How does curiosity show up in your everyday life ?

Curiosity is a central tenet of how I approach almost everything. From deciding what to make for dinner to pursuing a romantic connection, it’s the common denominator. Many of the best things I’ve eaten, watched, or discovered about myself began because I saw, smelled, or felt something that made me wonder: What is that? How does that exist? And why am I only just finding out about it?

I think the moment you shut out the possibility of chasing that kind of wonder, you stop existing in a fully formed way—at least for me.

I can’t think of a time I wasn’t curious. When I was little, I’d sit in the backseat of my mom’s car and ask about everything I saw outside the window. Sometimes she’d GIVE AN answer, but other times she’d say, “I don’t know—why do you think it’s that way?” Those were my favorite moments because they opened the door to storytelling. If I saw a man on a tricycle holding a cat, I’d invent a whole story around him: He was on his way to the vet, but his car got towed, so he borrowed his daughter’s bike to make it to the appointment on time.

In fashion, that sense of wonder shows up as what I call “happy accidents.” Early on, I’d make beginner mistakes—like sewing a sleeve on upside down—and instead of seeing that as an error, I’d follow the thread. Curiosity helps me find beauty and novelty in the unexpected. It’s an incredible tool, one that pairs beautifully with mistakes and allows you to build stories around the prompts the universe gives you.

How has following your curiosity opened doors to connection?

I owe curiosity for about two-thirds of the relationships I’ve built over the past ten years. Sometimes it’s because the other person is curious too; other times it’s because I’m curious about them. I’m drawn to people whose perspectives are completely different from mine. Those relationships can be transformative.

I can usually tell when curiosity is something a person lives by. My litmus test is simple: if you’re reading something and see a word you don’t know, do you look it up or keep going and guess from context? You can tell a lot about someone from that answer. Personally, if I don’t look up the word, my brain shuts off—I need to know the thing that was, just moments ago, a stranger to me.

Finding community hasn’t always been easy. Many creatives know that feeling. Sometimes connections fizzle, sometimes distance gets in the way—and that’s all fine. But occasionally, curiosity leads you to people who value perception over substance. As I’ve centered my attention on people who feel genuinely interesting to me, I’ve learned to recognize when curiosity is performative versus sincere. That distinction has saved me from relationships that drain more than they give.

It’s also taught me to take my time when letting people into my world. I’ve never been good at seeing someone for what they can help me achieve—it’s just not how I’m wired. It’s noble in theory but not always practical. Still, I’d rather build something real with someone I like than chase an only transactional connection.

Do you remember the magazine that started it all for you?

A tale as old as time: a budding designer lost in glossy pages, dreaming the future. As a teen who loved clothes—a shared trait among so many of us—I’d beg my parents for issues of Teen Vogue and Nylon while they got their flu shots at the pharmacy down the street. Those magazines marked the seasons for me; they were little rituals of discovery.

Nylon felt impossibly cool—edgy, punk, everything I wasn’t but wanted to be. A few years later, I fell for Harper’s Bazaar. Vogue was fine, but Bazaar’s images had this elegance and texture that felt profound to me at fourteen. When I got 9 Heads for Christmas at fifteen, everything changed. I spent hours teaching myself fashion illustration and analyzing runway collections, cross-referencing them with the now-defunct Elle Collections, which you could only find at real bookstores. Back then, fashion conversations were about the clothes, not the creative director shuffle, and I loved that purity of perspective—deciding for myself what resonated.

While magazines shaped my visual language, books became my long-term teachers. After 9 Heads, I started collecting fashion and art books obsessively. I’m now up to around 300, and I can’t wait for the day I have a library’s worth to share and reference—a personal archive built from curiosity itself.