Love Spell

06/08/2026

It’s Thursday. Wolf’s asleep. I’ve got exactly one coffee and about forty-five minutes before I start the Olympic sport of hiding evidence for tonight’s open house.

You know…Shoving chargers into drawers. Moving the same basket from one room to another. Pretending my toddler isn’t a complete tornado.
Anyway…I’ve been thinking about all the things I’m no longer subscribing to. Not because I’ve evolved into some enlightened woman who meditates at sunrise. I’m just…exhausted. Not tired. Exhausted. There’s a difference.
The kind where your nervous system just quietly resigns.

Take Botox. Do I miss it? Ummmm, yes. The same way I miss my 16 year old metabolism. I love Botox. The second Love Spell has enough money to buy more than a flat white and pay a bill, I’ll be back on that treatment bed faster than you can say “frown lines.” Sue me.

This isn’t me embracing ageing. It’s me embracing overdraft facilities. And trust me I love ageing, I have never felt more free so before I get attacked for not loving myself blah, blah everyone has there thing. I personally just don’t like looking like I’ve been scowling at my di****ad male managers for the past 10 years.

Same with the weight. Apparently I couldn’t afford wrinkle crack…or skinny crack. Inflation has really become a full-body experience. One missed jab and my hormones acted like I’d entered witness protection. Nothing fits. Nothing zips. My face looks like I’ve spent the weekend licking soy sauce. And yes, relax Felicia. I love my body. It’s gotten me through this s**t show we call life. I’d just like to wear my boutique wardrobe, before I’m called an as***le for not being sustainable

The older I get, the more I realise women spend an extraordinary amount of time apologising for existing.

Sorry I’m late.
Sorry I’m loud.
Sorry I’m ambitious.
Sorry I put on weight.
Sorry I lost weight.
Sorry I ordered fries.
Sorry I didn’t.
It’s exhausting.

Imagine if we put half that energy into ordering dessert and minding our own business.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an open house in two hours, a dinosaur to negotiate with when he wakes up from his nap, and a coffee that’s gone cold again
See you next Thursday. 🤍

05/08/2026

Proof that adding one oversized blazer can make you look like you have your life together…

Whether you actually do is none of our business. 🤍

Welcome to the chaos that is Love Spell 🖤

30/07/2026

25/07/2026

I think we spend so much of our lives waiting for the big moments that we forget to create the little ones.

For me, it’s always been about the details.

A beautiful outfit.
A warm lamp.
Fresh flowers.
A signature scent.
A disco ball catching the light for no practical reason whatsoever.

Whether it’s my home, my wardrobe or Love Spell, creating little pockets of magic genuinely gives me life.

So yes… I’ve been moving things around again.

I hope when you walk through the door, it makes you smile.

24/07/2026

https://youtu.be/181WjWf3jYw?si=61m7I0FtdDpxdwBB

23/07/2026

It’s Thursday. Wolf’s asleep, the dishwasher is making an absolute song and dance about washing six plates, and I’m standing at the kitchen counter wondering if we’ve accidentally become the busiest generation to ever avoid each other.

We’ve got shared calendars, location sharing, read receipts, voice notes at 1.5x speed because apparently we’re all CEOs now… and yet trying to organise dinner with four girlfriends requires about 37 text messages, two calendar invites and someone inevitably replying, “Sorry, just seeing this.”

When did that happen?

My sister stayed with me for two weeks and when she left I realised I’d barely taken a photo.

For about thirty seconds I felt like I’d failed Instagram.

Then I thought… hang on.

We were too busy talking.

Like… actually talking.

Coffee went cold. We solved absolutely none of the world’s problems. We laughed so hard at one point that Wolf told us to “use our inside voices,” which felt deeply hypocritical coming from a three-year-old.

And I realised something.

The best parts of those two weeks don’t exist on my camera roll.

They exist in my nervous system.

I miss when someone rang the house phone and you just… answered it. Sometimes it was your best friend. Sometimes it was your crush. Sometimes it was your nanna. Sometimes it was someone trying to sell you Tupperware. It was a lucky dip.

Dating was sitting on the couch watching a movie. Not sitting on the couch while one person watches Netflix, the other scrolls TikTok, and somehow you’re both “spending quality time together.”

Progress has been incredible.

I don’t particularly miss printing directions off MapQuest or rewinding VHS tapes.

But I do wonder if we’ve become so busy documenting our lives that we’ve forgotten to disappear into them.

Anyway… that’s tonight’s overthinking from my kitchen counter.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to ignore the washing I was supposedly doing while writing this.

See you next Thursday. 🤍

21/07/2026

A little bit of chaos. A whole lot of cute. 🎀✨

Open 7 days a week and online 24/7 obvi.

19/07/2026

Forgive us, fashion gods…
We’ve fallen for MOTHER all over again.

And honestly?
We’re not looking for redemption.

👖❤️‍🔥✨

09/07/2026

Retail confession.

People assume I spend my days convincing women to buy expensive clothes.

The truth? I spend most of my day trying to convince them to stop talking about themselves like someone they hate.

It’s honestly one of the most depressing parts of my job.

Somewhere along the way, women became their own PR team for self-loathing. Before I’ve even zipped the dress, they’re listing every reason they don’t deserve it. Their stomach. Their age. Their thighs. Their arms. Their postcode. Mercury being in retrograde. Whatever’s on special that day.

Sometimes I interrupt them.

Not because I’m trying to make a sale, but because I’ve already met the woman standing in front of me. She just hasn’t caught up yet.

Here’s another retail confession that probably won’t make it into the business textbooks…

I tell women not to buy things.

All. The. Time.

If it isn’t hell yes, it’s absolutely not. I’m not interested in selling you a dress you’ll spend $400 to stare at in your wardrobe while wearing the same black leggings you’ve emotionally attached yourself to since 2019.

Over the years I’ve watched women walk into my fitting rooms carrying far more than handbags. Divorce. Miscarriage. Cancer. Debt. Redundancy. Grief. Betrayal. Perimenopause. The invisible weight of being everyone’s everything.

Sometimes they leave with a shopping bag.

Sometimes they leave with absolutely nothing except their shoulders sitting a little higher than when they walked in.

I’ll take that win every single time.

People think Love Spell is about clothes.
The clothes just happen to be the excuse.

The women have always been the story.

P.S. What’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to yourself in a fitting room?

05/07/2026

LOVE SPELL CASE FILE #001

I’ve developed a completely unqualified theory.

Women don’t buy jeans. We buy plot twists.

There’s the “we got married in Vegas” jeans. The marriage lasted six months. The outfit, however, deserved a standing ovation.

Then there are the “I signed the divorce papers” jeans. Turns out escaping years of personality disorder performances is a more effective weight-loss program than Pilates. Who knew freedom had such a great ass?

We’ve all owned the “I’m absolutely not texting him” jeans. (Sent from the passenger seat.) You deleted it, sent it again, blocked him, unblocked him, and somehow still looked incredible.

Then come the “promotion, pay rise or perimenopause” jeans. Honestly, I don’t even need to know which one it was. Whatever happened… you earned the denim.

Life has a funny way of dividing itself into before and after. Before the breakup. Before the wedding. Before the baby. Before the diagnosis. Before the promotion. Before you finally realised you deserved better.

Nobody remembers what top you were wearing. Nobody remembers your shoes. But I guarantee every woman remembers exactly which pair of jeans she had on when her life changed.

Some jeans hold your phone.

The good ones hold evidence.

So… I’m taking statements.

Tell me about the pair of jeans that witnessed your greatest plot twist.

🗂️💙