Author: Saba Javed

A Fire Escape and a Tube of Gloss: The Beginning I can still see that humid summer night in 2012, perched on the fire escape of my cramped Brooklyn apartment, the kind where the metal rungs scorched your skin if you lingered too long. I was 22, freshly heartbroken, the city buzzing below with taxis and laughter while I sat unraveling, mascara smudged. My roommate, Jess, found me, wordlessly handing me her bodega-bought cherry lip gloss, sticky but shimmering. I swiped it on, catching the streetlight’s glow on my lips, and for a moment, I felt pieced together. That tube…

A Moment That Stayed I can still see that foggy London morning in 2012, the city alive with Olympic buzz. I was weaving through crowds near Buckingham Palace, a damp newspaper under my arm, when I glimpsed Princess Anne on a pub TV. She strode across the equestrian field, her red hair catching light like a quiet flame, all focus, no fanfare. Coffee spilled on my sleeve as I stopped, struck by a question: Who is this woman, so steady in the storm? That image of Princess Anne, the Princess Royal, lodged in my heart, a spark I return to…

A Pink Wig and a Sticky Summer I can still see that summer afternoon in 2005, sprawled on the living room carpet, the old fan wheezing against the heat. My little cousin was glued to the TV, and I was half-watching, half-melting into the couch with a bowl of drippy ice cream. Then, like a spark, Stephanie from LazyTown burst onto the screen, her pink wig blazing under those studio lights. “Bing Bang!” she sang, and suddenly the room felt lighter, like her energy could lift us off the floor. I remember laughing, thinking, how does this LazyTown Stephanie make…

A Mirror Moment That Changed Everything I remember that chilly fall morning in 2018, scarf wrapped tight, staring into the chipped bathroom mirror of our old Victorian house. I was 52, and my skin, once so easy to please with any drugstore foundation, was starting to talk back. Fine lines around my eyes earned from squinting through sunsets on family beach trips felt okay, but the dryness, the way powders sank into creases like dust in forgotten corners, stung. Wiping off the caked matte stuff, I felt bare and wondered, “Is this it? Do I just accept these lines?” That…

A Memory That Sticks It was a crisp October afternoon in 2018, leaves piling gold outside my Brooklyn apartment. I was 24, reeling from a breakup that left my confidence threadbare, scrolling Shopbop for something to wear like armor. A silk blouse caught my eye, but the price stung until a forgotten email revealed a Shopbop promo code for 15% off. Clicking “apply” felt like a small rebellion, turning a splurge into self-care. I remember thinking, as the order confirmed, how these little discounts can feel like lifelines, stitching you back together one deal at a time. Now, in October…

That First Sweltering Summer I can still feel the weight of that July morning in 2019, stepping out of my shoebox apartment in Boston, my blouse already sticking to my back before I reached the T. I was twenty-four, new to my editorial assistant job, and thought looking professional meant suffering in stiff blazers and heavy slacks. By lunch, I was a mess, fanning myself with a dog-eared notebook, wondering if this was the price of belonging. That day, I vowed to find summer work outfits that let me breathe without dimming my spark. Now, in October 2025, as the…

A Mirror Moment That Changed Everything I remember that crisp fall morning in 2018, leaves crunching underfoot like whispered secrets, as I stood before my bathroom mirror. I’d just turned 52, and the faint lines under my eyes seemed to have deepened overnight. My old full coverage concealer, once a trusty friend, now betrayed me, settling into those lines like cracks in dry earth. I thought, why does this feel so wrong? Makeup was meant to lift, not highlight every new crease. That moment sparked my quiet hunt for the best concealer for mature skin, something that would honor my…

A Mirror and a Moment I can still see it: a rainy October afternoon in 2018, the kind where the air smells like wet leaves and second chances. I’d just walked away from a relationship that left me feeling like a shadow of myself, and I stumbled into a tiny makeup shop, jazz humming softly from a corner speaker. My hands, almost on their own, reached for a tube of sexy red lipstick a cheap drugstore matte red lipstick that promised staying power through tears or triumphs. In the dim bathroom mirror, I swiped it on, and there I was:…

The Morning That Shifted Everything It was a sticky summer morning in 2018, the kind where the air feels heavy with secrets. I leaned over my bathroom sink, splashing cold water on my face to shake off a sleepless night. The sunlight slanted through the window, catching my reflection, and there they were faint dark spots on my forehead and cheek, like uninvited guests. They weren’t just blemishes; they felt like markers of time I hadn’t noticed slipping by, of sunburned days and forgotten sunscreen. I stood there, towel in hand, thinking, “How did I let these creep up?” It…

The Day My Feet Begged for Mercy I’ll never forget that scorching July day in 2018, when the New York pavement seemed to radiate heat like a griddle. I was hustling from a Midtown meeting to a lunch date downtown, my feet trapped in leather pumps I’d snagged because they screamed summer work shoes in the boutique window. By the fourth block, blisters were forming, and I was limping, muttering to myself about bad choices. I ducked into a café, fumbling with Band-Aids from my bag, and swore I’d find summer shoes women could actually wear shoes that carried me…