A Little More Time

I had intended for this summer to be the beginning of my final chapter as Olivia.

I had made peace with the decision. I had begun imagining what it would feel like to close this particular door, to take the name, the photographs, the stories, the lessons—and everything else that came with this strange and extraordinary chapter of my life—and carry them somewhere new. To create something new.

Then the emails started arriving...and the texts. Some were simple: I'm not ready for you to go. Others were longer. Much longer.

People told me about the plans they had made that never quite came together. The vacations, surgeries, and illnesses that got in the way. The schedules that refused to cooperate. The August travel plans that would take them away from New York and New Jersey just when they had finally decided they wanted to see me.

There were people who had been thinking about reaching out, but who kept waiting for the right moment and who were finally realizing that moment was now. There were people who had assumed there would always be another opportunity.

I read all of it, I have thought about it, and I have made a decision. I'm giving you a little more time.

My retirement date is now September 30, 2026.

And this really is the final extension.

I Had No Plans of Changing My Mind

When I originally announced my retirement, I meant it, nor was I seeking to manufacture scarcity. I wasn't looking for one last round of attention. I barely posted to any of my socials at the height of my career, as my aim had always been to cultivate a quiet, private life far away from the purview of...everyone. I wasn't making a dramatic announcement simply to see who would react.

I was ready.

I am ready.

There is something very strange about closing a book while you're still writing the final chapter. You begin noticing things differently.

A conversation becomes a memory while you're actively experiencing it. A requested piece of lingerie or a robe has already been sold to a friend and you are wearing it for the final time. Someone laughs and you realize that one day you may remember the sound without remembering exactly where you were when you heard it.

You start understanding that endings rarely happen all at once. They happen in pieces and chunks of time. Perhaps that's why these messages affected me as much as they did.

They reminded me that while I had been thinking about the ending from the inside, there were other people experiencing it from the other side. For some of you, this chapter isn't simply my chapter. You have your own memories attached to it as well.

There Were Always Other Reasons

One of the things I've learned over the years is that people rarely arrive carrying only the reason they initially give you, there is usually something underneath it.

Sometimes it is loneliness.

Sometimes curiosity.

Sometimes grief.

Sometimes the desire to be seen without having to explain yourself.

Sometimes it is simply the desire to step outside of the ordinary version of your life for a few hours and inhabit another one.

And sometimes it is just two people meeting at an interesting point in their respective stories.

I've had conversations that began somewhere entirely unexpected and ended somewhere neither of us could have predicted.

I've listened to confessions.

I've heard stories.

I've laughed until my face hurt.

I've learned things about people that they had never said aloud to anyone else.

I've met people who surprised me.

I've met people who challenged me.

I've met people who reminded me of myself.

And I've met people who showed me, sometimes very clearly, who I never wanted to become.

All of that has been part of the education.

What I Am Taking With Me

When I first began thinking seriously about retirement, I imagined that leaving would mean shedding everything associated with this life.

Olivia.

Her photographs.

This website.

The ads.

The email.

The burner numbers.

The sheets, towels, special soaps, daily routines...

And the version of myself that has existed inside all of it.

But I'm beginning to understand that retiring from this industry doesn't mean that Olivia ceases to exist. Olivia was created from a part of who I actually am. She may no longer exist in a public space accessible to you, Dear Reader, but she will certainly exist in personal moments of my life moving forward.

September 30, 2026

So, here we are.

You have little more time.

Not forever. Not indefinitely. Not another extension after this one.

Until then, there is still time for conversations that haven't happened yet and for stories I haven't heard. There are still people I haven't met. There are still moments I don't know are going to become memories.

What Comes Next

The life waiting for me on the other side of this transition is not entirely defined yet. I've decided to chart my own path foward as a writer which is both exciting and terrifying. All this time, I've known exactly who I was because I knew what I was doing. I have been doing this for 20 odd years.

Now I am inchoate and formless yet forming into something new, not yet nameable or defined. There will be parts that are kept and repurposed. There will be parts that are left behind. That is what reinvention is all about. About whether we are brave enough to to release knowing, to release controlling the outcome and to become wholly unfamiliar to ourselves and perhaps those around us.

That is the personal journey that I am on.

And finally, to everyone who has written to me since I announced my retirement:

Thank you.

Thank you for the congratulations.

Thank you for the memories.

Thank you for telling me what our time together meant to you.

Thank you for the stories.

Thank you for the laughter.

Thank you for reminding me that this chapter mattered.

I've had a wonderful experience with most everyone I've had the pleasure of meeting throughout these years. I will carry much more from this life than I expected to.

The memories.The stories.The lessons.The people.

And now, until September 30th, there is just a little more time.

So let's not waste it.

— Olivia