Author: Saba Javed
That Sticky Summer of 2002 It’s 2002, and I’m fifteen, sprawled on my bed, the air thick with summer humidity. A creaky fan spins above as I flip through Seventeen magazine. My Walkman blares Avril Lavigne’s “Complicated,” and the pages show girls in low-rise jeans and tiny crop tops. I stare at Britney Spears in a pink velour tracksuit, thinking, “This is how you stand out.” Early 2000s fashion felt like a secret code to confidence. Now, flipping through old photos, I see why 2000s style is back it’s raw, real, and unfiltered. Low-Rise Jeans and Big Dreams Those early…
A Rainy Day Snip I can still feel that drizzly October afternoon in 2023, leaves clinging to my boots, the air heavy with autumn’s sigh. I stood in my cramped apartment bathroom, scissors trembling in my hand, staring at my reflection. My long, straight hair felt like a curtain I hid behind safe, but stifling. I’d been lost in photos of wolf cut women online, drawn to their wild, layered energy, a hairstyle wolf cut that looked like it could breathe. I tied my hair into a ponytail, snipped once, twice, and watched the strands fall. Messy, yes, but electric.…
A Memory in the Mirror I remember that rainy October afternoon in 2015, my tiny apartment filled with the soft patter of rain against the window. I’d just ended a relationship, and my ex’s words echoed: my long, tangled hair made me look stuck. Scissors in hand, I stared at my reflection, wondering if a chop could free me. That was when I realized hair styles are more than strands they’re chapters of who we are. Now, in October 2025, flipping through old photos, I feel that same pull. Hair holds memories, doesn’t it? A cool haircut can make you…
A Memory That Lingers I can still picture that rainy spring afternoon, wandering through a Seattle department store, the kind with marble floors that echoed my footsteps. I was twenty-something, a little lost, convinced a good perfume could stitch together the frayed edges of my day. That’s when I found Daisy by Marc Jacobs, its playful daisy-capped bottle winking at me. One spritz strawberry, violet, a whisper of musk and I was hooked. It trailed me through damp commutes and hopeful first dates, a scent that felt like a secret I was finally ready to share. Now, in October 2025,…
A Lipstick Lifeline in Brooklyn I can still see that rainy afternoon in Brooklyn, 2020, my laptop glowing in my cramped apartment. Jobless after the coffee shop shut down, I scrolled MAC Cosmetics’ site, craving escape. A tube of Ruby Woo caught my eye, but the price stung until a MAC coupon code for free shipping popped up. That small win, that slash in the total, felt like permission to breathe. When the lipstick arrived, swiping it on in my dim bathroom mirror was like donning armor. Now, in October 2025, chasing MAC promo codes still sparks that same quiet…
A Rainy Morning Memory I remember that morning like it was etched into the steam on the coffee shop window. It was a drizzly October day in 2023, the kind where New York hums its secrets, gray skies blending with golden leaves skittering across sidewalks. I was twenty-eight, standing outside a Village café, hands deep in my wool coat pockets, waiting for Alex. Six years together fire escape talks, quiet mornings had led to this: a New York courthouse wedding, just us and a witness we’d found online. That flutter in my chest wasn’t nerves but wonder, the city’s pulse…
A Faded Blouse and First Days I still remember that crisp October morning in 2018, leaves turning rusty orange outside my tiny Seattle apartment. I was twenty-four, fresh from college, clutching an environmental engineering degree that felt more like a question than an answer. My hands trembled as I buttoned a faded blue blouse thrifted, slightly sheer, the only “professional” thing I owned. Paired with black slacks that pinched, it was my armor for a first interview at a construction firm in Everett. Staring in the mirror, I wondered: Do I look like I belong in a meeting room, or…
The Snapshot That Started It All I found an old photo in my grandmother’s attic in 2012, edges curling, showing her in a crisp blouse and pencil skirt. She wasn’t famous, just a small-town girl with big dreams, her chignon radiating quiet confidence. Sitting here in October 2025, coffee cooling on the windowsill, I wonder if that’s where my love for fashion icons began. Those women who turned fabric into stories, their style lingering long after trends faded. Why do I cling to that oversized sweater when I crave a style icon’s poise? It’s strange how one image can spark…
That Rainy Night My Lashes Betrayed Me It was a damp October evening in 2019, the kind where rain blurs the city lights into a soft haze. I was getting ready for a date at an indie film festival, wanting to look effortlessly chic. My natural lashes, though, were short and stubborn, barely there. In a rush, I grabbed drugstore glue-on lashes, my first mistake. The glue was a disaster sticky on my fingers, smudged on my cheek. Halfway through the movie, one corner lifted, and I pressed it down, mortified. I remember thinking, “Why can’t this be easier?” That…
A Rainy Day in Paris I remember that rainy Paris afternoon, wandering alone after a breakup, the city’s charm my only comfort. The wet cobblestones gleamed, and I slipped into a narrow building near the Seine, drawn by a faded sign for a Parisian flat. It was modest, tucked between grander structures, but inside, it felt like stepping into a memory. High ceilings with delicate moldings and creaky herringbone floors spoke of another time. That moment stirred a longing for modern French apartment living blending the past’s warmth with today’s ease. In that Parisian flat, I felt a timeless interior…