One of the best things I’ve done for my mental health was to establish, very early on, mile-high guardrails around my social media consumption. I consider myself a fairly “online” person but, for years, my social media activity has been confined to Instagram and this blog (and Reddit, if we want to count that, though I am almost exclusively a lurker there). I am pretty active in those spaces but also, again, within a small and well-demarcated sphere. The content that I create and, more importantly, consume is centered on my hobbies: fashion, books, thrifting, interior design, needle crafts, and so on. As a rule, I don’t follow traditional influencers (that is, people whose job it is to sell things) nor engage with ‘serious’ topics, except through things reposted by friends whose accounts I follow because I value their perspectives. The current state of the internet being what it is, I have no desire to wade into it willy-nilly and risk inadvertently stepping into a cesspool. You never know what kind of brain-rot you might pick up.

One of the guardrails I put up years ago was to never look at my For You Page (FYP) on Instagram. In the early years of the app, the algorithm didn’t get me, and I certainly didn’t get it. My FYP seemed entirely unable to deliver me content that I wanted to see, so I quickly got into the habit of growing my feed in the same way I would its IRL counterpart – mostly by word of mouth. I followed a couple of OG style blogger friends and through their follows, discovered other people who had interesting things to say about personal style. Those people, in turn, might introduce me to others and, over time, my ‘network’ grew – slowly but organically. I also learned to be ruthless about culling accounts from my feed at the first indication that our vibes were not aligned or were beginning to diverge.

Lately, though, I’ve found myself going back to my FYP. I don’t remember how it started, and the algorithm must have changed a lot in the meantime, because I was suddenly offered a lot of content that spoke directly to my interests. Which is to say: thrifting Reels. I love seeing other people’s thrift finds! Well, I love pretty much any thrift-related content, but I am especially fond of “come thrift with me” videos that offer a glimpse into other cities’ thrift scenes. And so, I started spending more time scrolling through my FYP. For a short while, it was great: just lots of fun thrift content. But then I began to notice that the algorithm took to tossing random, non-thrift Reels into the mix … and if I watched one (instead of immediately nope-ing out), it would begin to pump more of the same into my FYP. Suddenly, we had a power struggle going on.

Here’s the thing: a lot of Reels these days are quite slick and, natural curiosity being what it is, it’s easy to get sucked into watching something that you wouldn’t voluntarily seek out on your own. And while you might have no desire to subsequently watch anything like it again, it’s too late: the algorithm is convinced that you do, and that it must give it to you. You have to constantly ‘train’ and ‘retrain’ it on what it is that you actually want to be shown. I’ve started to think of the algorithm as a particularly recalcitrant toddler who must be told the rules over and over again, only to follow them for 5 minutes before running amok again. I hate it but I also found it oddly amusing … at first.

See, I thought I was in control. I was, after all, the one setting the rules. I consider myself media-literate. What harm could there be in seeing, now and again, some content that I didn’t care about? Well, it turns out, more than I realized.

At 44, I have a pretty good relationship with myself, and my body. I am proud of that because I worked f*cking HARD for it. For years. And it is hugely important in helping me navigate the changes that are part of getting older – the good and the bad. It’s a privilege to grow old, but it isn’t always easy; not in a society that has a pathological obsession with youth. I thought I was doing okay. Most of the time, I feel ageless, and what I mean by that is: I don’t feel myself defined by my age. The body, of course, carries its own clock, but I find that age is, for the most part, a state of mind. I didn’t feel 44, so when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see 44. Until one day, a few months ago, when I looked and suddenly saw myself looking, well, old.

At first, I blamed it on perimenopause wreaking more of its particular kind of havoc on my face. But it was strange. I hadn’t noticed a gradual change; it was more like a falling off a cliff. Had it been gradual, and had I, somehow, just been blind to it before? Or was there a sudden and dramatic downturn? Is that how getting old happens – not a gentle slide but an avalanche? I was swarmed by anxiety-riddled questions and oppressed by the knowledge that I’d have to figure out how to come to terms with answers that I might not like. The idea of losing what I had worked so hard to achieve – being comfortable and content in my own skin – was intolerable. I knew I had a problem, and I knew I was the problem.

And I was right, but not in the way I originally thought.

There was nothing different in the mirror, and nothing wrong with my eyesight. I had just watched one too many makeup videos on Instagram.

Once the algorithm decided that I was suddenly interested in beauty-related topics, the floodgates opened. Dermatologists talking about various cosmetic procedures. Random women talking about facial massage. Other random women talking about facial exercises. Gen Z girls talking about the mindboggling array of makeup products required for a ‘no makeup’ look. And endless talking heads breaking down how Lindsay Lohan and Demi Moore are aging backwards, Benjamin Button-style.

So many images of women’s faces coming right at my eyeballs. Every single one of them filtered.

It clicked, eventually. The number of faces I was seeing, up close, online was far exceeding the number of faces I was seeing, equally close, in real life. I’m an introvert, for one thing, so I don’t tend to see a lot of people on a regular basis offline. And when I do, I tend not to put my face right up to theirs, close enough to count their pores. It’s not considered good manners. I’m sure that, if I did, I would observe a wide variety of skin textures. Online, skin texture does not exist. It has been filtered out of reality. On top of whatever expensive skincare, procedures, and makeup they may have, people posting algorithm-favoured Reels are using impressively sophisticated video-editing tools that allow them to control their images in much the same way that celebrities have done for decades. And the impact of those images is correlated to the volume being consumed. The more you see it, the more it ends up feeling like a norm. The more you end up feeling like a freakish outlier.

Now and again – but much, much, much, much less frequently than its opposite – I come across a Reel that shows a woman my age (or older) whose face is unfiltered and unretouched. And I experience the shock of recognition. I’ve seen something similar before. In my own mirror. But here’s the kicker: after a stream of poreless faces, it feels jarring to suddenly see skin texture. Having that reaction to social media content made me realize that I had, inadvertently, turned my own face into a jump scare. There was no hidden time bomb primed to go off right after my 44^th birthday. My face looks the same now as it did a few months ago. I didn’t need a new face cream or a visit to the dermatologist; I just needed to take my social media goggles off.

I’ll leave you with this proposition, which has never steered me wrong when I’ve remembered to hold myself to it: if you find yourself feeling bad about something in your life, don’t take it for truth and rush to fix it; instead, first ask yourself why. Only when we know why we feel bad can we properly decide what we ought to do about it. If the answer is “social media”, you can be sure that the solution will not be found in anything you do offline, but in how and what you consume online.

Details: J. Crew shirt, Banana Republic tie, Fred Perry cardigan, Ralph Lauren skirt, Fluevog shoes (all thrifted)

Thoughts: Jenna Lyons meets Thom Browne. I really need to learn to how to tie a tie because this is a look I def want more of this year. I love purple but struggle the most with it when it comes to colour pairings, but black and white are a fail-proof option when dealing with a “difficult” colour. I used to do a lot of graphic monochrome looks, but I’m now pivoting to this monochrome+accent colour formula. Keep an eye out for it, you’ll see more soon.

Details: Ann Taylor turtleneck, Giorgio Armani blazer, Donna Karan belt, Roksanda skirt (all thrifted)

Thoughts: I had to go to the office again recently, and this was my “trying to blend in” outfit. By that, I mean trying to look vaguely “corporate office worker” without entirely losing my personal flair. I always end up wanting to tone down by usual work attire (at home, anything goes!) when I go to the office, even though (a) I don’t see that many people, and (b) everyone knows me and knows what to expect from me, outfit-wise. It’s like this weird reflex slash relic of my pre-pandemic sartorial life. It does feel a lot more like I’m putting on a costume, rather than just wearing my inner thoughts on the outside (which is what my usual outfits feel like). It’s not a bad thing, necessarily; just a thing I’ve noticed that makes me go “huh, interesting”.

Details: Smash & Tess bodysuit tee, Jones NY jacket, UO pants, Anne Klein belt, Alexis Bittar necklace (all thrifted)

Thoughts: Funnily enough, this outfit is more or less in the same class as the one above, but I didn’t think to wear it at the office — probably because of the colour. Maybe I’ve just come to associate the office with somber neutrals, haha! Anyway, I love this shade of green so much and I was pumped to find this vintage-ish suede jacket for not a million dollars at the thrifts. Somebody at VV was off their pricing game that day, to which I say: suck it, I win!

Details: Ricki’s turtleneck, vintage sweatshirt and coat, Banana Republic jeans, Office London boots, Coach bag (all secondhand)

Thoughts: Jessica Fletcher remains one of my style icons, in case you couldn’t tell. Grandma’s couch florals will never not have a chokehold on my psyche, and the colours of this coat are so 90s, I can’t even. That burgundy and pine green combo? Classic. And it pairs beautifully with my Myrtle Beach vintage sweatshirt that I managed to wrest back from my daughter’s clutches recently. Not to mention my vintage green Coach. So matchy, so vibin’. JB would be proud, I think.

Details: Orvis shirt, Wilfred vest, Amaryllis jacket, Kate Hewko skirt, Chicwish skirt, Laredo boots (all secondhand)

Thoughts: The snow ruined my photos, but I didn’t let it ruin my outfit. I was going for a Vivienne Westwood-inspired, layered fit. And by layered, I mean layers — multiple. The key to surviving winter without losing my mind (by having to succumb to the dreaded winter parka) is to keep adding thin layers of cotton and wool (and tulle!) until my body temperature reaches “toasty”. Four usually does the trick, and doesn’t take me into Michelin Man territory.

Details: Ricki’s turtleneck, Abound jacket, Fossil belt, Banana Republic jeans, Office London shoes, Coach bag (all thrifted)

Thoughts: I almost bought a faux fur leopard print short coat at Winners after the holidays, but stopped myself because (a) it was $70 and made of plastic, (b) I am trying to not clothes shop at retail at all this year, and (c) I’m not sure I want to put much more money on leopard. Animal prints have never been my favourite and while I am digging leopard at the moment, I’m not sure if it will ever acquire “classic” status in my closet. That being said, I was ALL over this puffer jacket when I saw it at the thrifts; NWT and under $20 and it looked full of potential. And you know what? The potential is definitely there. I’m really digging it so far … and it’s only a matter of time before my daughter tries to steal it. Not that I’d blame her.

I don’t know about you, but I spent my Christmas holidays being extremely productive: I binge-watched every Jane Austen adaptation I could get my hands eyes on. I mean, that’s not all I did for 2 weeks, but that was one of the highlights. (On the off-chance that my family ever ends up reading my blog: hi, I also had fun hanging out with you.) At the end of that journey, I was naturally left with one question: which Austen hero is the best partner material?

You know me, friends: always asking the important questions.

And let me tell you.

No, really, allow me to tell you the answer … that is, my answers.

If you want to play along at home, here are the ground rules. To make it manageable, choices were preemptively limited to characters from the following adaptations: Pride and Prejudice (1995 mini series and 2005 movie), Sense and Sensibility (1995 movie and 2008 mini series), Emma (1996 movies [yes, there are 2], 2009 mini series, and 2020 movie), Persuasion (1995 movie, 2007 mini series), Mansfield Park (1999 movie), and Northanger Abbey (2008 movie). I made my decisions taking into account (a) the character’s personality as portrayed in each particular adaptation, without regard to its faithfulness to book canon; (b) a hypothetical scenario in which Present Day Adina is somehow transported back to 1815 and required to conform her expectations, as best as she can, to Regency era norms.

The eligible bachelors:

It’s a stacked line-up and, at first glance, picking one (and only one) option was hard. I have a lot of favourites, ok? If you are a woman of a certain age (cough, late Gen X who came of age in the mid- to late-90s, cough), Austen heroes are a part of the rock-bed of your romantic landscape. I mean, Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy alone launched a thousand and one impossible expectations, not to mention an entire multi-media cottage industry. Add in the fact that Austen adaptations have, thankfully, been very plentiful in the last 30 years, and the problem is compounded; for each hero, you have various flavours to choose from. I decided to tackle the question in 2 parts, then sort of collate the results and see who ended up on top. So to speak, ahem. And you know what? I ended up surprising myself. Which is a fun thing to do in your 40s – makes life a little bit more exciting.

Part One involved making a shortlist based on physical appeal alone. This entire exercise is subjective, of course, but perhaps no part more subjective than this. Don’t be mad at me if you disagree with my picks, which were (in no particular order):

That left me with the following protagonists to assess on personality and other individual considerations: Mr. Darcy (1995 and 2005), Edward Ferrars (2008), Col. Brandon (1995), Mr. Knightley (2010), Edmund Bertram, Henry Tilney, and Captain Wentworth (2009). In my deliberations, I kept in mind the totally unscientific but absolutely legit Black Cat, Golden Retriever Theory of Happy Marriage. For those of you who don’t meme, the idea is that, in every successful romantic relationship, there is one partner who is a black cat (introverted, quiet, emotionally reserved) and one partner who is a golden retriever (friendly, energetic, demonstratively affectionate). I, myself, am a black cat. Ergo, my ideal partner would be someone with golden retriever vibes. [Coincidentally, or rather not, my husband is a textbook golden retriever.]

So let’s break it all down.

• Mr. Darcy (1995): nice house, but too uptight. TOTAL black cat. As a teenager, I was obsessed with Firth’s Darcy, but I also had absolutely zero experience with marriage, obviously. Middle-aged me finds the prospect of day-to-day Darcy rather hard work, to be honest. Maybe, over a few decades, that man could learn to lighten up a bit more, but there’s no guarantee.

• Mr. Darcy (2005): even nicer house (that statue room, OMFG!), but a bit too emo for me. Also black cat-coded. I do think this Darcy would make a cozier husband. Like, I can imagine couch-potatoing in my sweatpants around him, or whatever the 1800s equivalent might have been, if you catch my drift.

• Edward Ferrars (2008): not quite as much of a wet blanket as the 1995 version, but still kind of reserved. On the other hand, he is really hot, especially while chopping wood (NOT a euphemism!) and I do have a weakness for hot, nerdy guys who can handle big tools (also not a euphemism). On the third hand, I can’t decide if the vibes are black cat or golden retriever, which doesn’t help. Ultimately, it does come down to this: can you see me as a vicar’s wife? I think not. Sorry, Edward.

• Col. Brandon (1995): devoted, loyal, mature, but also? Kinda has a lot of emotional baggage. I am very torn about this. I also realize that a good deal of Col. Brandon’s appeal (for me) boils down to Alan Rickman and Alan Rickman’s voice. It seems like an unfair advantage to allow that to sway the outcome here.

• Mr. Knightley (2010): rich and down-to-earth? Caring, considerate, thoughtful? And he has a sense of humour? And he gets along with my family and is willing to put up with their neuroses to make me happy? I don’t want to spoil the rest of this race, but you can probably tell where I am going with this.

• Edmund Bertram: how can I put this delicately? Edmund is a stone cold fox. Who also happens to be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud goody two shoes, but nobody’s perfect. That being said, the 1999 adaptation tones down book Edmund’s uptightness and his tendency to take Fanny for granted, and dials up the hints of repressed passion lurking beneath his reserved demeanor. (It’s a sexier movie than you remember, trust me.) However, at the end of the day, Edmund is ALSO a vicar and if we’re disqualifying Edward on that basis, we have to be consistent. Especially since I’m not convinced that Edmund is the type to swing an axe or know his way around a house DIY project.

• Henry Tilney: finally, a hero with undeniable golden retriever vibes. Charming, extroverted, kind, likes to tease affectionately, thinks he has superior taste in music/books/whatever … sounds familiar, actually. Out of all Austen men, Henry is probably the one most similar in temperament to my husband, which obviously counts for something in this game. But! And who would have seen this coming? He’s yet ANOTHER clergyman. Sigh.

• Captain Wentworth (2009): if you had asked me a month ago, this would have been my pick for the best Austen husband material. Loyal, hard-working, successful but not arrogant about it, and capable of writing a letter than people are still swooning over 200 years later? Sign. Me. Up. Ok, he’s also a bit grumpy and a champion grudge-holder, but, well, so is my husband if you catch him on a bad day. All that being said, here’s what hit me after watching the 1995 adaptation, which doesn’t gloss over this bit as much as the 2007 mini-series: this dude is career navy. He will almost certainly be going back to sea at some point. And I am even less a navy wife than I am a vicar’s wife.

So, yeah, listen: I’d marry Jonny Lee Miller’s Mr. Knightley.

In. A. Freaking. Heartbeat.

I am not opposed to a May-Decemberish pairing, though JLM didn’t seem that old anyway – says she, with her middle-aged woman goggles on. The 2010 mini-series serves up my favourite version of the Emma-Knightley relationship, downplaying its paternalistic overtones, and highlighting their friendship. Knightley clearly sees Emma as an equal, though he frequently disagrees with her (and she with him) and is not afraid to tell her so (ditto). They banter and tease each other, and their whole dynamic has the cozy, lived-in feel of close friendship. They like each other as people first, and it’s fun to watch their growing realization that they like each other in that way too. They are comfortable around each other, enough to share their candid thoughts and opinions and be their true, imperfect selves, and that’s something I’d rate highly in a marriage partner. Enemies-to-lovers (aka the Lizzie/Darcy dynamic) is one of my favourite romantic tropes to read/watch, but when it comes to real life, I much prefer the friends-to-lovers route to romance.

The irony here is that, out of all Austen heroines, Emma is my least favourite. The only thing we have in common is that we both love books, staying close to home … and George Knightley, OBVI.

OK, your turn!