s one of the more understated fabulous things about the first trimester. The unspoken understanding that everything takes three to a hundred business days now. And there’s no arguing about it.

For that matter, the boundaries are nice too. I’m not afraid of saying no to what doesn’t interest me anymore because finally something is more important to tend to.

My marriage and home life, for example—the most important thing I’ve been tending to lately. I thought marriage would bring us to the next level, but as it turns out, it was the first trimester that brought us to our new ‘And Just Like That’.

In fact, there’s something more Vogue-esque about tending to each other’s needs in a season that looks and feels different than ever before. Taking life at a slower pace. Locking ourselves up in our ‘Upper East Side’ condo. Growing new life together. Now that’s Samantha-Jones-level fabulous!

And while it’s not hot dates and hotter holidays at the moment, it is laying next to each other (at just the right distance not to smell every pheromone), finding a new show to rave about, and talking as much as we can before the talking makes me gag again.

I may only bring out the La Perla few and seldom these days, and I can only dream about the days I’ll wear heels like Carrie Bradshaw again… But this new season of us that we’re stepping into… is far more fabulous than all six seasons and both movies combined.

Yours truly,

Sarah Elle… Shaw

I’m talking about the same women who have religiously threaded their brows for years suddenly letting them grow in, no gel, no pencil, no apologies. The Pilates moms who’ve booked highlights and blowouts since the late ’90s, now walking around with their original hair color like it’s a new luxury. And calling all the devout manicurists! Have we really traded almond tips for short, Euro-style nails that look like they’ve just been bitten out of boredom during a 4-hour train delay to Paris?!

As a self-proclaimed trend-immune girly (with a suspiciously strong passion for writing about them), I sit here, sipping my two-cream coffee, watching the matcha-drinking, Dubai-chocolate-hoarding influencers surrender to a new wave… one that changes the rules entirely.

Maybe I notice because it’s refreshing to watch influencers trade in trends for their actual voice and style. Or maybe it’s because I can smell a shift before it unravels and the masses are suddenly either wearing labubus… or, in this case, no makeup at all.

If I’m honest though, it’s a rare thrill to see someone reclaim their original beauty—any fragment of it, even—after years of being seduced by glossy September issues into styles that were never truly theirs. Authenticity, right now, feels intoxicating and yet utterly well-timed in this carbon-copy culture.

It’s not screaming for attention, it’s not shoving another “must-have” down your throat—but maybe the real trend is in people catching onto how nice it is to remember your own face, your virgin hair, and your gloriously feral nails before social media convinced you they needed fixing. It’s the first trend in a long time that feels like the fashion equivalent of a breath of fresh air.

Maybe you’ve given in to the questionable barrel jeans, but you ditched the eyelash extensions. Maybe you hang the labubu over the edge of your purse, but you’re carrying it with bare nails. And even though Miu Miu bucket hats and micro-sunglasses creep into every shot on social media, maybe—finally—you’ve decided to let your roots grow out under the hat.

Here’s the thing, part of what makes someone magnetic is the raw beauty God gave them. Thick brows, thin brows. Dark hair, light hair (straight or curly). But not all personal style is algorithm-approved, yet it’s the only ‘trend’ that gives you back to yourself.

So if it takes a trend to make us finally claim our own good looks? Then thank God for this one.

What’s your version of ‘au naturel’ right now?

Are you letting your brows grow in, going back to your natural hair color, or ditching the nails? Comment below!

Read the editorial on ProseClub or scroll for the full article below x

Alright, it’s set. Summer has officially taken a turn for the bolder. Where we were once jet-setting through Europe in butter yellow ensembles to match our croissants in Paris and Danish pastries in Copenhagen, we’re now seeing an influx of cherry reds everywhere!

I, myself, have just hopped on the trend (guilty!). After seeing a woman strut through a nearby hotel in a bright, striking red tube top and an A-line navy denim skirt, I thought my closet was missing that pop of rouge.

Since then, it’s been like the Baader–Meinhof phenomenon. You know, when you become aware of something (like wanting a new car, for example), and suddenly you start noticing it everywhere—not because it’s actually appearing more, but because your brain is looking for it.

Well, my brain is tuned to all the shades of rouge, and I’m noticing somewhat of a trend here. Could it be the frequency illusion? Or are we really onto something?

Either way, let’s talk about red, baby!

Now, listen. I’m not trying to retire butter yellow too quickly. In fact, I quite like the calming tints. It’s soft, almost floral, and offers a nice contrast to the blue skies we’ve been chasing this summer. But this red trend is commanding aura, and I think she’s telling us to listen.

I’m not one to hop on the bandwagon too quickly. It took me months to admit I was a jelly shoe girly, and I don’t think I even own anything with the words “butter” OR “yellow” in my closet.

But the red?

This is a statement I don’t think I can resist. It’s not like turning scarves into waist-belts and trying to make shell-shirts work!

Psychologists call red the color of energy and passion. It draws awareness and says “look at me” without apology. Butter yellow, on the other hand, feels more soft—like the feeling of sunshine and leisure. But red, admittedly, is the bolder sister.

As I pick up my latest magazines and skim through my ever-changing Pinterest feed, pops of red litter the pages. Red stripes, red shoes, red accents, and red accessories on every couple of pins… and pages.

Of course, the designers have scouted it first. You can see traces of red in all their recent collections—so much as their homepage banners are red purses, cherry sunnies, and designs left behind of nothing other than butter yellow.

While browsing each brand, I’m particularly fascinated with how to incorporate more red in my closet without becoming too trendy as to compromise timelessness.

For example, we know that most raffia bags can only be used in the summer (though I’m particularly obsessed with Jacquemus’ “The Spiaggia Small Square Bag” in red right now). And I doubt very much that scarf-belts will last throughout the winter. Maybe jelly shoes will last, and maybe a new concept of mesh flats will take over? And lobster summer might be a one-and-done trend (should it have been done at all?). Thus, all of this begs me to question how we can play with transient trends while still keeping a timeless capsule.

I thought about it for some time. Just a few days ago, I was online shopping for some rather racy and totally non-trending things (if you catch my drift) when my beau recommended a pair of skinny jeans. *GASP!*

He justified that he hasn’t seen me wear them much lately and that skinny jeans hug my curves better. *DOUBLE GASP!* Don’t you know that skinny is out and wide-leg is in?!

Well, he negotiated on the skinny jeans (with the right kind of acid wash) for one extra item of my own choice. It was mere hours after seeing the girl in the red top and A-line skirt, so I immediately searched for something red.

I had a few tabs open when it occurred to me that I would probably wear 99% of what was in my cart once… and then never again. That’s when it dawned on me that we can incorporate trends without losing timelessness (and, for most of our capsule wardrobes, wearability).

I ran over to the closet and sifted through my clothes. Between the fitness sets I wear every oth… well, every day, and the thrifted designer finds that I save for “special occasions,” I felt compelled to look at my real staples and work my purchase around that.

If we’re being fashionably honest with ourselves, most women only wear about 5% of their closet… on repeat. Those two pairs of jeans you wear over and over again? And that white tank that you layer every single day? Those are the style elements you should be building your cart around.

As of late, my style fluctuates between (yes, workout sets, but mostly) linens and tank tops, wide-leg jeans, and poplin button-downs. Even though I have them on repeat in different shades, lengths, and colors, I style them differently every time, thus giving me fresh looks for each day of the week. You can pair any outfit with bigger or bolder earrings, flashy or basic colors, heels or sneakers (or jelly flats!), and an oversized or barely-fits-it-all purse to make for a new look. Plus, change your hairstyle to match the mood, and you’re all set, doll!

On that note, I went with a red button-down. She’s timeless (meaning all the seasons of the year), versatile (I could pair it with any vibe or outfit), and still aligns with the current style narrative.

So, ladies… how can you infuse more red into your closet without dropping it off at the thrift a couple of months from now? [Guilty, again.]

Start small.

No need to make brash decisions or follow every (sometimes questionable) trend. Start with accessories—perhaps some heels, flats, a purse, some lipstick, or jewelry! I’m seeing bangles everywhere (though I’m not particularly inspired to write about them). But infusing some trending colors or patterns slowly might give you more confidence to make a big style decision when you find a trend or item that you really love.

P.S.: Even a red French tip is a win in my book.

Balance with essential tones and textures.

A capsule piece will take you much further in wear and in worth than, let’s say, a totally iconic yet utterly unwearable piece. Opt for hot staples over haute couture—things you know you’ll wear frequently versus the one far-fetched piece that you’ll probably only wear once. In the case of cherry, crimson (so last fall—if you ask me), or coral reds, pair your bold trends with neutral pieces to let the red stand out while keeping the classics. Think of the rule of thirds: pair two pieces of neutrals for every one pop of color! It makes for a well-balanced outfit that you can refresh and restyle at any time.

When you see red, stop!

It’s only natural for a woman to add a bajillion pieces to her cart before her next breath. But when you see red—or, more specifically, an oncoming trend or statement piece you like—stop before hitting ‘buy now’ and think about it. I’m all for developing your style palette, but almost every piece is worth sleeping on—especially when Vogue and Bazaar tell you not to. Not only will you appreciate your purchase more—who knows, maybe things will look a little different the morning after… (if you catch my drift).

At last, just remember to pair your bold reds with even bolder confidence. No trend in the world could surpass a woman who owns her style. You are the woman in red and beyond. So whether it’s a top-to-bottom red gown, a pop of cherry-colored statement pumps, or a go-to rouge à lèvres, it doesn’t matter if or how you incorporate red into your closet. What matters is what red stands for in your life: confidence, power, romance, and sometimes… a dash of heat.

If the transition from soft butter yellows to fiery reds can teach us anything, let us learn that unapologetically being ourselves is more than just a trend.

So may the cherry, crimson, and coral reds of this summer teach us the rather timeless lesson that style isn’t just what you wear—it’s the energy you dare to embody.

What color are you embodying this season?

Is it the soft femininity of butter yellow, the bold energy of cherry red—or are you creating your very own style palette?

Drop it in the comments—I want to know what energy you’re bringing to your wardrobe this summer.

xx
Sarah Elle

I’m sitting at my kitchen table, reading 1 Kings. It’s the first time in days that I’ve fully surrendered into my Bible. Admittedly—ashamedly—I’ve been putting it off.

Most mornings, I wake up with Scripture in hand and a warm cup of coffee, either on the balcony or wrapped in my thousand-dollar bed sheets. At night, I tuck myself in with Yeshua Instrumental playing softly on repeat and the let the Word of God rock me to sleep.

By midday, I’m usually immersed in some other expression of His voice: beautiful books, prayers on social media, and of course, communion with God Himself… at least, as best as possible.

Since shifting my writing toward beauty, style, and the skincare routine of the Proverbs 31 woman—I’ve found myself searching for ways to write God into every line. Because, if I’m honest, my life is completely centered around Christ… yet only a fraction of it ever seems to make it into words.

Perhaps it’s resistance. Perhaps it’s the weight of “religion.” But I’m starting to see that God doesn’t press His way into our lady-lives through pressure, He builds His home in us through ease and beauty.

Lately, He keeps asking me to soften into Him and notice how He reveals Himself in all things… notably, the beautiful ones.

And maybe that’s why 1 Kings has been sitting on my heart this week and taking me so long to read—because it feels like He’s been answering me in the blueprints of His own temple and I’ve been resisting the sheer ease of it. While I’ve been wrestling with how writing about beauty fits into the category of devotion, God’s been showing me how He singles out every detail when something is built to hold His presence.

Page after page, I catch myself slowing down over measurements, carvings, and gold. And then, it hit me—the God who documented every cubit and golden door in 1 Kings is the same God who authors my life with that same attention to detail.

This made everything I’ve been writing about suddenly feel more relevant, even, might I say, holy. If God took the time to describe every palm tree etched into bronze, every gallon of water in His fountain, and every pomegranate wreathed in His temple, then maybe my love for beauty can serve the same purpose as Solomon’s temple… to invite Him in.

On Beauty and the Temple

1 Kings is filled with entire chapters devoted to the design of the temple—the height, the width, the materials, and every ornate detail of decoration. “Carvings of cherubim, lions, and palm trees decorated the panels and corner supports wherever there was room, and there were wreaths all around.” 1 Kings 7:36 NLT It’s clear, when you really look at it, that God took His time to paint the picture of His temple.

“Solomon also made all the furnishings of the Temple of the Lord:

the gold altar;

the gold table for the Bread of the Presence;

the lampstands of solid gold, five on the south and five on the north, in front of the Most Holy Place;

the flower decorations, lamps, and tongs—all of gold;

the small bowls, lamp snuffers, bowls, ladles, and incense burners—all of solid gold;

the doors for the entrances to the Most Holy Place and the main room of the Temple, with their fronts overlaid with gold.

So King Solomon finished all his work on the Temple of the Lord. Then he brought all the gifts his father, David, had dedicated—the silver, the gold, and the various articles—and he stored them in the treasuries of the Lord’s Temple.” 1 Kings 7:48-51 NLT

When we reach 1 Kings 8, Solomon prays for the Lord’s blessing over the people, that they would always turn to the temple for forgiveness and repentance. A whole week was dedicated to the altar of the Temple of the LORD. So many sacrifices and offerings were brought that the bronze altar itself could not hold them all—thus the courtyard became an extension of the holy space.

“That same day the king consecrated the central area of the courtyard in front of the Lord’s Temple. He offered burnt offerings, grain offerings, and the fat of peace offerings there, because the bronze altar in the Lord’s presence was too small to hold all the burnt offerings, grain offerings, and the fat of the peace offerings.” 1 Kings 8:64 NLT

To me, this is one of the clearest examples of how beauty can be used to worship God—not for its own selfish gain, but as a vessel to host His holy presence.

The temple took seven years to build, with no expense spared or detail overlooked. Every doorway, pillar, and carving was accounted for in devotion rather than cost. “Solomon did not weigh all these things because there were so many; the weight of the bronze could not be measured.” 1 Kings 7:47 NLT Every pomegranate wreath and carved cherub was a detail in a much larger act of reverence: to create a dwelling place for the Lord. A space for God to land and live.

Somewhere between the verses, the desire rose in me… to make my life that kind of temple. To see to it that worship, beauty, and devotion will invite Him to stay with me. Because, as I’ve come to learn, a temple isn’t only built with stone and gold; it’s built in the small moments we choose to consecrate.

If my life is to become a temple, then my home must be its first room. That means tending to it with Him in mind—keeping it clean, adorning it with lovely decor, and anointing everything from the structural pillars to the accent pillows.

Even with food, the principle applies. To treat each plate as a temple as much as the body that receives it. To cook with intention, mix the ingredients as if they were ancient spices, breathe the aromas like I’m breathing in God, and eat with joy and gratitude, knowing provision itself is holy.

This is how ordinary days become the walls of a living temple.

As most of you know, I love fashion, style, and beauty—not for the vanity the world chases, and never at the expense of communion with The Beautiful One—but because in every thread and every detail, I witness His majesty reflected back to me.

If we dress ourselves as women of God, tending to our bodies as His temples… if we groom ourselves as Esther did, six months in myrrh and six months in perfumes… imagine the altar our lives could become if we consecrated beauty to Him.

In that light, even a morning of Scripture becomes an altar. Lemon-honey tea steaming into the breeze, a Bible catching the perfect ray of light on your lap.

Maybe then we would finally see that the beauty of the world is not for us to be consumed by, but to stir us to wonder how much more beautiful its Creator must be.

In letting Him fill our lives with beauty and receive it as the raw material for His own temple within us, we begin to live as Solomon once built.

How much more whole, radiant, and alive would we be if every corner of our lives became decoration on the walls of the Lord’s living temple?

To let beauty be our devotion, and God our only object of worship.

So, with that, I leave you…

With beauty to live by, words to think of, and a God to wholeheartedly let in…

What are you called to consecrate?

Is it your home? Your body? The small, ordinary moments of your day?

Comment below—I’d love to hear what part of your life you’re ready to set apart as a living temple.

Xx,
Sarah Elle

Was it about two weeks ago, when we moved into an upscale lifestyle condo on the lake—and were immediately injected into a community of mid-to-multi-millionaires? (Which would later provoke my very sense of self and threaten the life of my Louis wallet?)

Or, was it yesterday in the vintage jewelry shop, when the clerk so gracefully sold me [I mean… tempted me] on a vintage Chanel Allure cuff which, on the high of (three tequila cocktails and) our sisters’ day, and threw me right into my savings account to purchase.

I think if God could speak out loud, it was some time in the last hour when the video of a little boy having a Jesus encounter made me re-evaluate almost every one of my priorities. [Alas, ladies, though hard to admit, Chanel… *sigh…* in the face of the Lord is… not… a priority.] The TikTok video made me think of how many times I’ve chosen the things of this world when, in hindsight, they mattered only for a fleeting moment—and now will be sitting in my closet along with every other once-deemed pièce-de-validation.

The truth is, I’m not even a fan of cuffs. When picking my sister-day outfit, I deliberately opted out of bracelets because, for some reason, they make my wrists look fat. I did, too, put my floral halo ring down because it didn’t blend well with my hand tattoos.

In contrast, the only jewelry I ever wear is my gold cross. I even take my dupe Bottega earrings out at night. So why did I lose so much beauty sleep thinking about that Chanel cuff?

I knew, moving here, that our new neighborhood would be on the upper end. I’ve also wrestled with my sense of identity since taking possession of our new apartment. I type this, overlooking the lake and the haute cuisine across the walkway—a daily reminder of the new income bracket we moved into. The thing is… Mine hasn’t changed. And with the sound of designer shoes prancing on the ground below us, it’s very easy to get lost in keeping up with the Jones… and the Cartier’s, and the Pucci’s… oh, and the Van Cleefs’.

As a woman of faith who absolutely loves fashion, I thought moving here would improve my brand. In that sense, even an elevator ride to the lobby serves as inspiration. Stay-at-home-moms take their 8 a.m. yoga classes on the rooftop. The older women walk their poodles who are ironically dressed in more designer than they are. And, let’s not forget, Carl, the French bulldog with a Rolex… leash.

It’s very easy to get hypnotized by the scent of Jean Paul Gaultier and Baccarat Rouge 540 in the hallways—but what is the price of my incessant need for ‘keeping up’?

Since moving here, there hasn’t been a day we haven’t scouted new coasters or coffee tables. I’ve somehow managed to buy lamps and Lanvin within the same tabs. But with every new Amex statement, a sinking feeling in me gets deeper.

Let’s take a moment to re-visit the little boy whose Jesus moment made me rethink everything… Especially the vintage Chanel. This little boy repented at the deepest levels for being mean to his mom—and here I was wondering how on God’s green Gucci I could stray so far from home. You see, a single encounter with Christ could outweigh a million rendezvous with Christ…ian Dior. How much more would it cost me to finally learn that lesson?

We were still in bed with coffee when this video changed the course of my… dare I say, life. There was such heartfelt repentance coming from the boy that I wondered if, in the face of Heaven, I would strive for any of the things I’ve been so consumed by in my life. As if Alhambra’s would carry any value in ‘Al-Heaven.’

After a minor existential crisis and a peak in my closet, suddenly the vintage cuffs meant nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

I stepped onto the balcony in my silk robe and overlooked the scenery. The restaurant was filled with brunch moms and businessmen. People walked their poodles down the boardwalk. And yet, people’s chatter was but static noise behind the deeper sound of air. At this very moment, I couldn’t see labels anymore, only leaves swaying in the breeze—no validation or glance at my wrist could amount to the sense of God-nodded approval I’ve really been striving for.

This was, and eternally will be, the most expensive epiphany I ever had. And as my eyes looked down from the sky back to my laptop screen, I realized that this incessant need for approval, no matter how much I made or how much I spent… would be a luxury I simply could not afford. Ever.

Not a designer house or vintage couture find would ever be worth how much He’s already paid for my life.

I prayed at that very moment. (Between us and my familiar Prose Club readers, I prayed as hard as my ‘Fork-in-the-road-moment’ before we started the keto diet.) It was an on-my-knees, belly deep, and in the bones kind of prayer that I wouldn’t lose another moment being conformed to the things of this world (Romans 12:2 NIV) or another cent being ‘fashioned’ to this age (Romans 12:2 ASV).

So that’s the story of how Vintage Chanel cuffs and a TikTok video made me question if approval was something I could really afford. It’s been a financial lesson as well as a deeply spiritual one. Luckily, we have a God ‘who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us.’ (Ephesians 3:20-21 NKJV) As dearly as I have enjoyed writing about fashion—jelly shoes, designer scents, skin oils, and summer trends—I feel that sharing the Gospel of Good News and a grace that is better than Baccarat Rouge has become my new favorite kind of feature.

Because while Hermes sales associates may lead to VIP, the narrow road leads to eternity—and I know which one wears better.

So, God… If I ever slip on a Chanel cuff again, let it be one fastened by grace, not just gold.

‘To Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.’ (Ephesians 3:20-21 NKJV)

Have you ever bought something beautiful… only to realize it cost you more than just money?

Tell me about the cuff, the dress, the car, or the moment that made you rethink what you're really investing in.

xx,
Sarah Elle

I couldn’t be more grateful for our balcony views, really. We were just talking about how not only do we get 360 views of hotels, condos, restaurants, and lakeviews. But we also get front row seats to every weekend’s three-in-a-row weddings! Last weekend, an Indian, Persian, and Italian wedding—this weekend, our first bride is blonde.

We first noticed the woman in white when Frank was eating a banana on the couch. I reckon this is perfect comedic timing for the fresh bride and my boyfriend to make direct eye contact. Alas, she’s starting off the bridal shoot with a bigger smile… and an organic banana—I mean, laugh, for her photos. Yes, ladies, this is certainly one for the books.

I wait for her to make her comeback into my field of view, but all I see is her tulle veil swept up by the wind in the corner of my eye. The breeze really was a paid actor.

[Oh… here she comes. Nope, just the photographer in black. Her hair is tightly pulled back into a classy bun as her counterpart photographer wipes off a bead of sweat. Yes, people! Get those angles.]

I casually glance up to renew my inspiration, but no view of the bride just yet. Instead, I take each pause to think of my intention for this article. Will I write about bridal designers to look out for? Should I pitch my opinion on cathedral versus mantilla veils? Would I dare write about non-traditional wedding gown colors? Right now, I reminisce about the smile on her face and the simplicity of this bride’s look.

Last week, the brides were more traditional. Beaded gowns, long trains, and some ornate jewelry from our Indian bride. This week, ‘feathers’ is the word. Her tanned skin contrasts beautiful with the pristine white dress.

I notice that her hair is down with loose curls as she looks over the balcony to where the photographers point. A candid shot, I can only imagine… If only she knew I was writing about her.

She’s got a fit-and-flair gown with an off-shoulder neckline. Is it borrowed? Is it new? I can’t quite tell from my vantage view. Though I don’t have a clear sight on any detailing, it appears to be a beaded gown with some light feathering. Around her neck is a dainty tennis necklace. It goes perfectly with the neckline of her dress… and the early afternoon sun.

I pause as she returns inside. Beyond the bridal highlights and choice of veil, I wonder what their story is. Sure, I can wait until they do the lakefront photoshoot to pinpoint her choice of heels for the night. Is she a strappy heels or sneakers kind of bride? I ponder her choice of lipstick and the cut of ring she got until my mind drifts to deeper thoughts.

At this moment, out of my line of sight, she’s in the middle of the best day of her life. And I am in the middle of thinking how lucky I am to live here—to witness brides every single weekend marry the loves of their lives. Each bride, no matter her past or future, is feeling her most in-love right now. And we get front row seats on the mood, magic, and, eventually, the questionable choice of music.

I wonder how she feels right now—sometime between the photoshoots and the party they’ll have soon.

Ah, to be in her bridal shoes…

I look up and notice the bridesmaids are dressed in baby blue. It’s a fitting color for this perfect July evening. A waterfront wedding at the most exquisite banquet. This bride’s something blue isn’t just a detail, it’s her sisters, her cousins, and her best friends. I’ve thought a million times of who I would have in my bridal party, and as a bird lands on her balcony, I imagine just for a moment what it’d be like if I were in my bridal shoes.

All I see is the sun shining on the closed-curtain videos. The trees sway and I sit here, thinking of my own wedding one day. Will I choose a sleek dress? A fit and flair? Will I opt for a nude lipstick and highlights? Will my hair be up or down like hers? I think of the moments that will be captured, like hers.

Every girl dreams of her wedding. None, like me, can ever imagine what it will amount to.

It’s been about ten minutes since this weekend’s first bride has left my sight. I’m lost in the daydream of my own wedding. My banana-eating-bride-gleaming boyfriend is ready to workout. So I get ready to close the laptop and hope for one last glance of our Saturday-night-bride. If you told me we would still be living together after 12 years and five homes, and that I would write about the weddings I witness every weekend… The inner girl in me who always dreamt this dream would bow at God’s veil.

But now, I sit here humbly awaiting my turn—gathering inspiration from the brides I see from my balcony, knowing I’m (metaphorically) closer than I’ve ever been.

I think one last time to whether my bridesmaids will be my something blue, whether we’ll get married in the July sun, and what kind of veil I will wear…

And just thank God that love is in the air and every week is bridal week from our balcony…

Xx,

Sarah Elle

I was listening to a podcast by my favorite YouTubers when the words, ‘If there was a book written about your life, what would your next chapter look like?’ struck a chord in me.

… What does this chapter of my life look like?

At the very least, the rest of the month looks pretty busy—maybe not creatively, but we’ve got a lot going on. Between buying my car out, launching our last summer party, and… oh yeah, moving! This season feels a little more like living the thing before writing about it.

I’m sure that when we settle into our new condo, my creativity will rise again. I’ve been pondering the idea of slowly dipping my toes back into publishing since writing and designing editorials is fun but, ultimately, shortlasting. I can totally see myself editing books from our rooftop terrace overlooking the water and writing when the evening lighting hits just right. But in the meantime, the next few weeks look like coasting in the present while preparing for the slingshot that will be the month of July.

We’re staying with my mom for a couple of days, visiting family and simultaneously calculating interest rates for financing my car out. To be honest, I’m just not ready to let her go just yet—my car, I mean. Rudy has been the joy of my life since 2021 and she’s still a beauty four years later… with very little mileage, might I add. To me, she’s practically new and has all the TV screens and sunroofs a girl could ask for! So while we’re in town, I’ll be swinging over to the dealership with my mama. This feels like the ultimate full-circle moment. I’ve grown a lot over the ten years since moving out, but lately, I realized that some things are worth doing your parents. [Thank you, mom, for always being there.]

Next week, we’ve got a series of appointments (hoping to book a pedicure sometime in the middle of it all) and a lot of planning for our annual June Party. Our summer bash this year is themed ‘La Tavola Mediterranea’, a sort of Italian and French-riviera themed re-debut of our home after ten months of renovations. Between prepping meals and daydreaming of my outfit, organizing the house, and planning who’s picking up the cannolis, we’ve got our hands full this week, for sure.

Our families get together every year for this party, but this year feels especially sentimental knowing we’ll be putting the house up for sale shortly after. I never saw this coming, though it feels very fitting for this season of our life and relationship. A lesson we learned is that you can’t stay stuck in a place because of the one or two times a year everyone gets together. Sure, the cousin-sleepovers, in-law dinners, family lunches, and holiday parties kept us there for a few years, but after living in just over 800 squarefeet for a year, it’s almost impossible for us to see ourselves in such a big house all over again.

Funny enough, we also learned that when your house has a movie theater, gym, sauna, pool, hot tub, office, chef’s kitchen, hotel-esque ensuite, and the most exquisite, concert-level sound systems… You’re rarely—if ever—enticed to leave the house. And we just want to dive back into life.

Next week, we go to the new place to do a final walk-through and take some measurements before we take possession in July. After the party, however, we have a single week to organize all our belongings and coordinate the move. To say that I am excited for this new chapter is an understatement. We’ve been talking about this dream for years. And, between us, about five years ago, I passed by the very property we’re moving into and wished I’d one day live there. Now, here we are. Weeks away from moving into the place I once prayed about.

There’s a lot going through my mind, so much that I’d love to write about. I struggle in these moments between all the chaos to simply enjoy the pause. There’s a pressure gnawing at me to write more, start up my publishing house again, and evaluate my next career move, but then I hear a silent whisper on the screen, saying ‘If there was a book written about your life, what would (this, or) your next chapter look like?’ I realize my answer is simply this:

These are the final sentences in what’s been a four year, ten month, several ‘page’ chapter. We are saying one big, bittersweet goodbye to a time in our lives I have held dear. We’re also entering the beginning of a whole new era in our lives.

The pauses between each big leap are not page breaks in something that isn’t finished yet. As deeply as I feel the pressure and the excitement to dive into the next chapter, I know that once we turn the page…

Once the visit has ended,

the food’s been bought,

and the outfits laid out…

Once the party is over and everyone’s gone…

And our clothes are in boxes and our belongings have been packed.

Once the ten months have drawn to a close and we move into our new place…

This chapter that I was once so eager to move through will never be again.

Over the last several months, we’ve renovated our home, lived with in-laws, changed career paths, and lived on a fraction of our belongings. We’ve rendered our life down to a few essential changes of clothes, two toothbrushes, and two laptops. I quit publishing, became a nanny, started writing again, and found myself wanting to get back into publishing from scratch again.

I’ve had hard talks and harder laughs, and grew more in the last year than I have all my life. And above all that, I’ve shed unimaginable tears, said the hardest goodbyes, turned the page, and started writing a new chapter.

All that to question, ‘If there was a book written about your life, what would (this, or) your next chapter look like?’

Some chapters are page-turners, while others set the tone for what is about to be written.

You may feel pressured to know what’s next, start what’s next, or write what’s next… But sometimes, the pause between each page is where life is really lived.

That’s when an idea came to me: how can we rest graciously the night before a big event?

You know the feeling—when you’ve either got a big flight, a bigger interview, or something as massive as Swim Week (or as small as meeting your new niece)—you can hardly sleep through it! But! You can spend your time using your energy wisely and still make something of that waiting period.

Here are my little tips for making the most of the night before!

Freshen up
Do some treasured self-care. In the case of a massive event, I wouldn’t necessarily try a new face mask or serum, but spending the evening taking a bath, doing your everyday skincare routines, and maybe relaxing with a good show and some peppermint tea might relax your nerves and ground you in the present.

Get inspired
There’s inspiration in everything. In the moments leading up to a breakthrough event—or even a flight—share how it makes you feel, what’s going through your mind, and treat every leading moment in the metaphorical waiting room as an editorial moment.

Pick your outfits
I don’t know why, but every woman does this at one point or another—and personally, I find it extraordinary for putting yourself in that fabulous energy. And if your flight, meeting, visit, or event is early in the morning, having a bangin’ outfit planned out beforehand can buy you a lot of time. Do a little fashion show for yourself. Pick the outfit that feels the best and compliments your figure the most.

Either way, ladies, let the day be what it’s going to be. Even though you can feel the excitement (and maybe even some nerves), the moments or days leading up to your big events can be just as enjoyable as the main event.

If you know that your upcoming experience will demand a lot of energy, use this time to catch up on some much-needed rest. Recharge your battery and take good care of yourself in the in-between. Before you know it, you’ll be stepping into the moment you’ve been waiting for—whether that’s a red carpet event, something you’ve been planning for months, an early flight to a gorgeous destination, or just a visit with your in-laws!

Play
I’m probably the last person to ever say this… but the energy of play—be it a mobile game, sudoku, Wordle, or a video game—can really ease the tension and pass the time. I found myself getting persuaded by an ad for a game, so I downloaded it… and behold, three hours had passed. Not every moment of your life needs to be productive, and it turns out—if you’re not one to play games very often—this can be very soothing.

Pray
Pray rhymes with play, and if you find yourself struggling to rest without spiraling, this is the best thing to do. I always open Scripture on those evenings before a big event. Not only does it help me rest and remain calm, but it also makes the waiting period mean something more. A personal favorite is Ecclesiastes and Proverbs—for their entirely different topics. Ecclesiastes can put big events and business moves into perspective, while Proverbs is a go-to for nights before getting with family or social events. Usually, I find myself praying as intensely to sleep (being a night owl who needs to wake up can bring on challenges only the Lord can overcome) as I do for a good time and protection.

I’ve previously written about how the wait can be as sacred as walking into the moment. The night before a big event—business-wise or socially—can be just as daunting, but these night-before rituals make the time go by as quickly as it does intentionally. Sometimes our minds can get caught up in rehearsing the day before it happens, and while I always advocate for preparation, I also understand the deeply important virtue of presence and surrender.

When you’re experiencing an entrepreneurial downhill, any idea can feel worth chasing. Whether it’s starting a new business (or venture) from the ground up, or broadening your horizons with a new platform. But this short message is your humble reminder that not all ideas are worth seeing to fruition.

It was about two or three days into my creative slump. My notepad was full of cool new article ideas, my quarter three deadline was drawing a month closer. And yet, I couldn’t come up with anything. No fashion-forward editorial ideas, no article lightbulb moments—just the impending pressure of another day gone by where I didn’t feel my utmost productive.

I was sending out some press inquiries when I came across a post for an up-and-coming platform that might boost my network and land some new brand deals.

I then… ugh, how hard this is to admit, proceeded to spend HOURS setting up an account and climbing the tiers (more like, tears) when it finally occurred to me that setting up this platform was doing way more harm than good.

Not only did I waste time but I royally screwed up my social media accounts trying to link the two together. There I was, my Facebook account on the verge of getting banned and my (virtually) entire identity on some platform I had no use way of knowing was legit, realizing I may have just spent too much time setting up a software that wouldn’t serve me (as we Italians say) ugatz.

If I had let the nudge be louder than the pressure, I would have already known that the platform would compromise my editorial integrity…

It genuinely didn’t feel graceful at all.

It just felt… like a total waste of time.

Yet, when I was first introduced to the software, it promised big things. Just like when we get new ideas, new platforms, new business extensions, and perhaps even new partnerships.

Have you ever had the spark of an idea seem so promising, and yet quickly proved how unfruitful it could turn out to be?

Just a few months ago, I spent about two entire (18-hour) days trying to master HTML so I could launch a bangin’ Wordpress site for my ProseClub revamp. If it weren’t for a critical error in the code somewhere totally unknown to me, which explicitly f**ked the website, I would have probably devoted many more hours (and hundreds of dollars) to developing the theme.

It was only in hindsight, after a refund and a God-sized revelation, that I realized the idiocracy of starting a huge project on a platform (requiring expertise) I knew nothing about. Instead, I cried it out while waiting for the five hundred bucks to hit my bank account and then reinvested the difference into a platform (and skill) I already mastered.

You see, sometimes… SOMETIMES, sticking to what you’re really good at and passionate about is the best idea possible. Sure, we’d all like to diversify, and by all means, do learn a new trade. But there’s nothing quite like discerning a flashy new idea from a good and grounded one.

It’s easy to force yourself into productivity when you feel pressed by a creative slump. Starting something new can feel like doing something when… really, you’re doing nothing but wasting time and resources.

I grosely understand how promising a new platform or project can feel when you’ve been facing a creative downhill. But, trust me, not every idea bears fruit and a creative drought can be the perfect opportunity to do some pruning and planning in your business if you don’t follow the fast and flashy.

If, at the very least, you do find yourself in the same shoes I did… Just learn the lesson quickly and then write about it. Maybe, if anything, you’ll have a perfectly good light bulb moment for an article (or an Instagram post) about how not all business ideas are worth taking action on.

Either way,

Bonne chance x

What’s one idea you chased that looked promising… but turned out to be all flash, no fruit?

We’ve all had platform flops, costly distractions, or just plain bad business bets. Share yours below so we can laugh (or cry) together… and maybe learn from it too.

xx,

Sarah Elle

This is how I sign off on every message or email I trade between prospects. It doesn’t matter if I’m cold-outreaching press teams for brands and hotels I want to work with, or I’m replying to a long-time client email. The rhyme and the blessing I end every email with feels very Prose-esque.

I’ve been sending out quite a few inquiries lately, many of which are riddled with hope… and doubt that I’ll even get a reply. This feeling is pretty common when I aim higher than the usual. There’s a sense of deeply anointed expansion met with an equal feeling that I’ve threatened the very core of my comfort zone. No matter, I always click send with a ‘stay well’ and cross my fingers that every bold business move I make will be responded to with a new story to tell.

And I want to write about that—that sacred crossing of your fingers. About what it feels like to refresh your inbox a little too often. How quiet it can get after you take a big leap in business, whether you’re waiting for the magazine to confirm your placement, for the client to say yes, or the dream collaboration to write back.

If you’re in the middle of ‘stay well’ and your new story to tell, I have a little something for you. A piece, written from my very own experience, that will renew and rewrite the way you wait.

Ladies, you’ve done the work. You’ve accomplished just about everything on your list and you’ve walked in obedience while doing it. Sometimes, there’s just nothing left to do while you wait… but have more faith. That the message will land with the right people. Your inquiry will be met by an eager representative. The client is rounding up the resources to pay for your creations.

This sacred in-between—let us call it the ‘pause before the promotion’—can be the moment you rest in God’s incoming testimony… or the very undoing of your hard work.

Just moments ago, I was stuck between paragraphs. I felt the inkling to write a new article, but the waiting between the last emails I sent and the ‘will this work, is this even worth it’ became too intense for me that I literally froze between words in a paragraph. But, mark my words, it was at that very moment, I chose.

I knew that I had just undergone a massive creative leap in my business. I accomplished things I never have in my decade of publishing. I took leaps, sent inquiries, and expanded my press in ways only the good Lord could take credit for. But in the moments of waiting after the send—that’s when I realized that the pause was not a rejection (unlike everything in my mind was burning to prove). This was the perfect in-between to test my faith. To show me everywhere I lacked conviction and let the silence scare me instead of sanctify me

In these moments, it’s easy to forget all the ways it’s worked out before. It’s easier to recall all the instances where things didn’t work out and you failed.

Luckily, my discernment has been shaped like diamonds over the year that’s unraveled. My trust has been refined in too many ways to give up now. And even though I was in the middle of the greatest temptation to spiral—to refresh my inbox, overthink my outreach, and doubt my worth entirely—I remembered that faith isn’t an option right now. It’s a necessary discipline if I want to keep moving forward. And while the answer hasn’t arrived yet, “They [who] wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength…” – Isaiah 40:31

And that I did. [Between us, I turned on a sermon and took a nap.]

Now, like I said, waiting isn’t glamorous. It’s not an upscale article about how your tears are like diamonds, and it certainly doesn’t feel like a radiant self-care routine. As much as I love writing about which silks and linens make the wait more comfortable, when you’re in the thick of it, nothing feels editorial about the doubts you face.

… But, there is something beautiful about them.

There is an opportunity to stay open to possibilities when ‘trusting the timing’ isn’t working out too well.

Of all people, I understand the heartbreak of unanswered emails, declined pitches, and the fear of failing yet again. I also know about those spontaneous $10k client payments in first class, waking up from a nap to a new brand deal, and celebrating number one bestseller on a five-star resort.

So, let this be your reminder that God is always working on things you can’t see. Someone, right this moment (while you’re doubting yourself), could be forwarding your pitch to their boss. A prospect somewhere could be bookmarking your website. A follower you haven’t met yet is saving your posts for later. God is always doing the most behind the scenes. So don’t let your faith and, more importantly, your self-worth shake during the wait of what will come through. Prepare yourself and brand like the answer is already on its way, baby girl. Take the actions you’re called to… even if that action is taking a nap and trusting a little deeper.

And when you’re met with those inevitable doubts, try to acquaint them with peace, faith, and above all, hope. Your hope in these moments is what allows you to move forward during the pause. Gracefully. Instead of sowing seeds of doubt or obsessing about the harvest, water your trust.

The thing we’re waiting for is rarely ever going to come through the way we expect it. The email response will land softly. It will be a quick moment and then it will be over. You’ll feel the thrill of a secured deal, and the moment will pass. You’ll be onto the next inquiry in no time. And, just like that, you’ll be in the in-between all over again. So learn to make the wait more sacred than the yes, and you’ll unlock the secret to staying well between the send and the story.

Signing off, so… Stay well, ladies.

What bold pitch or prayer have you sent lately—without knowing if it would land?

Whether it’s a client inquiry, a press outreach, or a brand collaboration request… I want to know: what leap have you taken recently that required a little more faith than usual? Let’s normalize the waitlist before the win.

xx
Sarah Elle, Editor in Chief of Prose Club

As a writer, I’m always looking for new ways to get inspired, new life experiences to write my next editorial, and big lessons that demand being shared. But as any creative woman knows, sometimes the well runs dry. And on those days, when you’re softening into the next level (instead of grinding through it), these are my essentials.

For me, it’s a London fog.

Something about the floral and sugar-free vanilla combo is everything I need to relax and feel like an editor-in-chief again. So, a quick trip to the local café or late-night ride to the Starbucks drive-through becomes less about caffeine and more about reclaiming a moment of elegance.

It’s not like every time you need inspiration you can book a flight or five-star hotel (even though we might wish!). And from the bottom of my creative heart, sometimes—I can’t believe I’m saying this—sometimes, even fashion isn’t enough. There are only so many “What’s in my bag” lists, seasonal style guides, and skincare routines I can write before they all seem repetitive and uninspired.

This is when a $10 bill can go further than any business investment ever could. Sure, I could book a facial, a massage, a hair appointment, and—best in show—a pedicure. And yes, I highly recommend investing in your creative potential. But if it’s too last-minute, or your writing well has gone dry in the middle of the night, there is genuinely nothing more inspiring than a quick trip to Starbucks.

Sometimes your inner editor needs a classic power suit, a slicked-back bun, and a penthouse view to bang out the best you can get. Other days, it’s baggy jeans, an oversized Prose hoodie, and a Starbucks latte to write what could not otherwise be found in your creative depths.

For those days, take it slow. Write from the sugar-free vanilla on your tastebuds and deepen into the warmth of your “What are you staring at?” hoodie. Put on some 1920s jazz on a record player, rest in the comfort of your bed or couch, and let life write an article through you.

These are the edits that remind women that it’s better to slow down than to speed up when your creative reservoir runs low. There’s nothing to prove, nothing to force, and trust me, not even the best ChatGPT prompts could write a decent piece if you’re running on fumes. So, slow down, woman. Breathe a little. Rest. Go out for your favorite latte. Sit in the coffee shop or bask in the rainy drive ahead of you. Let life refill your cup. Open the window, let the breeze touch your skin, and remind you of what God feels like again. Better yet, throw on a hoodie, notice the room around you, acknowledge how wonderful this moment is… and let life write a new story for you.

What about you, creative?

What are you working on this week—an article, a brand refresh, a half-finished Substack draft you’re pretending doesn’t exist? And when the well runs dry… What’s your creative pick-me-up? Is it a vanilla latte? A drive with jazz? Maybe even a hoodie and a walk through your favorite bookstore?

Drop it in the comments below.

xx

Sarah Elle, Editor-in-Chief

No voice.
No miracle.
Just the desert.

I prayed for glory and got the grave.
I asked to be chosen and was handed a cross.
I thought I had finally made it—finally arrived at the promise.
And instead, He buried me.

This doesn’t feel like pruning.
It feels like punishment.

I thought this season would prove He keeps His word.
That He has seen my faith.
That He has seen my tears.
That I was finally done suffering.

But it only proved how little I understand Him.
How far His ways are from mine.
How quiet He becomes when I’m most afraid He’ll leave.

Right now, this just feels like dying.
Like carrying my cross, being nailed to it.
I’m at the part where I feel like God has forsaken me.

This is the worst kind of silence.
The kind where Jesus looks up and wonders where God even is.
It feels like punishment, denial—like I’ve done something I can’t reverse.

I feel like I’m pleading to God for a second chance.
To undo what I did.
To restore how it was.

And all He gives me is the valley.

I have no idea—no sight—no even thought of a resurrection right now.
All I feel—all that’s consumed me—is the pain.

I’m not here to imagine anymore.
Not to hope.
Not to dream.
Nothing.

I will take life as He gives it to me.
Period.
I’m done fighting with Him.

I’ve surrendered the moment.
The future.
The promise.
Control.
Faith.
Hope.
My life.

I am beyond grief.
Beyond ending.
Beyond done.
Beyond shattered.

I feel forsaken.
And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe sometimes, we don’t give our lives to God—so He has to take it.
He has to nail us to the cross anyway.
Because only He knows what comes after.

So I will cry until I bleed.
I will let it kill me if it must.
I will not avoid feeling the cross.

I will feel every drop of blood,
every moment of the nail through my life,
the screaming, the pleading—
why have You forsaken me?

Let it take everything from me.
Because what’s left—if anything—is God.

This is not faith from sight.
This is faith from despair.
From having nothing left to bargain with.

No hopes.
No plans.
No performance.

Only breath,
surrender.
Only the moment—without escape.

So let it be said:
I have been nailed to my cross.
And still, God will use me for His glory.

My scars say: I have been humbled.

I don’t know what He’s doing.
But for the first time…
I’ll let Him.

Even when I feel nothing.
Even when I trust nothing.
Even when I hate everything.

I’ll take one breath at a time.
One step at a time.
Not out of effort—but out from the cave.

I am not who I was.
That woman is dead.

I don’t need a miracle.
I need a resurrection, God.

So here it is:
I have no strength left to make things happen.
No energy left to hope for anything.
No illusion left to carry.

I have been nailed to this life.
To this ache.
To this slow and painful dying.

Let it strip me of everything.
Let it pierce me where it hurts.
Let it take me down to dust.

Because even now…
Even here…
Even in this—His promise is good.

Not because I see it,
but because I’ve lost everything else.
Not because I trust it,
but because mine broke me.

Still… if my scars could speak.
What they would say is not pretty, not powerful, not poetic—

They would say:

I have been nailed to my cross and crucified.
But I will rise because I have died.

I don’t know what He’s doing.
I don’t know if I’ll ever understand.
I don’t know if I’ll ever feel close to Him again.

But for the first time…
I will let Him.

Even when I feel nothing.
Even when I trust nothing.
Even when I hate everything.

Because the cross didn’t end with pain.
It ended with resurrection.

And maybe, just maybe—
this is where mine begins.

Just a few months ago, I wrote about my stairmaster era. I summed it up as Gua Sha for the body. It’s safe to say I thought I had found my thing. It would have never occurred to me that simulating Fushimi Inari wouldn’t be enough to keep me from seeking workout thrills somewhere else. As if Kyoto temples and endless stairs could keep me from finding… the Arc.

Not de Triomphe.
Not of the Covenant—though bless me with a good gospel playlist on Spotify and it’s somewhat akin to that.

Nope. This is the Arc Trainer.

It’s been weeks now—working up a triple sweat at the beginning or end of my workouts with this totally exotic machine. The women’s section at the gym just got a whole new facelift, and these machines are the new filler and cat-eye Botox of my workouts.

At first, it felt very similar to Elle Woods working out in her dorm room—kind of iconic. But then the other settings kicked in: Glide, Stride, Climb. That’s when it hit me—this machine wasn’t just cardio. It was contour. Each setting felt like a different sculpt. Glide to warm up. Stride to lock in. Climb to lift and burn.

It’s low-impact, but don’t be fooled—it works everything. Legs, core, arms. The sweat is real. The results are even better. And here’s where it gets really good:

Calories:

OK, let’s talk calories. I think the main reason I ever started the stairmaster was because it burned more calories per hour and was less harsh on the muscles. Trust me, I love a good sprint, but it does take my calves a couple of extra days to recover from the cramps.

This machine? It left me with virtually no soreness. I could go way longer without losing my breath. And guess what—it burned like 3x the calories in half the time. As much as I love the mental challenge of the stairmaster, this feels like fun, and it’s so much more rewarding when you see those calorie numbers shoot up in a fraction of the time.

There’s something so satisfying about a good sweat. You know the kind—when sweat starts to bead down your cleavage and you’ve got that rosy glow… or that downright crazy person look. Nothing says “I had a good workout” like being drenched at the end.

Cardio—like a sprint without the impact.

You know that high you get after a really good sprint? The Arc Trainer somehow gives you all of that—without the impact that usually wrecks your joints. You can push your heart rate up, break a solid sweat, and still walk out of the gym without feeling like your knees or calves are going to wipe you out of the game. Speed, resistance, incline—it’s all adjustable. You can literally sprint, glide, and climb all in one seamless motion. It’s basically cardio... but make it sexy.

Strength training—without the bulky weights.

I’ve graduated from my gym rat era. I no longer take pride in how heavy I can lift or how long I can stay at the gym. I’ve had my fair share of injuries and sciatica to make me seriously re-evaluate my health choices. And not to mention—the bulk. I am so beyond the bulk.

These days, I want a body that’s soft but fit, strong but curvy—a pilates-lean kind of body with curves in all the right places. And this machine seems to blend exactly that: strength and resistance training, disguised as cardio.

It’s a full-body workout that tones without tearing you apart. Sculpted arms, toned legs, a tighter core, and a plump booty—without picking up seventy-pound barbells. It's like getting the best of both worlds.

Toning—you can feel the resistance.

This workout isn’t mindless movement. From the first few strides, you can feel it—your muscles engaging, your body responding. There’s a burn that builds with each motion, like your glutes, thighs, arms, and core are all working together.

I can go longer without feeling out of breath, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. It’s just balanced. The smooth resistance of the Arc Trainer climbs while it challenges and sculpts while it strides. It really feels like more than just cardio—it’s a full-body experience. You leave feeling lighter, but stronger.

We all have our specific gym days. Whether you’re a scheduled girly like “On Wednesdays we wear booty” or more of a go-with-my-body-flow kind of gal, the Arc Trainer really feels like it fits everything into one workout.

It’s like doing squats, legs, kickbacks, arm extensions—and if you put a little extra love into it, it can even be a perfect ab workout. Whether you choose to start your workouts with 15 to 20 minutes and then go into a power pump, or spend your entire session on this sacred arc of the... Trainer, I assure you—this machine is worth your workout.

Once you’ve found your groove—and trust me, you will—it’s impossible not to start experimenting. The Arc begs for a little drama. A little flair. A little you. It’s not just about going through the motions; it’s about making the workout feel like yours.

So if you’re feeling bold (and you should be), here are a few of my favorite ways to turn a good session into a great one:

Little Things That Make a Big Burn:

• Standing mountain climbers: Do 20/20+ by placing your hands on the water bottle or phone rest—it’s like standing mountain climbers. Keep good posture, engage that core, and if you’re in the women’s section... stick that booty out.

• Grab some light weights at the beginning of your workout:

  • Triceps + biceps—like a hot girl walk, but make it hot girl strides.

  • Overhead pulldowns—single or both arms—time them to each stride.

• Play with speeds and intensities for different zones and a better burn.

• Play your absolute favorite jams (yes, I said it). Pre-pick a playlist that lights you on fire.

• And last but not least—don’t be afraid to look funny. Just go for it. People are already self-conscious at the gym—give them a reason not to be. Be the fool in the room. Work up a sweat. Listen to your favorite songs. Heck—sing along with them. (I do.)

One of my favorite parts of today’s workout—and probably the cherry on top of this whole article—was that after an intense and very sweaty session, a girl actually stopped me to ask what perfume I was wearing. Total surprise, because I thought I smelled like sweat. But she stopped me to ask what perfume I had on. It was Delina by Parfums de Marly.

So yes—I’ve done the stairmaster era, flirted with free weights, and lived to tell the tale of gym injuries and bulk regret. But this? This is my soft era. Strong, sculpted, low-impact, full-body bliss—with enough room to glow, gospel, and groove.

If you’ve been craving a new workout or just a new way to feel like you again in the gym—try the Arc. Add the music, add the movement, and don’t forget the perfume. You never know who might stop you mid-sweat to ask what you’re wearing. (Delina by Parfums de Marly, obviously.)

See you on the Arc. xx