Kira

This past summer, my friend Lauren and I found ourselves talking about modern culture and our respective passions: music and fashion. Newly post-grad and coming down from the high of university, we realized we had both been feeling the same quiet loss — and that many of our peers probably were too. We felt disconnected not only from our passions, but from the younger selves who first gave them meaning. The girls who could spend entire afternoons in their rooms, bored, playing dress-up, writing songs, rearranging outfits. The girls who had time to obsess. The girls who knew that passion, in its purest form, was never frivolous. University gave us a lot: an education, unforgettable experiences, a house full of friends, and all the thrill and chaos that comes with living out your early twenties in real time. But between the parties, the hangouts, the assignments, and the heartbreak, there was very little room left for idleness — and with it, very little room for imagination. We missed the feeling of being absorbed by what we loved. So, baby don’t care was born from that feeling. It became a way to return to our passions, but also to honour them. To make space again for fascination, style, taste, and whatever else makes life feel charged and alive. Not as a retreat from adulthood, but as a refusal to become dulled by it. A small insistence that amidst all the noise, there are still certain things worth being consumed by. Around the same time, I had been obsessing over Nina Simone after watching her documentary. I was captivated by her voice, her presence, her elegance, her force. In the middle of that obsession, I came across My Baby Just Cares for Me. I loved everything about it — the voice, the piano, the flirtation of it, the ease. And then, of course, those lines: My baby don’t care for shows My baby don’t care for clothes My baby just cares for me. And that was the thing: we do care about shows. We do care about clothes. Deeply, shamelessly, instinctively. About the things people love to dismiss as superficial, when in fact they are often the very things that shape identity, memory, desire, and self-expression. And somehow, baby don’t care made perfect sense. This blog is where I’ll write about my passions and all the obsessions they entertain. Playlists, lists, music in film, fashion, performances, beauty, imagery, and whatever else in this world feels too compelling not to follow. It is a space for taste, fixation, and feeling — for all the things that might seem small from the outside, but never are. So welcome to baby don’t care. A place for passion. For instinct. For beautiful things. A place to stay curious. A place to not lose the magic.