Starting a Blog in the Year of Our Lord 2025

Here’s a secret: I didn’t really plan this. I wasn’t sitting at my desk, twirling a pen, thinking, you know what the internet really needs? My blog.

No. It just sort of happened. Like when you tell yourself you’re only “window shopping” online, and then there’s a package at your door three days later containing shoes you definitely didn’t need, but somehow also felt like survival gear at the time. That’s how this blog started. A casual thought, a little impulse, and suddenly here we are.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: a blog? In 2025? Who even does that anymore? Everyone else is busy yelling into a TikTok camera or recording “podcasts” that are actually just two guys with microphones explaining something you never asked to know in painful detail. And yet, I’m here. On a platform nobody’s checking for. 

Let me be clear: I am not claiming to be profound. This isn’t going to be a blog where I lay out life’s deepest mysteries, like why are we here or what’s the meaning of it all. If you came for that, sorry babe? You’re in the wrong place.

I should also admit something: I am girly. Unapologetically so. I wear lip gloss even when I’m just walking downstairs to grab my mail. I own way too many tiny purses that can barely fit a stick of gum. I paint my nails at midnight even though I have class in the morning.

But here’s the twist: being girly doesn’t mean I don’t see the ridiculousness of it all. In fact, it makes me notice it more. Like when you’re in Sephora and some 13-year-old girl is swatching lip oils on her arm like she’s testing ancient potions. Or when someone on TikTok tells you the only way to have “that girl” skin is to buy 14 different serums, each costing more than your entire meal plan.

Being girly is sweet. It’s fun. But it’s also a little absurd. And absurdity is where I live.

Here’s the thing: I’m not writing this blog to convince you of anything. Not to buy a product, not to agree with me, not even to like me. But I know how this works. You’ll read a few posts, and then a few more, and slowly you’ll start realizing that you kind of want me to keep talking. So no,  I won’t say, “please like me.” I’ll just write what I write. And if you end up falling a little in love with me, that’s on you.

I’m not promising that every post will be groundbreaking. Some days I’ll just rant about things that don’t matter. Like how professors act shocked when you don’t do the readings, even though the readings were literally 87 pages of nonsense no one in history has ever voluntarily read.

Other days, I’ll dig a little deeper: the weirdness of college culture, the way trends come and go like bad boyfriends, or how the internet has basically become one giant group chat where everyone talks over each other.

But whatever I write, it’ll be me. The kind of thing you can read between classes, or while procrastinating your essay, or while lying in bed pretending you’re about to sleep but actually scrolling for another hour.

So yeah. Blogs are dead. Nobody’s asking for this. But maybe that’s what makes it exciting. This isn’t about going viral. It’s not about likes or shares. It’s about me showing up here every day, writing the way I want, and maybe tricking you into caring more than you meant to.

Come back tomorrow. (???)