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When I was 16, I did a dance class at Pineapple Studios with a friend. About 10 minutes in, the rest of the group was moving from the left of the room, to the right, and I was the only person very obviously going the opposite direction. The instructor was kind but it was clear that not only was I not the next Honey — I was an active liability to everyone around me.

That might have stopped someone whose skin was a little thinner than mine. But my mamma didn’t raise no xiao long bao.

I realised this when I showed up to Destino in Ibiza last week, in athleisure wear, trainers and the very mildest swipes of mascara. Meanwhile, we were surrounded by makeup so thick you could carve your initials in it without drawing blood, outfits and accessories so coordinated they had to have come out of a magazine (arguably, not the high end kind) and so much Botox they would’ve kept the cliffside hotel afloat if it happened to collapse into the sea.

I admired the effort. And was grateful that getting older means not giving two shits what anyone thinks — of how I dress. Or how I dance.

Because the trauma of 2002 taught me nothing, except that when Solomun drops a beat, you move like your life depends on it.

And that also goes for Anyma at UNVRS. When everyone else in the room is too busy filming content to remember they’re in a C-L-U-B, it is particularly important to disregard any notion of rhythmic incompatibility. And to have the time of your life. To remember that this is your world, and everyone else is just living in it. Even the DJ.

Wrists flicking, fingers pointing, feet stomping, hair whipping, bat wings flapping. You jump like you’ve been possessed by the spirit of Mr Motivator himself, and you don’t stop unless some random stranger approaches you and says, “you are a fucking vibe”.

Yes babe, I’m 40. And I’m a fucking vibe.

#thisis40 by @hels_ldn

Until last month, the scariest thing I’d ever done was run off a cliff in Rio; if you haven’t heard the story, let’s get a drink some time and I’ll tell you all about it.

But 21 May 2026 was my last day of work — and I have no idea what I’m doing next. Which is terrifying, since my career has been my identity for the best part of a decade. Who am I without work?

Oh, you thought quitting my job with no plan was the new ruler of fears. Nope. Gotcha. The humble holder of that crown is the realisation that I gave some of the best years of my life to chasing ambition, to solving somebody else’s problems, to playing a game by someone else’s rules, and ultimately traded in a finite resource for a reward that wasn’t infinite.

It started with the best of intentions. I believed in what I was building — for restaurants, by restaurants — and I happily moved mountains to bring that mission to life. It was exhilarating; having (and seizing) the opportunity to fix the shitty service I remember receiving as an operator, when I’d try to contact my software supplier on the weekend — “out of hours” (sorry, you realise this is a restaurant, right?)

But the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And that chip on my shoulder that served as fuel in the race against anyone who dared to doubt my will to win, became the boulder which would eventually crush me.

Continued in comments by @hels_ldn

I don’t normally put faces on the grid because I’m a tinfoil kinda gal about weirdos stealing faces and putting them on nekkid bodies doing nsfw things. And if that were to happen to any of these folks, I would actually cry. Because this is one of the best groups of people going — and I’ve been so lucky to have worked with some stellar humans in the past, who are still some of my greatest friends to this day. And every single person here (and some not) is right up there.

I’ve said a lot in recent weeks that “people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel” (Maya Angelou, for the uninitiated) and it’s a motto I’ve lived by since the days of Hawksmoor. The crew in this photo made me feel like no days were wasted if the blood, sweat and tears resulted in friendships like these. Work isn’t meant to be easy, but it is meant to be fun and that was without question with this team. by @hels_ldn

The secret to time travel is to spend your days so well, you have no concept of time. Because how is it only mid January? I feel like I’ve lived ten lives in the last ten days.

It had a lot — snow, sun, cold, drama, conflict, injury, dancing, playing, eating, drinking, risk, trees, adventure, wonder, beauty and joy. The only thing I didn’t get enough of was sleep.

It’s been a long time since I rode chairlifts with so many friends. It made me remember a life that feels like it was lived by someone else. A life where we optimised for nothing more than the unadulterated joy of being one with the mountain.

If I could time travel anywhere, it would be to a time where there is no time at all. Where I’m not chasing down achievements or milestones by a certain deadline or age. Where I’m not trying to be more, or do more, or have more. I’m just living this life like it’s the only one I have and having no regrets. Which sounds to me like more time in the mountains. Who wants to meet me on the chairlift? by @hels_ldn

Holiday. A time for rest, and relaxation. But what is to rest? To relax? — Is it to do nothing? Or do only the things I enjoy? If the answer is either of these, then this has been a failure of a holiday by epic proportions.

I managed maybe 1 hour of lying horizontal on a bed, doing nothing. And that hour was probably at 2am, when I was supposed to be sleeping.

I traipsed through valleys, up mountains, down rice terraces, standing in awe of some incredible landscapes but hurting my chest on the way up and knees on the way down. I reminisced over the flavours of childhood trips to Malaysia and Hong Kong, and discovered new food in Bhutan (bathup is a vibe, give it a go if you’re ever in the country) but expanded my waistline by about 55cms which no amount of pavement stomping or mountain climbing could prevent.

I caught up with old friends, took in old haunts, got up to old antics and got new hair. I was on more planes than I’d care for on a trip of this length, and filled in immigration cards for four different countries which is not a flex because it means you never fully switch off from the admin of the travel.

My spreadsheet split by day, by hour and colour coded, worked overtime and I probably would’ve missed some plane, train or bus without it.

So, no. I’m not coming home rested or relaxed. But I am coming home with routine disrupted. An interruption to regular scheduled programming, that forced me to be present to the novelty of unfamiliar surroundings, to take in new sights and actively listen to what was being said, to be mindful of every step on untrodden grounds and to slow down so that I don’t melt in the Singapore humidity. The monotony of real life seems a lot further away than even the other side of the world. And isn’t that what a holiday is all about? by @hels_ldn

At some point this summer, I had a personal reckoning. I had optimised myself into a unit of productivity, with no personality besides an obsessive need for professional output. I didn’t really recognise who I had become, having sleepwalked into monotony. The routine that once freed me from tedious decision making, had trapped me within disengagement. I was a spectator of my life and not the driving force of it.

In an attempt to seize the wheel again, I booked an off the cuff solo trip to Madeira. No research, no plans. Just a coliving space and a taxi to get there from the airport. I had no idea what restaurants (if any) there were, how I’d get around, who’d be spending time with, and no exit strategy. Granted, it was 7 days — don’t be so dramatic Hels.

As someone who organises trips in spreadsheets, and has this broken down by the hour and colour coded by activity type, it was surprisingly liberating to have no idea what might happen once I shut my laptop for the day. Anxiety inducing, but liberating. What if I ended up just sitting in my room, not talking to anyone, spending the week doom scrolling or binge streaming TV shows I’d seen too many times already? Continued in comments by @hels_ldn

If you need me, I’ll just be in Madeira, hiking to within an inch of my life and grateful for every hip aching, knee destroying moment of it by @hels_ldn

Sometimes we hike and become one with nature. Sometimes we dance on the edge of cliffs to doof doof beats. It’s all about balance innit by @hels_ldn

Touch some grass. Hear the waves crashing onto shore. Look directly into the sun. I don’t know even know who I am anymore but I feel new again. Just don’t ask how my legs are doing. by @hels_ldn

If perfect weekends existed, this was the one. Great food, the best people, and the London sunshine coming throughhhhh. Pass the sunscreen, and bottle these vibes by @hels_ldn

Drop a comment if you reckon you could survive 120 uninterrupted hours with me, when I’ve had a decreasing amount of sleep each night. @mart_2112 can warn you of the dangers by @hels_ldn

Practising for when one of us is a billionaire and the other one doesn’t have to work 💁🏻‍♀️

#dreambig #amsterdam #canonphotography #streetphotography by @hels_ldn