Growing up, I was raised by my mother and grandmother who had two different views of beauty. My mother, who had fully embraced what was beautiful in America and my grams, who held on tightly to the reigns of culture and past.
Vive la Tarte is a bustling little bakery shop hidden around the corner of our hotel that I went into after a night of strolling through the streets of San Fransisco at 2am in the morning. It is a beautiful open space with high ceilings that exude a modern, hipster feel. Most restaurants these days are geared toward “Instagram friendly,” vibes, meaning they are all about aesthetics and foods that look too good to eat, and Vive la Tarte hit that mark the moment I stepped in. It was busy at 10 am in the morning, full of customers hanging out on the steps like high school kids waiting around for next period or sitting a top flat bed type seats with cafeteria style tables. The seating was comfortable to uphold a conversation with my friend, but I could definitely hear the other conversations next to me if I didn’t pay attention.
Growing up I didn’t have many friends, but I did have one person that I considered my best friend. Let’s call her “S” (Gossip Girl much since I am “V” ?) I met S when I was in middle school, a time where I was bullied a lot and didn’t know that kids could be so cruel when they found something in someone they didn’t like. We didn’t fully become close friends until high school and I was glad to have a good friend to start this new, all together exciting and scary chapter in my life with. We all know that it is less scarier to grow through obstacles and growing pains with great friends by your side.