The sickest niche finds. The classiest boutique hotels. Perfectly undone hair.

But I couldn’t tell you a single thing they actually think beyond that. What makes them angry. What they find funny. Their political takes. What they’d rant about if we were out to dinner kiki-ing over martinis.

Somewhere along the way, we decided that having impeccable taste means having no personality. That being chic requires silence on everything that isn’t tailored and buttoned up. “Chic” became dull.

It’s almost like being above things. Too cool to care.

Because the people we refer to as chic muses would not be called chic in 2026. They were loud. Opinionated. Messy. They fought. They contradicted themselves. They said things that pissed people off. “It-girl” Carolyn Bessette Kennedy was literally known for screaming at her man in the streets of NYC. She didn’t give a fuck! AND on top of that, was deeply engrained in the political landscape, hellloooo? Do people forget that? She was all of these things while keeping her sense of style intact. She made it clear on how she wanted to be seen moving through the world.

I get the appeal of mystery. It’s alluring. Aspirational. Clean. Safe.

But also… boring.

What I actually want is both.

Incredible taste and a personality. Someone with an eye and opinions. Someone who posts the perfect vintage bag and then immediately rants about the thick stemmed wine glass they were served at a restaurant that didn’t hit the same as a thin one they envisioned. Style with texture.

The tastemaker is more compelling to me when they come with both: the gorgeous eye and the rawness.

Style, taste, identity is in-fact…political.

“As is” isn’t just about things. It’s about people too. It’s about showing up with taste but your personality still fully the same. The rants, the current state of the world, the mess, the storytelling, even the strong opinions about things that don’t matter…that’s all part of the package.

So maybe it’s time to stop acting like having a personality is somehow tacky. Like caring about things beyond surface level is unsophisticated.

I’ve made it my personal mission this year to limit my use of the word “chic”. The word itself has become tired, overused, expected. Instead, I’m going to try and use descriptive words like: elevated, unique, luxe, posh, understated, classic, etc…

As I’m writing this, I’m realizing I need to address that we all have different personalities for a reason. Different nervous systems. Different tolerances for noise, for mess, for sharing. Some people are practicing restraint, and that’s not wrong. A lot of content is meant to soothe, calm, or create a sense of order. And boundaries matter too. Creators don’t owe us every detail, every thought, every crash out. There definitely is a need for discretion online and knowing when to hold back.

I just tend to gravitate toward the scratch. A little friction. A little proof of life. And while I’m nearly done typing this, I’m realizing having both is fine, it’s just not me. There will always be the person who wants the brand-new, straight-from-the-factory nightstand, delivered in a big box, allen wrench and all! And then there’s someone like me, who wants the English antique nightstand for $40 with the shafty drawer and the chippy paint that comes with a wild story. Totally as is.

Xx Juliana

Walk with me here… Not in a 2016, mint, Forever 21 way. Rather, your lovely Aunty who lives in Napa, Ralph Lauren, Pendleton way. I’m searching resale sites high and low trying to get my hands on a vintage wool wrap aztec blanket coat. I know the fair isle print had a huge moment this past fall & winter season and I’m predicting old-school aztec will be the same for the next cozy season.

A designer & brand I’ve been obsessing over is Lindsey Thornburg. I’m drooling over her coats and dusters. The juxtaposition between these grandpa-like aztec wools with bitchy mongolian fur trim. To die for. I wannnttt, help!

Custom bold upholstery

This is going to be big this year for the home obsessed. Interior designers have been using COM forever, they created it. COM means Customer’s Own Material: you source your own fabric (cut yardage) and bring it to a local upholsterer to reupholster your furniture. It’s not nearly as intimidating as people think. You find a fabric you love, choose a furniture piece with good bones & form, and your reupholsterer will help you with the rest.

I think Kendall Jenner’s Lee Jofa Hollyhock floral printed sectional opened peoples eyes to something new. People are getting comfortable seeing prints on upholstery again. This feels like the next wave of personalization…similar to when everyone started bringing vintage Levi’s to their tailor to make them fit exactly to their body. Or bringing a stuffy Pucci dress to the tailor and turning it into a hot little two piece set for vacay. I’ll be doing a lot of this in my own home this year. I have cushions ready for pick-up right now for a pair of vintage chairs. Stay tuned on what fabric I picked <3

Aubergine as the color

Aubergine, eggplant, whatever! At my first interior design job, I was in a showroom pulling samples when a rep asked if we wanted a fabric in the aubergine colorway. I asked what aubergine was. Everyone laughed. Even my boss. I’ve come a long way since then, lol. Last summer I painted a client’s bedroom in Brinjal by Farrow & Ball and it fully shifted something in me. I had never used this color before and now I can’t stop. When everyone was painting their walls chocolate, this felt richer, moodier, gutsier, more dimensional. It absorbs light in a beautiful way. I want it everywhere now; eggplant sweaters, upholstered stools, notebooks, accessories. I’m still mourning the discontinued Fig Le Creuset colorway (it was supposed to be on my wedding registry). Aubergine feels sensual, rich, & slightly unexpected. More interesting than neutrals, but still timeless. It’s why I picked it as the foundational color of this substack!

Marbled Paper Print

Below you’ll see that I just made custom stationary using a gorgeous marbled print on Canva. I also have marbled paper trays and looking to possibly wallpaper my powder room with this print. Marbled paper has been around for centuries, mainly starting in Florence. They used to place marbled paper in the beginning and ending of books to mask fingerprints. I went on a full hunt this holiday season for marbled wrapping paper and quickly realized why it’s so expensive…most of it is still handmade, sheet by sheet, totally one of one. For me, it doesn’t need to be hand dipped… I’ll take mass produced too. I just love the retro yet timeless feel.

Antique micro-beaded bags

I’m already deep in this. There are so many antique micro-beaded bags floating around etsy, depop, poshmark, etc. The main thing is snagging one under $75. Anything more than that feels like a not-so good deal. I linked a few of my favs here to give you an idea of the styles and intricate patterns I’m loving. These feel special in a way modern accessories rarely do. I love the idea that they’re tiny works of art you can carry. I’ve already bought a few and I’m constantly hunting for more.

Patchwork quilts

Quilts add texture, warmth, personality…without feeling precious. Dan’s grandma made us the most beautiful quilt over the last two years using fabrics she used to make her kids’ clothes. I love it so much and it’s something we’ll keep in our family forever. Having a go-to quilt that follows you around your home is so comforting. I bring mine with me into the sunroom when I drink my morning iced coffee. To the living room at night watching TV. And ending in our bed to sleep. Everyone wants that homey, collected feel, and this is such an honest way to get there. Making one myself is on my 2026 goals list; I used to quilt and sew for hours as a kid, and I’m really excited to get back into it! Picking the color story, pattern, and fabrics is going to be a blast for me, lol. I linked a few here that are a great deal for the look.

Creativity as resistence

The world feels so heavy to me right now, especially in Minneapolis. The fear, the guilt, the anxiety, the weight of it all. One of the few things that keeps me sane is creativity. Diving into my home, putting fabrics and light fixtures together, imagining new DIYs, planning layouts. I’ve been doing it since I was a little kid, sitting in my bedroom, drawing outfits, cutting patterned paper into tiny shirts for 2D models, sketching new furniture layouts for my room. This is how I beat the sadness, every damn time.

I’m going to continue to be loud about the things that I love. Even when it’s difficult and weird. If you made it this far, thank you!! So much more to come. Subscribe and tell a friend!

Xx Juliana

My sister and I nearly passed away when Mary-Kate and Ashley released their ‘Mall Party’ episode, parading around the Mall of America and Camp Snoopy, shopping and hitting all of our favorite spots. We were completely starstruck. That VHS went triple platinum in our house.

The diva I was (and still am) had a full meltdown nearly every Halloween, forced to wear a winter coat under, or worse, over, my costume for trick-or-treating. My look was ruined.

Our Sunday’s were uneasy with my Dad’s rage after another Vikings loss. Or extreme highs and butterscotch Dilly Bars when they won.

Going to Bill’s Imported with my Mom and Nonna was a ritual. My Nonna loved it there… the Greek men behind the counter loved her right back. They had a mutual understanding of one another. Or maybe it was just they were both deeply passionate about olives, lol.

Prince posters and CD’s scattered in small corners of our home.

My parents both owning small businesses in Minneapolis. My mom with her flower shop she still owns and operates nearly 30 years later. My dad starting a catering business (everything is always about food.) Both of them constantly working. Weekends, evenings, it didn’t matter. They did everything for us and still do. The American dream, right?

Holidays spent going to the Marshall Fields downtown and eating at the cafe, seeing all the festive decorations. Of course stopping by the MAC beauty counter to get some lipstick put on me.

Turning 16 and driving to Uptown, going to Punch and shopping at Heartbreaker to buy a new mint green racerback tank to wear to a party. Dying to go behind the mirrored entry of Chino Latino, wishing I was just a few years older.

Chanting daddy’s money and cake eater during every high school sports game versus Edina. Then going on to marry a guy from Edina (and later move there, yikes!)

Visiting my besties at the U, terrorizing the bouncer, Mitch, to let us skip the line at Sally’s every Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Using my fake i.d. that I used bitcoin to buy, which arrived taped inside of a lampshade from China (would I be rich right now if I still owned those bitcoins??)

Moving back home after college and renting my first duplex apartment on 36th and Nicolett in South Minneapolis. Feeling such independence. I loved the uneven original hardwood floors. Extremely terrifying basement to do laundry and even scarier snow emergency parking rules outside. We had a hot pink Christmas tree that year.

Meeting my now husband in 2020 during lockdown. Not much to do except be outside in the city due to nationwide closures. One of our first dates was a picnic in front of the cherry on the spoon.

I could go on and on about the city that raised me. All of the experiences I listed above aren’t inherently unique. You’re probably reading these memories and nodding along. You were there, too. And I’m sure every state and city across the U.S. has its own versions of these unamusing places, traditions, and draws. And while we were driving our Toyota’s and Honda’s, quietly being named one of the happiest places to live over and over again, we somehow became a force.

What sets us apart is we’re a city of extremes; old Nordic bloodlines with people whiter than snow alongside newer families from all over the globe, like mine. Blistering hot summers with very little relief (who’s boat can we get on this weekend?) and obviously our famous frigid winters. I honestly think so much of our community comes from this.

I can’t count how many strangers have pushed my car out of the snow without a second thought, or invited me onto their boat the day after meeting them during a night out. Neighbors who bring over shovels before you even ask. Someone always offering free tickets to a Twins Game.

We have always moved in a helpful manner. Humbly, in true Minnesotan fashion. I miss the days when we were never in the headlines. I yearn for that. I want my boring life back.

Visiting other cities in the U.S. throughout my twenties, telling the waitress or guy hitting on me at the bar that I’m from Minneapolis. Seeing them make a slight face. Ouch. Making me feel like I’m from a po-dunk town. I always grew embarrassed. Feeling uncool. “Is it snowing there right now?” They ask while it’s mid-June. Good one!

In hindsight, how were they supposed to know about this little pocket of my heart? The passion, the energy, the camaraderie we all share here in Minneapolis? Well, I suppose all of them are starting to find out now.

When asked why he lives in Minneapolis, Prince famously answered by saying “It’s so cold it keeps the bad people out.” That has always been our collective tagline. Our jingle. Our reason as to why we live in this odd place. It shatters me knowing that we can no longer say this. Even in -35 degree weather, the bad people came in this time.

We all know that the foundation of our country (especially Minnesota) is thanks to indigenous people and immigrants. I’m not going on a long tangent on that because it’s so redundant at this point. It’s apart of my identity. What I want to focus on is that force I mentioned before. I love that right-wing media thinks the civilians of Minneapolis coming together (like we always do) is a paid, high-level operation with multiple organizations. When in reality, it’s your co-worker in their Merrell boots and L.L. Bean beanie. Your old soccer coach in an old U of M hoodie and snowpants.

TikTok is full of people saying, wait… I didn’t know Minneapolis was really about it like that. But to me, this is no surprise. I expect nothing less. We vote blue consistently, more than any other state. We stood completely alone in the 1984 landslide election and still voted blue. The only one. While the rest of the country folded, we didn’t.

That’s the thing about Minneapolis: we were once the shy, smart kid in the corner, quietly doing our thing. Likely in the marching band. A real sweetie pie, definitely called a “good kid”. Now we’re the cool, bad‑ass, smoking cigarettes outside of a dive bar after playing their set, kid from your college that was just featured in Rolling Stone magazine. A presence everyone notices and can’t look away from.

We have and will always be a combination of education, guts, and compassion. When those join, we see power. I would argue that we are the most American place on the planet. The heartbeat and epicenter of our country. True patriots. Not because we pound our chest and attach flags to the beds of our trucks, but because we actually participate. In like…everything.

Don’t get me started on Minnesotans and their civic duties. We show up IN NUMBERS to vote, not just in major races, but even at the school board level. You may have never seen a mom from Plymouth activated until you see her at a school board meeting.

We’re deeply protective over our lakes, rivers, forests, farmland. Not just for us, but for the next generation.

Unions, co‑ops, fair wages, worker protections; we helped define the idea that working people deserve dignity AND stability.

We believe in public education ferociously; strong schools and knowledge accessible to everyone. Ranking every year in education.

People arriving with nothing and building something. Giving everything. Whether that was Scandinavian farmers on the plains, or newer latino entrepreneurs. This is where I start to get teary eyed. My sweet Hmong neighbors. My fellow brown brothers and sisters. How dare they. When I am old and gray, the blue bunny eared hat with tassels will haunt me. I can’t stop thinking about him, Liam.

We’re under attack because we are living proof of programs working. Of loving your neighbor. We are basically the Denmark of the U.S..

And when America falls short, Minnesota pushes back. Not because we hate this country, but because we have the balls to fight to make it better. Don’t tread on me caught in 4K.

Minneapolis is a total embodiment of why I started As Is. She’s imperfect, dark, quirky, even super dorky at times. But also completely fierce, surprising, trend-setting, outside the lines. And since Minneapolis has loved me so fiercely, the least I can do is love her back just as hard. I will keep protecting her, fighting for her, and refusing to let any chopped loser break her.

We’ve bounced back from everything thrown at us. Each time we’ve come back stronger, tighter, wiser. This time, we carry a little more confidence, a little more street cred. I am no longer embarrassed to be loved by her, because her love is pure, earnest, and kind. I am proud to stand beside my neighbors, knowing that whether the headlines see us or not, we stay in the fight.

Xx, Juliana

I ignored all of it…best decision I ever made. Not because I knew it would pay off, but because I couldn’t help it. I’m constantly all over the place and jump from one thing to the next. It’s who I am. I fear you’ll notice that in my writing, too. Walk with me here…

I was never going to fit into a neat little content pillar. My brain doesn’t work like that. I see a 1970’s PACE coffee table on Facebook Marketplace with a giant scratch across the top and I’m immediately calculating if I can fit it in my VW Passat from high school that I still drive (which broke down this week, of course.) Two hours later I’m buying $28 Manolo Blahniks off eBay with soles so worn they need a cobbler (I will never take them to a cobbler, but I ALWAYS tell myself I will). And by 9 p.m., I’m on my couch with the TikTok front-facing camera open, ranting about the failures of our federal government.

And somehow, by refusing to pick one thing, I found my people. An entire mini community that gets it. You can love a $400 pair of Still Here NY jeans and a $10 estate sale lamp in the same breath. You can talk about your favorite Westman Atelier lip liner and then immediately pivot to how disgusted you are by Kristi Noem. It all goes together if you have that certain je ne sais quoi.

My aesthetic isn’t maximalist or minimalist or chic or whatever we’re calling things now. It’s simpler than that: if it’s good, I want it. People ask me all the time: What’s your aesthetic? And I say the same thing I heard years ago. This has stuck with me since I heard it at my first interior design job in 2020: I love all design if it’s good design. High and low. Gap and Gucci. IKEA and Issey Miyake. This idea goes beyond design- it shapes how I experience the world, from the meals I eat to the people I keep close. I don’t care what your parents do; I care about how you treat people. I’m not fussy, I just want the good stuff, whether it comes on a styrofoam plate or a silver platter.

So what I’m getting at is, I prefer things as is. The credenza with the scratch. The chair with the wobbly leg. I wear things as is too— the vintage YSL men’s blazer that doesn’t quite fit but fits perfectly, you know? The vintage suede Miu Miu bag with creases and worn handles. I don’t need everything to be mint condition or straight from the Prada store. I need it to be good. Designed well. Unique. There’s a difference. I consider my personality as is too. Take it or leave it. Imperfect.

But here’s what’s wild; it took me 28 years to realize this. To have a strong sense of self and taste.

Growing up as a half-Indian, half-Italian girl in Minnesota, I was always feeling a little…off maybe? Too opinionated. Not grounded. Big features and hairy arms in a sea of Nordic girlies. Insane undiagnosed ADHD that everyone called “not applying herself,” and fully diagnosed depression by 15. I barely graduated high school due to my depression. Then suddenly, hit the honor roll in college studying design and advertising. This is when things started to shift for me. Believing everyone will love you is a privilege I’ve never had, so I leaned into being myself.

TikTok was the first place where being “too much” was actually the thing people loved about me. The yapping. The borderline gauche (love that word) takes. The niche finds. The refusal to stay in one aesthetic box. It’s like I jumped off the page? I realized that nothing anyone could say or think about me through a screen would ever be worse than what’s already been said IRL to my face… so who really cares? Social media is one of the few places I’ve found that literally pays you to have a voice. A spine!

So that’s what AS IS is. It’s everything that doesn’t fit in a TikTok or IG reel. The thoughts that keep me up at night (I think I have an obsessive personality, more on that later). The longer stories behind the hauls. The unhinged opinions. Things I don’t want my third cousins seeing and gossiping about on IG. The stuff I’m buying, selling, & drooling over.

It’s also the stuff I’m thinking about that has nothing to do with furniture or fashion. The intimate corners of taste and identity. Maybe even my lows that don’t typically get shown.

If you’re here, you probably already get it. You probably also have an eye. You probably also can’t explain your aesthetic in three words or less. You probably also buy things that are a little off, but still so good.

Welcome dolls! Everything here comes as is.

Xx Juliana