I often think about the love letters that Victorian women used to write to their friends. The passions and adoration expressed for a love that is so very different from that of a romantic partner but oh so vital. Having been single for what feels like a lifetime, I have found endless affection and companionship within my female friendships. The love of which has gotten me through wildly contrasting times, chapters of utter elation and blackened pools of sorrow. I have women in my life who have seen me through countless versions of myself (some of which we should all like to forget.) Women who I have laughed with until tears stream down our faces, cheeks sore from unbridled smiles. Women who have watched me grieve and who have picked me up when I could not do so for myself. It is the power and love of these women who I owe a depth of gratitude to, the reason I have grown into this version of myself. The version I am most proud of. And to celebrate them is such an effortless venture. So it seems only right that for Valentine’s day, I turn to the true loves of my life for an evening of much needed platonic romance and absolute effervescence. 

A night fit for Mamie Fish and the legendary 400 of New York’s Gilded Age. This feast with its perfectly roasted prime rib, towers of brussels sprouts and a sparkling croquembouche, rivals the lore of Thanksgiving at the distinguished Delmonico's.

A slumber party, but you are an adult, there is champagne and no one is telling you it’s time for bed — Indulge in the simple joy of too much ice cream and breakfast for dinner.

A night of made (wo)men, an amazing Italian inspired feast and too much wine. - I have never laughed so hard.

A Marie Antoinette dream for Valentine’s Day.

A dreamy spread in the Hamptons.

Valentine’s Day might just be one of my favorite petite celebrations. From the sweet Victorian tradition of sending valentines, to pink cakes and heart shaped chocolate boxes, I am all for a Valentine’s Day fête with delicious treats and extra frills.