Carly is back with the sixth installment of Carly’s Cut. You can read her last one here. Carly is The Stripe’s Creative Projects Manager. She has such great taste that I wanted to give her a monthly column to tell us what’s up.
The weather outside has been doing that annoying thing where it can’t decide if it’s too hot or too cold, but inside is another story. Friends, a good bowl of soup, and zero urgency make everything feel right. January is usually my least favorite month of the year, which I think is a fairly popular opinion, but this one surprised me. It delivered small, steady delights and now I’m almost a little sad to see the first month of the year wrap up.
I ate more bowls of soup than I could reasonably keep track of, made a serious dent in a very cinephile-leaning Letterboxd watchlist, and finally watched the leaves give in and blanket my yard in crisp, wilted layers. All things considered, January showed up better than expected.
Carly’s Cut, Vol. 6
Shopped //
I’m living in a moment where change feels constant and strangely comforting. My days are shaped by small, intentional decisions about how I live, how my home supports me, and what I’m ready to let go of. The atmosphere we create at home has a direct line to how we move through the world, and right now I’m in a season of editing. As the Year of the Snake winds down, I’ve been thinking about shedding what no longer fits, in favor of pieces that feel intentional and alive. Instead of reinventing entire rooms, I’m focusing on subtle shifts that change the tone. A Porta tablecloth to break up the sea of wood in my dining room. A French bobbin stool from an Etsy rabbit hole to soften the bathroom. A handful of pieces I keep circling back to: bouillon cups for soup-in-a-mug nights, new white wine glasses, a better waste basket, a hand towel that actually feels special, an ochre fringe rug to ground it all. Proof that sometimes the smallest changes make the biggest impact.
Watched //
I somehow missed Hamnet during its first theatrical run, so when it reappeared post–Oscar nominations, I wasn’t going to let it slip past me again. Award season is borderline sacred in my friend group, a stretch of the year we take far more seriously than most. Three of my closest friends and I caught a Sunday matinee, a decision that, in hindsight, was deeply misguided. I have never wept so openly, or so collectively, with a room full of strangers. The film moved slowly and deliberately, excavating emotions I didn’t know existed and sincerely hope I never have to experience firsthand. All of that to say, it’s one of the most beautiful films I’ve seen and earned an immediate, unquestioned five stars on Letterboxd. And if Jessie Buckley doesn’t walk away with Best Actress… let’s just say the Academy should brace itself for a strongly worded email.
Read //
My friends Suzi and Abby have quietly become my literary north stars. Outside of Grace’s recommendations, theirs are the ones I return to when I’m searching for a read that sits at the intersection of captivating and transformative. I leaned on Suzi recently while trying to narrow down a co-read with a friend whose taste differs wildly from my own, and she didn’t hesitate. Her pick was A Manual for Cleaning Women, a sharp, witty, and unflinchingly honest collection of short stories by Lucia Berlin. It’s one of the rare short story collections that has me fully, undeniably hooked and has gently pulled me out of a lingering reading rut. I’ve already flown through a quarter of the book, catching myself smirking more often than not. It’s quickly become one of those titles I press into the hands of anyone searching for their next favorite read.
Saved //
A snapshot from the corner of one of my favorite design showrooms in New York, The Somerset House never misses when it comes to thoughtfully layered vignettes. This is one of those moments that’s stayed with me, not because it’s flashy, but because it says so much with so little. The elements are pared back, yet they still manage to capture the kind of personality a room can hold. When different eras, textures, tones, and objects are brought together naturally, a space starts to tell a story without trying too hard.
Founder Alan Eckstein comes from the fashion world, which makes complete sense once you sit with his work for a minute. His taste isn’t precious or performative. It’s layered, intuitive, and deeply lived-in. From the way furniture is placed to the fixtures that anchor each room, there’s a confidence to it all. The kind that makes even the most timeless pieces feel like they’ve always belonged there.
Ate //
I’m almost embarrassed to admit that after ten years of living in Charleston, I’d somehow never had a proper Hoppin’ John New Year’s Day dinner. I’d fully written it off as bland and mildly uninspiring, which, in hindsight, feels deeply unfair. One bite in and I was happily eating my words. My friends Abby and Jude are two of the best hosts I know, the kind who make an evening feel instantly cozy and unforced, anchored by a hearty meal and a very respectable glass of wine.
This dinner, in particular, lingered. After calling it an early night on New Year’s Eve, we’d ended up parked around the table, talking through our biggest hopes for the year ahead. While everyone else shared goals about careers, relationships, and potential moves, I sheepishly circled back to an unfinished goal from last year… making Lily Allen my top Spotify artist. Priorities. It was one of those nights where the conversation could’ve gone on forever and I absolutely would’ve gone back for a second or third serving. Since then, we’ve made it a point to have “family meal” as often as possible, each of us pulling a recipe from a favorite cookbook and gathering for a candlelit Sunday supper.
