An honest ode to the aesthetic life I wish I was living.
There’s a certain breed of delusion that I love to live in… You know, the kind where my life is curated like a Pinterest board, with soft lighting, fresh flowers, and perfectly steamed oatmilk lattes. Unfortunately, reality is a bit… louder.
Here are a few things I romanticize, even though they almost always betray me with chaos:
Working in Corporate America
Romanticized version: Me, strutting into the office in a chic blazer, iced coffee in hand, slaying pitch decks left and right, and collecting direct deposits that scream “girl boss.”
Reality: I am underpaid, overworked, and simultaneously taken too seriously and not seriously enough. Also, corporate Teams messages are just modern-day Yahoo IM convos in business casual – and I’m tired.
Being a Pilates Girly
Romanticized version: Cute matching workout sets, toned arms, balanced energy, and flexible everything.
Reality: Leg shakes, the kind of soreness that makes stairs feel like a death trap, and absolutely no time to coordinate a matching outfit when I’m running to class after work. My “aesthetic” is whatever leggings were clean. And I always keep random workout tops in my bag. …when was the last time I washed those?
Freelance Life
Romanticized version: Flexible schedule, working from cozy coffee shops, choosing dream clients, and creating with freedom.
Reality: Deadlines blend into weekends, clients “forget” to pay, and existential dread sets in when you realize you are your entire HR, finance, and creative departments. There is no PTO when you’re your own boss – only caffeine and crying.
Sunday Resets
Romanticized version: Cleaning with lofi jazz playing in the background, eucalyptus-scented candles lit, and my life being softly put back together by 4 PM.
Reality: I blink, and it’s 8 PM, laundry is still tumbling, the kitchen sink looks like a war zone, and I’m questioning why I thought I could “reset” a week’s worth of chaos in one afternoon. This is not a reset. This is survival.
Weekend Road Trips
Romanticized version: Windows down, vibey playlist, spontaneous stops at roadside diners, and arriving at a cozy bnb that you’ve seen on the socials.
Reality: Traffic. Bad gas station coffee. An argument over the aux cord (*cough cough* Davis, you know I have better music). You get to the Airbnb and it smells weird and looks like it was photographed in 2015. But hey, you did it for the plot!
Romanticizing My Life
Romanticized version: Fresh flowers on the kitchen counter, ambient lighting, a slow morning with matcha and affirmations.
Reality: I just vacuumed yesterday and somehow there’s already dog hair on every surface. My coffee went cold before I got to sip it. And no matter how soft the lighting is, the dishes still need to be done. Womp womp.
Honestly, I’ll probably keep romanticizing these things because trying still feels better than surrendering to the chaos entirely, I think. Maybe that’s the magic of it – chasing beauty in the messy middle. Even if the matching workout set never makes it out of the drawer.
What are the things you romanticize that are secretly unhinged? Let me know – or better yet, romanticize your way into the comments section. I’ll be there, probably procrastinating something.
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