What’s the first impression you want to give people?

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Rumor has it…

…that when your author enters a room, the atmosphere does not merely shift—oh no, it recalculates, much like a befuddled carriage driver realizing his horses have decided to take the scenic route.

The first impression your author gives is nothing short of a scandalous cocktail:

– one part intimidating competence,

– one part don’t-start-with-me-and-we’ll-be-fine,

– finished with a garnish of why-is-she-lowkey-iconic.

Yet before we go further, let us address the diamond-studded elephant in the ballroom. For there is, indeed, something marvelously self-centered and delightfully awkward about requesting a full society report on one’s own first impression. One could say it is the social equivalent of announcing, “Please observe how humble I am,” while standing atop a table in full regalia. But fret not—self-awareness has never stopped the ton from indulging in spectacle, and it certainly shall not stop your author.

Now, back to the scene.

Whispers ripple through the crowd as if someone dropped a secret onto the ballroom floor. Some swear your author possesses the rare talent of looking both composed and one mildly inconvenient comment away from choosing chaos for the evening. Others observe that her confidence arrives several seconds before she does—sweeping in like a well-trained herald announcing, “Brace yourselves.”

And yet, beneath this commanding entrance, there is an undeniable spark: a wit so sharp it could slice through a diamond, and a presence that suggests she has endured more nonsense than the ton’s gossip pages could ever hope to document.

In short, gentle reader, the first impression of your author is a masterclass in controlled mayhem—made all the more iconic by the charmingly self-involved request to have it chronicled.

Yours in delighted observation and making social distancing a lifestyle choice-