I closed my eyes and became one with my surroundings. Having a gentle eureka moment with a herbal twist, I realised I was part of the planet, the field, and the ground beneath my feet. I was a flower in a zillion of flowers, with the only abnormality being that I had feet instead of roots. But that didn’t matter to anybody for one precious moment. The soil embraced my toes and told them they were fine just the way they were, and so was I.

While for the outside world, nothing that made it into history books about human achievements and wonders of the world happened, this moment was everything for me. My life, my book. Peace, love, happiness and balance in a nutshell, a perfect world manifesting itself behind two closed blue-green eyes and slightly open lips.

In his moment, when my heart was at peace and I belonged, I was the purest essence of myself. I had my place in the universe next to my loved one. We were king and queen of the endless fields for the sweetest seductive instant we were given. The humming of the bees was a jubilee. Purple took over the world and embraced my pinkness with zillions of arms.

Earth filled all my senses with pure natural delight: My nose was drunk with the beguiling lavender smell, and my heart overflowed with the essence of love. The pink stranger became known as the purple bride; the secret of belonging was to commit.

Every white inch of my skin was stung by bees and mosquitos. It didn’t matter because paradise is perfect, and love makes all imperfections disappear. I was bound to earth, tied to you, finally not running up a hill for the first time in an eternity. The butterfly didn’t feel like flying anymore. The woman it gave birth to was all yours. It was the true me. I came to stay. My toes dug roots into the soil.

All I had on my mind was to cherish our tenderness, dreaming of your lips and mine forever, believing purple clouds would never spill rain on our sacred land. Your laughter was my siren song. I was enchanted. Tears of joy ran down my face, unlike ever before. Life was wild. Life was free. I felt like I don’t need anything else but the love in my heart, the smell in my lungs and your laughter in my ears. Then I woke up, and the scent of lavender was still lingering but fading. I was almost shocked to discover I had toes again. I put one foot in front of another and started to walk.

Dress: Maya Seyferth, Hat: Frollein von Sofa

The pink bunny scurries through the forest in snake lines between the trees on Valentine’s Day. The nimble creature avoids to be caught. Not belonging to anybody, yet not helpless at all.

Once and for ever listen and understand: Harmless and helpless are two entirely different things. Having a mind at peace doesn’t mean to be depending, but the opposite. The missing need to be restrained, possessed or subservient is true strength. If you do understand this, you might touch a free soul once.

Bunnies don’t dream of diamond rings nor do they crave for other symbols of opression. So happy Valentine’s Day, free creature. You do love your own soul, you do know about the worth of your heart and don’t give it away for cheap flowers from the petrol station and kisses that smell of unbrushed teeth. Your goal of life is not to wash laundry for somebody who shouts at you or to close your eyes to betrayal and lies.

So if you want to catch a bunny, good luck.

Outfits/Styling: BAZ Vintage, Mask: Maskaras
Pictures: BAZ Photography

The lady of the flowers dances in your dreams. She dances in your head. Swirls around in your thoughts. Her laughter is a bright sound, like rolling glass marbles and joyful copper bells. In her realm, it’s summer forever, because she lingers in happiness.

She keeps the feelings, hopes and loves of last summer close to her chest. They are her shining treasure. “Do you wanna dance with me again?” she asks and her eyes fix on you, letting the snow melt even on the mountaintops far away.

Blue is the colour of the sky before it falls asleep and blue is the colour of her dress. What she said she says and will say. Future, past and present don’t exist in her dream, only those words and you taking her hand. Night after night. You can dream this dream a million times and always have a smile on your sleeping face when the dance starts again to sweet piano sounds.

If you join her laughter, summer will never end, beauty will sprawl like weed in your garden. She’ll sit down in the moonshine and weave curtains made of love, affection and tenderness to protect you from sun and rain. You will lay next to her on a bed of petals and she will tell you stories about the rabbit on the moon and the pharaohs of the Nile.

She is a fairy that one, only shows herself when she chooses to. If she reaches out it means you have her heart. Don’t crush it please, fairies are delicate creatures. So take her hand, just take her hand.

Dress: Maya Seyferth, Headpiece: Pearls & Swine, Shoes: Vintage
Photographer: Fabiana Nunes, Team: Greta Schoop

And I am a flower. I bloom and blossom again and again. You can rip out my leaves, stand on my petals, and tear my stems apart. Whatever you do, you can’t stop me from blooming again. It might take a while, but it will happen as inevitably as all those beautiful memories you chose to forget have happened.

We seemed the same kind at first because I was a fool who closed my eyes while kissing you. When I opened them and light fell onto my iris, I saw the truth behind a cunning deception: You are entirely different to my kind. What I saw as a similarity between us was only a mirror of myself you were holding towards my direction, pretending it was a part of you. 

I believe in peaceful growth. I believe in caring and want to fill the world with fluffy clouds. You prefer wrathful war and the survival of the fittest. You laugh at me and declare me weak and naive. We suddenly live worlds apart. Day and night, yin and yang but worse: Where they complete each other, between us, a bitter fight that was supposed to lead nowhere but to my defeat started. The lion roared, and the archer discovered the quiver was filled with daisies instead of deadly arrows. But daisies can slip between the lion’s teeth, so they survived. See where we are now:

My garden is full of life. In yours, the flowers run away screaming after discovering contaminated soil. I can’t allow your soil to swap onto my land. My responsibility is to keep my roses, geraniums, hydrangeas and orchids safe. Because I want my garden to be a rainbow place, I want my voice to be heard and my wishes to be planted.

Your mirror shattered when I told you that I was no longer blindfolded but saw the decay you were hiding behind my reflection. Now the shards of glass are overgrown by a bed of daisies. I’m standing in my garden alone, stubbornly preparing my most beautiful blossoms to catch the light of next autumn’s sun. It will be a feast of life, an orgy of beauty and an explosion of joy. Don’t come looking. The fence gate is closed and will stay closed for you. Instead, I’ll invite everybody who sees the beauty of daisies in their delicacy.

Pictures: Greta Schoop
Styling: Greta Schoop & Sara Streule
Editing: Sara Streule

Hat: Lorna Murray, Coat: From a friends closet
Top & Leggings: CeliaB
Shoes: Melissa, Handbag: Jolie Laide
Sunglasses: Swarovski

This post contains sponsored products.

Many kings and queens have walked the earth. Not all of them have worn a crown, and just a few have been carried in a palanquin so their feet wouldn’t touch the ground. Many felt like kings and queens, without royal blood rushing through their veins.

For example, when Jack stood on the rear of the Titanic and shouted into the air, “I’m the king of the world”, everybody felt the majestic energy of the moment. A few hours later, the sea would claim him. But that moment and the feeling will last forever.

Close your eyes and think: When did you feel like a king or a queen? What picture comes to your mind? Ah, I see you smiling. You physically grow by remembering a moment of rejoicing and triumph in your heart. You might have been the reason why your team won a match. It might have been a breakthrough in a project or the realisation that you could turn a situation or argument by changing your perspective.

This leads me to the following question: Have you ever experienced an epiphany? When did something arise in your mind suddenly and miraculously in the mids of an activity? It was a turning point. It could have changed your life, even in a small way. You don’t have to be a magi mentioned in the Bible or Stephan in James Joyce’s Ulysses to experience an epiphany. Maybe you didn’t scream Eureka, but there is a moment in your memory shining like a bright diamond.

A genuine crown is not what you place on your head but what you carry in your heart.

Outfits/Styling: BAZ Vintage
Pictures: BAZ Photography

Oh, Christmas, you merry monster of memories from lost childhoods with faded corners! I only dare to whisper in my most gentle voice, but I (almost) hate you. Even if it’s not a popular statement, that will bring me applause. Christmas, you laugh at me madly and cruelly whenever I dare to open my eyes. You show my hungry soul what it lacks and repeatedly turn the dagger in the wound. I feel tortured by your sparkling lights, cookies with rainbow-coloured sprinkles, tranquil tunes and glittering lametta. This joyfulness is hurting me if I am blunt, regardless of the potential of how much I would be able to love it from the bottom of my heart.

Christmas is easy to love for children with big eyes, for lovers carrying gifts with oversized bows, for families who don’t encounter each other using the f-word and for all the enthusiastic hallelujah singers from the church choir. But what if you don’t fit any of those boxes and don’t come with wrapping paper around your heart? 

The loved ones receive even more love on long December nights, but what about the sad, lonely and lost ones? The ones who don’t come in clusters, pairs or hordes but just as an edition of one? For them, your festivities are like slap after slap in the face, making them feel even more alone and making the lights at the tree the darkest thing on earth. So ho, ho, ho, here we are, the tree is up, I am my own gift, and that’s all. Merry Christmas to you all! Lost souls are always welcome under my tree.

Picture: Philipp Mueller
Model/Makeup/Hair/Set: Sara Streule
Dress: Pepper Row from Hanimanns

Her name was Cindy. She was sitting in a deserted diner in nowhere, asking herself what became of her glamourous dreams.

There was the memory of fresh lemon cake mixed up with coffee and grease lingering in the air—those were her only companions when she asked for fries in the middle of the night. Her eyes wandered to the sign saying the kitchen was open for 24 hours. The guy behind the counter looked at her with big eyes. “Now?” he asked, looking at the pale woman as if she had just told him that her spaceship was stuck in the parking lot. “Yes”, she said, her voice toned down to the dullness of lips not being used on a lonely drive for hours. Still, she looked immaculate, her hair on fleek and the net of her hat slightly covering one blue eye. 

Since fries and coffee were the only things available to warm her cold body, she was craving both as a substitute for a hug, love and belonging. The clattering sounds from the kitchen reminded her of the home she never had, this rootless thing on her own. She thought of lovers she never wanted, the family she ran away from and comfort she never knew. Her body, soul and mind felt tired. Oh, so tired.

But the road went on and on and carried her from place to place without kissing her good night. Melancholy was sitting in the backseat of her car, always asking for candy, never turning into a sweet girl with blond braids and a teddy bear. Cindy shivered until the fries arrived. 

She closed her eyes and let the warmth of the potato sticks enter her body. Ketchup, as red as blood, ran down her lips and onto her chin. Looking like a forsaken vampire, for an instant, she felt peace and forgot there were no flowers on the table put there by a loving husband waiting for her. No dinner parties to attend, no canapés to be made for the birthday parties of the neighbour’s kids. She could drink her Dr Pepper with a straw and inhale the sugar like nicotine; no need to be a good role model.

A girl called Sharon or Mandy might have left the road for a life far from glamorous, but at least. But she was Cindy. She was just alive.

Blouse: Duchessa Piacentina,
Skirt & Hat & Belt & Handbag: Vintage, Shoes: Manoush,
Photographer: Roland Urech
Location: Cindy’s Diner

The air is filled with the rich notes of moss and the manifold voices of the forest, while almost outlandish rays of light from far away extend their long skinny fingers through the boscage. The poet encounters the barbarian when the moon shines in the most peculiar shade of yellowish green.

In the forest’s depths, a fragile butterfly lands on the warm nose of a fuzzy brown bear. Will their path lead to an enchanted forest clearing, terrible destruction or complete meaninglessness? No one knows since the Celtic fortune teller with the 1000 eyes is looking elsewhere and is unaware of a kiss in the shadows of oaks touched by the feet of many ancestors.

The poet whispers a sweet verse but notices the immunity against the spell of language the barbarian possesses at a glance. She is repelled and fascinated at the same time by his lack of love for hushed syllables, hissed sounds, precisely chosen words and arias levitating over all other songs. His world is without decor, without stories interwoven into a pattern of colossal complexity, his sentences are naked but honest, and he would never use a book of spells instead of a dictionary.

The barbarian’s heart might not have the finesse of Mulberry silk nor as many facets as a Royal Asscher diamond. Still, it knows pure excitement when the otherworldly poetic prey is in sight. Like a match, it is lit for the unknown, far away from its grim reality of survival, masculine strength and straightforward ways. With the feral senses and the nose of a barbarian, the poet’s smell is perceived as rumours of glory.

He looks out for bear traps but fails to detect the subtle poison behind the beauty. Little does he know that this is every poet’s closest friend. The lovers of words’ ability to evoke heaven and doom and melt it all into a golden nugget until it bursts into dust within a change of thought make them a kind hard to tame and keep at bay.

To barbarians, what sticks out is innocence and a certain naivety that holds hands with a hint of wisdom. Not even the scratches of demon claws could destroy this sweet feeling. The poet is tempted to do what she never did: Choose wisely and healthily, going for a story not leading into tragedy instead of heading into an epos through seven heavens and hells.

The question is: Will she walk down the aisle dressed in white and giving away her romantic heart? And if so, will she not forget how to fly in a land where words are sober? Does she dare to risk that the butterfly goes through a metamorphosis and becomes a mundane caterpillar who loses its soul in the veins of her wings? Fortune teller with the 1000 eyes, turn around, turn around, a poet needs your advice.

Outfits/Styling: BAZ Vintage
Pictures: BAZ Photography

In another dimension, maybe I could fly a purple spaceship with round windows and cross the galaxy. I would hear thrilling stories about life on other planets far, far away where lifeforms were different, and people had beige and brown skin instead of blue. I would open my big black eyes in amazement, dreaming of exciting adventures.

If I finally met earthlings, I’d tell him the following: I come from a peaceful world, further away than most can imagine. My people study nature and develop technologies in balance with our world. My planet is filled with extraterrestrials of all shapes, sizes and colours. Unlike humans, we know no war and no bombs.

If we encounter other species, we are excited about what we can learn from each other. Racism is an unknown concept on the other side of the galaxy. Because, like the animals on earth, we all live knowing that we share a place in our manifoldness. Like flowers on a beautiful meadow, we appreciate being different and diverse. It’s our significant advantage: Diversity means more opportunities.

A school class on our planet is a mix of blue, pink, green and purple faces. They all chuckle, guessing if I would have purple children if I fell in love with the red-skinned doctor in area 62, right next to the school. I clap my long red fingers, getting their attention and returning them to the question of how the Milkyway came to exist.

Our communication is so different to yours. You would call it weird sounds. But for us, it works very well. We are thinkers and communicators. On earth, I have to adjust to your language to be understood, and I think it’s interesting. So earthling, how do you think we can benefit from each other?

Clothing: Anastasia Bull
Ring: Swarovski

Pictures: Tanja Gschwandl
Makeup: Lara Spiess
Styling: Greta Schoop & Sara Streule

These boots are made for walking: They walk over obstacles and away from places where no good awaits or people who don’t treat others and our planet with respect. They can carry you towards a better world. All you need to do is to put them on and keep walking.

From a symbolic point of view, walking is not just a mechanical function that enables a human to go from A to B, but as well a decision, progress, a game changer. If your feet carry you to a different place, it can change your story completely. What you decide to walk away from defines your boundaries and shapes your world.

Speaking of that, my boots are not just boots as well: For years, I looked at all the people wearing classic winter boots with sheep skin and lamb wool, and despite never saying a word questioning their decision, it made me sad.

Finally, thanks to New Orchard, a startup from Zurich, those times can soon be over: Their vegan shoes keep the feet of people who care about their positive footprint warm during the winter season. In their boots, Swiss quality meets Italian design. They are unisex, durable, pollution-free and made in Europe.

New Orchard supports various pet adoption options with donations. From every sale of boots, 10% go towards a pet-orientated charity. So let’s walk and step into a better future! I am ready since my feet have never felt so warm before.

With the code
Sara15 

you receive 15% on your shopping
at New Orchard

valid till 18.12.2022

Pictures: Greta Schoop
Styling: Greta Schoop & Sara Streule
Editing/Mua: Sara Streule

Top, Trousers, Belt: Vintage (Kenzo, No Name, Moschino)
Jacket: Fabletics, Hat: Maison Julie
Shoes: New Orchard (15% with the code Sara15),
Heart Bag: Weat, Sunglasses & Choker: Moschino,
Earrings: From an Indian shop