Sometimes I feel slightly misplaced in time…

Not because I don’t love the present — but because my instincts have always leaned towards things that are slower, more deliberate, more detailed. I’ve never been drawn to what’s loud. I have always been drawn to what’s thoughtful.

I’ve always been a romantic for the details.

I love old silverware. Real silver — slightly tarnished in the grooves of patterns, softened at the edges from years of polishing. The kind of silverware that doesn’t perfectly match because it was gathered slowly overtime. When you set a table with silver, even the simplest dinner feels elevated. It feels intentional. It feels like someone cared enough to make the ordinary beautiful.

My admiration for fine silverware came from core memories of the holidays growing up — long tables, candles burning low, adults lingering in conversation, the weight of a real fork in my hand while everything felt a little more important. Even then, I understood that details made a moment feel meaningful.

I love pearls — simple, classic, resting quietly at the collarbone. Silk hair scarves tied carefully. Structured coats. Lipstick applied slowly, not rushed. Style used to feel composed. Romantic without trying too hard.

Some of my favorite memories — and still one of my favorite rides — is driving in my father’s red vintage Alfa Romeo stick shift convertible. He still has it. Still takes it out in the summer. Top down. The kind of red that glows in the sun. It was never just a car, it was a feeling. The sound, the warmth, the way the moment stretched a little longer than expected. And every summer when he drives it again, it feels like proof that some things — the well-made, the well-loved are meant to last…

That’s what I’m drawn to — detail.

I love vintage watches, that ones that hold their weight. Leather straps that soften over time, old Rolexes with smaller faces and clean dials. A watch you wind. A watch that ticks. Something mechanical, crafted with intention.

I love old music recorded with real musicians — pianos you can actually hear, strings layered behind a voice that feels human. Songs that mean what they say.

And then there’s film… Films like Breakfast at Tiffany’s — not just about the black dress or pearls, but the restraint. The quiet longing… The way a glance can carry more weight than a speech. Romance wasn’t chaotic, it unfolded.

Romance used to look like this:

Flowers brought to your door.

Walking around to open the car.

Calling the landline and asking if she’s home.

Handwritten notes folded carefully and tucked away into coat pockets.

Because I believe in craftmanship. In patience. In virtue. In setting the table properly. In winding the watch. In choosing the good silver.

I believe love shows up in the smallest gestures.

In the weight of a fork. In the pause before someone speaks. In the sound of a piano instead of a beat drop. In flowers being handed to you instead of delivered by an algorithm.

I don’t actually want to live in another decade.

I just want to carry the details with me.

Because being romantic isn’t about the grand gestures. It’s about noticing…

And I’ve always been someone who notices.

As Audrey Hepburn once said, “Elegance is the only beauty that never fades.”

– One Business Day