So I moved to Denmark 2 months and 6 days ago today. After almost 10 years in London and 22 years in Brussels before that (including a stint in Luxembourg…), I felt it was time. Not to mention Brexit and a global pandemic. Back to my roots, back to the motherland. The country I am from and where I have spent countless holidays but have never actually lived. I am 34 now and as I went to register my new address, the system said 1990 was the year I officially left. I was 2 then. That’s a long a time ago…

But I’m here now settling into my new existence as a Danish citizen on Danish ground, slowly moving away from titles such as ‘expat’, ‘foreigner’, ‘immigrant’ or whatever you choose to call what I used to be. And probably still am, to a certain extent? At least if my language is anything to go by, I really need to get down with the slang and the local lingo here.

One of the perks of living in my home country (still trying to get used to the word ‘home’) is that I can now vote in a general election for the first time in my life. An opportunity to finally get politically involved. Amazing!

In my work as a personal stylist, my main focus is on allowing the client to be their authentic selves through what they choose to wear. I love getting to know people and their life stories, exploring their unique style to make them look and feel like the best version of themselves. Whatever that looks like and whatever the inspiration may be. I find the whole process soul soothing. Perhaps because it’s something I’ve been striving towards myself for as long as I can remember.

One of the lessons I’ve learnt well into my thirties is that I’ll probably always be a bit of an alien wherever I go and that that’s ok. It’s what makes me, well, me. Because home is where the heart is, right? And Danish pastry, of course.

Stine x