The author holding tightly onto her frankly Titanic survivor-vibed flotation device because SOMEONE’s algo served her too many videos about the giant creepy catfish lurking at the bottom of the river. Photographed by Rose, who always takes the best pictures. (2025)
I just got back from sneaking off to Paris for a few days with friends—not, we shudderingly agreed, as a “girls’ trip” per se, but more as a collective choice to intentionally overlap in one place between everyone’s end-of-summer travel. Rose and Ginger were in Paris already anyway, and Adrian was heading to Chamomix after; it took Michelle a mere morning to fly in from Berlin. For five delightfully Type A women in our thirties, it turned out that a little strategic positioning did wonders for an actually chill group vacation...
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