Miami? Miami.

Having the time of my life at the SHILLR x Proof Dinner

If my summer was a Greek tragedy, then Art Basel Miami was my deus ex machina—the unexpected intervention that saved me from becoming a permanent resident of my own melancholy.

It turns out that nothing forces you to snap out of a spiraling existential crisis quite like a team of big hearted angels (s/o SHILLR gents), neon-drenched nights, champagne-fueled debates about postmodernism, and the sheer absurdity of events akin watching a man in a leather kilt sell a banana duct-taped to a wall for an ungodly amount of money.

Miami, in all its heat and hedonism, was the perfect antithesis to the quiet grief of Lisbon. Where Lisbon is golden and indifferent, Miami is electric and utterly unbothered. There’s something about being surrounded by an ocean of friends, artists, collectors, and beautifully deranged creatives that makes you remember why life is worth romanticizing again.

I walked into Art Basel still wearing the weight of my diabolical summer. I left it feeling lighter, or at the very least, distracted enough to breathe again. I got my (borderline manly) appetite back.
The days were a blur of overstimulation—rooms full of works that made me think, laugh, or roll my eyes dramatically (sometimes all at once). I talked to artists who live entirely off their own madness, and for the first time in months, I felt like I belonged somewhere again.

Dashing to the bar.

I found myself in unexpected places—discussing the metaphysics of digital art at a rooftop party, planning trips to Japan with virtual strangers, rediscovering the joy of curiosity that grief had tried to steal from me. And then, on one particularly surreal night, standing in a circle chatting about memecoins and shitcoins, I had an epiphany: I was still alive. And more than that, I was delighted to be.

If the summer taught me that life is merciless, Art Basel reminded me that it is also ridiculous and dazzling and full of second acts.

So here I am—wiser, warier, and a little shinier from all that Miami sun. Not quite whole, but no longer shattered. Happy to report that I giggled a lot and fully meant it.

I never thought that Miami, of all places, would’ve played such a role on my heart’s healing.

Much fun was had.