I’m a dame traveler. While I was on the biggest trip I’ve ever taken, I met the woman I call my partner in Australia. So now, I have one exceptionally amazing reason to travel even more.
Women are amazing. I am obsessed with them. I’m also lucky enough to be a lesbian [maybe not “lucky” in the political sense…], so I’ve gotten to know women as humans, friends, adventurers, lovers, coworkers, and more.
In a world where women are still a minority after millenia of subjugation, they never cease to defy convention and live their lives unabashedly. I’m sure throughout history, there have been countless women who have done the same in their own extraordinary ways, but the vast majority have been lost to history through erasure and a failure to see the importance and document… Thanks, men.
With the rise of social media—also education, healthcare, right to vote, legal protection, employment, status as almost human, etc, but that was just the groundwork for what women do on Instagram—women have visibility, representation, autonomy, and power in a completely unprecedented way. Women are living their lives publicly. And they’re doing it in a really aesthetically pleasing way. But pretty pictures in cool places is not what Dame Traveler by Nastasia Yakoub is really showcasing. It’s about women untethered. Women who are not afraid to see the world alone, with others, on their own terms, and document it. The fact women feel important enough to document themselves, their travels, their lives, their art is a feat in and of itself. The world has finally arrived at a place where women are deemed human enough to be interesting enough to care enough to give us space enough to exist. Not only are women doing it and posting about it, there are now books in bookstores for little girls, little boys, and little theys to see and make their own dreams.
While my girlfriend was at work, I did some touristy things… like take pictures in front of the iconic Bathing Boxes at Brighton Beach in Melbourne, Australia.
This is an interesting book to review because it is mostly an amalgam of pictures by creators from around the world, whose work has been showcased on Yakoub’s curated instagram account @dametraveler. There are snippets from contributors as well as information and tips about certain locations. Yakoub could have created a book dedicated to her own travels and photography. Instead, she used this opportunity to support and document incredible women who believe enough to do. Divided into sections on architecture, water, culture, and nature, Dame Traveler delves into a photographic exploration of the diverse feminine gaze of a world too large for any one person to experience fully. So, for those of us who are trying to know the world in its entirety, we must turn to beautiful collections like this to explore, learn, and grow.
Yakoub curated a stunning book. The only thing stopping me from grabbing my passport and leaving permanently is my dogs and bank account. Until then, this will be sitting on my coffee table to daydream through.
Last month, I went to Australia for the second (technically, third) time since August. I was there for two weeks, which is longer than I was there the first time by a week. The reason? When I was in Melbourne in August, I met the most amazing woman and fell in love. We decided to give this a try before I even left the country.
So I returned two months after our first date to be with her as my girlfriend for the first time. Gay, so gay, but we’re gay, so it figures. While I was there, I was exploring the city that could end up being my home. As much fun as this distance thing is, I really can’t wait to not have my girlfriend 15 time zones away in another hemisphere.
An important part of falling in love with a city, for me, is photographing it. If I take in a city as a tourist, I enjoy it deeply; know my way around; familiarize myself with its facets; but I don’t carry it in my soul. To really have a place etched on my heart, I have to perceive it as art. So I slow down, keeping my camera strap wrapped around my hand, looking. I find the beauty in the natural, the hope in the pristine, the history in the dilapidated, the humor in the contiguity, the love in the people. Through a lens, I try to capture places and humans in the way I see them. Beautiful and unique in the minutiae to the sweeping.
I have always loved pictures. Taking them. Looking at them. It’s been only recently that I’ve even thought of myself as a photographer rather than someone who takes pictures. I love the photographs as much for the art as the memories they contain.
I’ve been home from what feels like my second home, Melbourne, for two weeks. I didn’t just fall in love with Melbourne and Australia because I fell in love in Melbourne and Australia. Though, that is a massive part of why it feels so immediately like home. It’s a beautiful city in an exceptional part of the world. I took a lot of pictures in the beginning, and then I spent a lot of time being present without my camera or phone, learning what life with my person actually feels like. So, now that I’ve been home long enough to go through and edit my favorite pictures. I give you: 11[ish]… Pictures I Love from Melbourne and the Sapphire Coast. We are going in chronological order.
Elmer!!! This is my girlfriend’s cat. He is such a handsome man, and, honestly, one of the most incredible cats I’ve ever met. Sorry to all my friends. He’s a ragdoll and the love of my girlfriend’s life. I’m not even upset about that. He knows how to sit and paw on command. What a dude.
2. Moments Along the Yarra One (two) taken along the Yarra, flowing through Melbourne. My first full day in Australia, I had a lazy morning before Kate had to work in the CBD. While she was in meetings, I wandered along the river, taking pictures of things I liked. This boat and a walking bridge connecting the two sides.
3. Brighton Bathing Boxes I spent a morning exploring the iconic 20th century bathing boxes at Brighton Beach. It was a chilly, overcast day, which is my favorite for exploring and photographing. There are fewer crowds and better lighting. There were so many cool bathing boxes, each painted a different color and even theme.
4. Tathra Beach Over a long weekend, we hopped in the car and headed to the Sapphire Coast—Tathra, New South Wales to be specific. It’s a beautiful part of the country, and there were so few people there. It made a lovely place feel even more special. This canoe was just sitting there, and I loved it.
5. Mimosa Rocks National Park Oh what a beach this was!!! I absolutely fell in love with it. Kate and I both love the sea and quiet moments by it. So while she watched the surf and the horizon, I climbed rocks, took pictures, and prayed I wouldn’t slip in and ruin my camera. I didn’t. I really love this picture. It might be the most screensaver image I’ve ever taken.
6. Sapphire Coast Though you can’t tell from this picture, the water is a stunning shade of blue. I get why it’s named such. There was something incredibly powerful and peaceful about the waves crashing into the rocks. I’m a bit obsessed.
7. Echidna A swift pullover with no warning, drew my attention to the spikey boy crossing the road. Kate had stopped the car quickly so I could get out and snag a portrait of this distinguished gentleman. I didn’t even think about hoping to see an echidna, but I did. They’re neat!!!
8. Beans Whenever I travel and find out about a lesbian bar in a city, I do my best to visit. I didn’t even plan this, we met up with a friend at Melbourne’s lesbian, nonbinary, trans, neurodivergent bar in Fitzroy. It was cool!
9. Cheese Counter at Preston Market Preston Market is my new happy place. Partially because they have amazing arepas. Partially because I can have any food I crave plus coffee in one space. Partially because I love authentic, diverse markets. Partially because seeing how happy it makes Kate makes me happy. On a Saturday, we woke up and walked to the market (it’s so wild to exist in a walkable space), and I, of course, made my way to the cheese counter.
10. Holding Hands I love holding her hand. It’s exciting and grounding, and I do not get to hold her hand whenever I want to… yet. On the way to the airport, I took this picture surreptitiously. There is something so remarkably intimate and vulnerable about reaching for someone’s hand.
11. California Mountains This isn’t in Australia but the view after taking off from San Francisco on my way back to Texas. The view was absolutely incredible. I couldn’t fall asleep, but my brain wasn’t working enough to write or even read. So I took pictures and edited them. I do love this one.
I will never understand people who fly with the blinds shut. Let alone people who don’t point out the window so their children can feel the awe of a vast world below. [But that’s an entirely different opinion, I think.]
There are so many who will never see the world like this. It’s a way of transportation, sure, but it’s also an immense privilege.
We live in a time like no other. The Wright Brothers only just took flight in 1903.
Planes have fascinated me for much longer than my memory serves. To this day, I love being at the airport. For just about every reason you can think of from the scientific to the sociological to the engineering to the sheer joy of flying off on an adventure. They’re fascinating.
We spend so much money flying. It’s expensive and oftentimes the fastest if not only way to get some places. Whether it’s work or travel, it’s an incredible feat of humanity to be in the sky. Strip all the possibilities away down to one: you’re paying a lot of money for that view. Also… going through security/customs deserves a good view.
The world is stunning.
Clouds and topography, I clammer for window seats and spend the majority of my flight daydreaming out the window. Of the far off majestic places I know exist somewhere over the horizon. Of the people and stories to hear in abundance too great for any one person to know all the stories of just one person. A planet as fertile as it is ravaged. A civilization as generous as it is greedy. I’m an idealist at heart, but shhhh don’t tell anyone. Looking at the lands I know and don’t, I can’t help but think: This world is beyond words, and yet, we’re collectively destroying it.
How can one look out the window of an airplane and not be left a little in reverence of its abundance and desolation? Maybe if more people did, the world would be a bit of a better place.
George Peabody Library sits on the Mt. Vernon Campus of Johns Hopkins University. Founded in 1857 with a donation of $300,000 by George Peabody to create an accessible cultural center of learning for all. The original structure was finished in 1866, but the library seen today was finished in 1878 and designed by architect Edmund George Lind. When it opened, it was dedicated to the kindness and hospitality of Baltimore. At its inception, the librarians curated and pursued a list of 50,000 specific books to line the shelves regardless of price or difficulty. Today, the library stacks are home to a collection of more than 300,000 works ranging from rare first editions to 15th century tomes, including first edition Hawthornes, Melvilles, and Darwin’s On the Origin of Species. The rare book rooms’ newest books date from the 1700s. The collection is always growing with a focus on 18th and 19th century works.
Walking into the main atrium, the eye is met with stacks five tiers high, lined by ornamental cast-iron balconies. The library is capped by a stunning skylight soaring 61 feet above quiet readers below, illuminating the entire space with a warm comfort so rarely found in rooms so large. Created to be free and open to the public, despite changing hands multiple times, it is still a free and open library to the public. Though the collection is non-circulating, readers and researchers can explore the works while enjoying its immense beauty.
I was in awe.
It is immensely beautiful.
Visit
Visiting George Peabody Library has been really the only thing left on my Bucket List for years. I have actively been making plans and trying to go for many, many years. Those plans fell through every time. In October, I went on a roadtrip to Washington DC. There were lots of plans with lots of activities. When asked what I wanted to see on the trip, the only thing I said, “I’d like to take a trip to Baltimore and see the library.”
Done.
We took a day trip to Baltimore and I fell a little bit in love with the city. I went when I was 18 and adored it. As an adult with an even better grasp and love for history, I was in heaven. Historically, it’s a fascinating city. Architecturally, it’s stunning. Culturally, wow. It sits at an intersection of so many interests of mine as a human, learner, and writer of social justice. I would love to go back and spend more time existing there.
Parking in front of the Mt. Vernon campus, the building is as gorgeous as every other 19th century building in the neighborhood. But there was nothing differentiating it from all the other incredible façades. So much so, I tried going in the side door as it was just as magnificent as the main entrance. Even standing in front of the door, I was vibrating with anticipation. Actually the whole drive there.
Getting to the library, we had to walk through the entryway, take a left, and then walk through a large room of stuff, which was probably a museum of sorts. I should have looked, but I was ready to see what I had come to see and didn’t really pay any attention. Obviously. And also fighting off an anxious pee feeling that was totally unnecessary and over the top. The moment I could see through the doorway, I started crying. I couldn’t help it. It was very embarrassing. A bad case of Stendahls Syndrome. Of course there’s a video because my friend is an asshat and documents everything. I wandered and cried. Thank God, I eventually stopped crying and kept wandering. I tiptoed through card catalogs, read every plaque, sat in awe of the sheer beauty, size, and knowledge this one room held. I took a crap ton of photos. So many pictures. None of which will ever do the room justice, though they’re brilliant. I don’t know what I expected. But I didn’t expect the library to be just a massive room in an even bigger building, yet it is.
I spent two hours soaking in that moment I had waited so long to enjoy.
I will always explore card catalogues.
More Than Stendahls Syndrome
As I walked into George Peabody Library, I was swept with so many complex emotions. I started crying. I tried to play it cool, but I am not a chill person. Part of me did cry because of the immense, architectural beauty. It’s art. Part of me cried because I was with someone who had no idea how much that moment meant to me but made it happen anyways. Sometimes, small things are not small things.
I stood there crying and sniffling for more than just Stendahls Syndrome.
Libraries always have a tendency to bring up the emotional side of me. It does exist, very, very deep down. As a writer, I know how much effort one book requires. As a writer in the time of computers makes it far easier, faster, and less physically taxing to actually write a book. Imagine writing an entire book with a quill… imagine the typos. My hand hurts thinking about that. The amount of knowledge in that one room alone is more than I will ever acquire no matter how dedicated I am to the pursuit. Libraries are a testament to the lives of people who dedicated themselves to gaining and proliferating knowledge. In their own ways, many of which I do not agree with, they were trying to make the world a better place. That is what I also aspire to do. It’s hard not to be a little overcome with emotion when one steps back from themselves to acknowledge the effort put into the existence and purpose of libraries. I do not believe in God. I do not go to church. I do believe in knowledge. Truth is my God. Libraries are my sanctuary.
Standing just inside the door as a gay woman, I was hit with more than awe. This library was not meant for me. As a woman, an out gay woman, had I walked into the library upon its construction, I would have been imprisoned existing the way I do. Hell, there are a great many places today I could still be arrested or even executed for existing as I am. It was built in a time when 20% (optimistic) of the population was illiterate and less than 2% of the population went to college. Fuck women on that statistic, there isn’t a percentage available. Wesleyan, the first women’s college, only opened twenty years prior. George Peabody Library was meant for everyone, but not really. It was created in a time where the “everyone” was implicitly understood as white men, maybe refined, respectable ladies who were educated but not too much. I am not either of those things by today’s standards let alone the standards of 1860s America.
The first Ivy’s—Princeton and Yale—didn’t even start admitting women until 1969. Women have had to fight with everything we have, including our lives, for the privilege, the right to receive an education.
Education. Knowledge. That is the path forward. Ensuring women—49.72% of the population—are educated is how the world turns around. Yet there are so many roadblocks for us. They’ve been lessened in this country and others by the lives and fights of so many women who have gone before us. But there are still so many obstacles. From societal pressures, laws, cost, so on and so forth.
Malala was shot in the head because she advocated for girls’ education in 2012.
I’m angry.
I am angry for all women. But this hits home for me. For over a decade I have, in so many unknowing ways, downplayed my fight for education. I have never been quiet about the fact I was a stripper to pay for college. So often, people hear “stripping” and latch on. They want those stories. It’s unique, and I’m open about it. I’m a novelty. I’m an information resource fountain about a taboo yet extremely intriguing topic from anecdotal and scholarly standpoints. I know my shit, and I lived it. The part about stripping to PAY for college is glanced over. I think, emotionally, I always glanced over it too. Standing in the George Peabody Library, for whatever reason, it hit me. I did all of that to learn.
I graduated in 2014 from Cornell College with a triple major in Literature, French, and Russian with an emphasis in Literary Translation and Analysis. I did it in four years. I paid for it by working 100+ hours a week (it is possible, hard, yet possible), taking my clothes off for men who didn’t give a fuck if I lived or died, figuring out better ways to withstand the physical and psychological violence. I did all of that so I could have an EDUCATION. I tried so many other ways. But I was shit out of luck. When I went to the financial aid office, I was told to join the military, get married, have a child, or drop out and wait until I turned 26. None of those were options. So I stepped outside of respectable society for knowledge, ultimately, a piece of paper.
And I am so fucking proud of myself for doing that. I fought for my education. I gave up so much. I still live with the repercussions of that decision and I always will. I knew what I was doing and the ripple effects it would have on my life and future, intellectually. I was not stupid. My eyes were wide open. As much as they can be. Reality is always different. I don’t regret it. I never have. I wish I’d had other options, a choice. I wish the country we live in prioritized people rather than money. I wish men knew how to treat women, all women—sex workers included—well. I wish college wasn’t so expensive. I would also do it again. Knowing everything I know now, I made the right choice when I was left with no choices to make. I chose an education above all else.
The fucked up part… I made that choice twelve years ago.
TWELVE.
A year before Malala was shot on the other side of the world in her own fight for women’s education. I was sitting on a strip club counter studying when the notification popped up on my phone. I live in a first-world country, and I was still forced to fight for an education.
In so many ways, it was a different time, but all that’s really changed is college is more expensive and stripping is only infinitesimally less villainized. Even then, as a poor, desperate college student, I knew I was so privileged. I am a white woman. I was “straight” when I started stripping. I had every seeming advantage. I still had to fight to learn. I dodged sexual assault, rape threats, death threats, a shooting, knives, and more over the course of four years so I could graduate, move on, get a good job, build a life.
So often, I come across as straight-laced. I am. I like rules. But I’ve always been a rebel. I have always pushed back. I do not fit in the society that is, but I’m trying to open society so there’s a place for me, women, minorities, the LGBTQIA+ community, and everyone who feels othered.
My fight for education looks different than most women’s. Yet, it’s so similar. I leveraged sex and femininity in the same way women have for all of written history to access information, power, safety, comfort, literally everything. I took the only thing I had—my body and mind—to dare to grasp for more than what was being offered. I succeeded. I didn’t die. I get to move on and rebuild and heal. I get to use the knowledge I worked so hard for to advocate for other women so one day no woman will be turned away from learning.
I drove myself to the airport this morning. It’s not the first time I’ve had to park my car while I jetset. It definitely will not be the last. But I was not supposed to drive myself. I hate spending money I don’t have to, and honestly, there’s something really lovely about having someone care enough to do the airport drop off and pick up dance with.
I masked up. I was just alone and drinking coffee.
I booked this trip two weeks ago, and for me, that’s some pretty good advance warning. I spoke with my platonic life partner and roommate and best friend, all one person, about driving me. I had picked flights that would work with his work/life schedule. He agreed. It went on our household calendar. Last night, he got home from work. I was working at the table. He’d been invited out with friends. Great! Have fun. Remember we need to leave the house by 3:45 am, so just be home by then. He gives me a hug and says he’ll be home by nine so we can watch a show before getting some sleep and heading to the airport. 10:30 hits, and I head to bed.
When I wake up and head downstairs to leave… No truck in the driveway. No ring notification. No man on the couch or in his bed or anywhere in the house at all. It’s 3:30. You know. Still time. Four calls straight to voicemail while I’m brushing my teeth. I eventually leave a voicemail. “I’m not angry. I’m not even disappointed. I’ve just come to expect this.” The petty asshole in me responds to his midnight-thirty “Love you!” text message with “Then maybe you should be home to take me to the airport…..” “But I guess not.” I did not take the high road. Grace was not given. Not my proudest moment. I let all the doggos out and said my goodbyes before hopping in the car and driving my independent lady ass to the airport. I did cry in the car. Not a breakdown cry. The silent stoic tears of a war bride waving goodbye on a train platform in a 1950s black and white movie. Probably not that pretty, but you get the picture. Hurt.
I’m taking this trip because I miss my best friend; I’m going through an intensely tough time and need to get away; the day after I get back my life will revolve around the out-all-nighter because he’s having his hip replaced, and I’ll be taking care of him. This is me being punchy about the fact I’ll be his nurse round-the-clock for six weeks and he couldn’t make it home in time to take me to the airport. Not sorry. I am also not sorry for airing this information. I’m a writer. He knows this. Life is copy.
Two quick things before I get to what I actually want to talk about. 1) This scenario is not actually a huge deal and was easily solved. The emotional aspect… Different story. Had this happened ten years ago, I would be a proper mess, but I’m so much more healed now. So I’m a slight mess instead. 2) If this were an isolated incident, I would be mad or disappointed. The problem, it’s not. So I’m hurt because it never feels lovely to be forgotten, and it’s pretty terrible never being a priority or able to depend on someone.
Trauma is a huge part of my story. I have issues. I am excessively familiar with all of my issues and triggers and the coping mechanisms I’ve developed over the course of thirty-one years. I’m quite good at telling my people what I need from them to keep functioning as optimally as I can. These things are quite easy and simple because at the end of the day, they’re my problems and I hate being a burden. I wear my trauma on my sleeve; it just makes life and relationships easier when I’m not hiding things that impact me so deeply. So everyone close to me knew what they were getting into and decided to stay. To the extreme point that if I’m dating someone or getting to know someone as a friend I lay it all out there on the first date/hang out. Truly, all they have to do is Google me and so much is out there for consumption. I am old enough to know I don’t want to waste my fucking time on people who will judge me, not support me, are intimidated by whatever, think what I do is dumb, can’t handle it. Trial by fire. Their reactions say it all.
Sad and hurt for too many reasons but ready for adventure.
When you have a relationship, platonic or romantic, with a person who has survived and lives with trauma, you have to accept that your actions, even the innocuous ones, can have a huge and sweeping impact. I struggle with worth, abandonment issues, being enough, and just feeling like an entirely forgettable human. Among other things. So when I was left to fend for myself this morning, the thought was “Alone. Like always.” Maneuvering the logistics of getting to the airport: so simple. Maneuvering the emotional toll of being forgotten and abandoned: not so simple.
Trusting people is so hard for me. I’ve let people in and been hurt over and over and over again. Trust is built over time and in the little moments. Watching TV on the couch after a rough day. Text messages to check in after falling down the stairs. Sleepovers for funsies. Showing up on time or at all when plans are made. “Safe travel” texts before planes take off. Not canceling. Including people in conversations. Remembering how to pronounce a name. Randomly reaching out for no reason. Sending a postcard. Listening without judgement. All these little things are teeny moments building trust and relationship between people. Trust takes time to build and often so little to corrode or destroy. To protect myself and cope with a life of abuse, I keep people at a distance, don’t give them chances to build trust, and make it incredibly hard to get to know me. How I have any friends is quite the mystery at this point. I’m working on it. As shitty as it is to say, when one person lets me down, it feels like another tick mark against all of humanity. Like, welp, this person can’t be trusted, and they’re human, therefore all humans are ashtrays. Refer to the first sentence of this paragraph… I am aware this is a problem.
I’m not someone who needs, wants, or even craves grand gestures. (Maybe I am, but I’ve never had anyone remotely try, so I wouldn’t actually know. I do love doing them, however.) Little things mean the most. A ride to the airport is not life altering, but it’s a little thing. Love, true love, exists in those little things, the quotidian, the quiet moments, the in betweens. It’s not always explosions or fireworks. It’s life altering in fundamentally consistent, persistent ways of sharing joys and sorrows, every big and little moment. Love is showing up and bearing witness to a lived life. Those tiny moments mean everything. To someone with trauma, it means everything and so much more. I don’t ask for much. I don’t need much. I probably need more than I realize, but I’ve been alone and self-sufficient for so long, I don’t know what it’s like to lean on someone or ask for help. Maybe someone will force my walls down and make me realize it’s okay to need things. To that woman, I say, “Best of luck. I’ll be quite the challenge.” Until then if ever. Fuck that shit; I’m a strong, independent woman. I don’t need anyone. I got myself to the airport like I’ve done numerous times before. And I’ll take myself home.
That doesn’t mean I’m not hurting. I’m not struggling. I’m not wondering if he forgot because I’m forgettable. Or he didn’t come because I wasn’t supportive enough of his night out. Or he didn’t think I was worth taking to the airport. Or that maybe I just don’t deserve someone to care about me. Or he just doesn’t want me in his life anymore. Or he never cared at all. Logically, I know all of this is untrue and it was an accident. But that doesn’t mean I believe it. Feelings and logic rarely coexist peacefully.
When you decide to be in someone’s life who is dealing with trauma, you better be damn sure you know what you’re getting into and that your actions have repurcussions. Your accidents and mistakes carry more weight. Little things mean the most, for the good and the bad. I know what it’s like to be on both sides. Being the traumatized and loving someone with trauma. It’s hard doing the loving, but I also know just how worth it it is. Then again, I also know how to be there for them because I know. And when you love someone, you just show up. Trauma or no trauma. Show up. That’s the bare minimum, and it shouldn’t be a lot to ask for. Then again, my bare minimum was “This one doesn’t rape me!” for the longest time. It’s been upped to, “This one doesn’t make me cry every day!” I’m fucked up. I know.
So I’m sitting on this fucking plane, crying my big, gay tears next to a man in a MAGA hat, trying to convince myself that maybe someday I’ll find someone who will ask if I need a ride to the airport and show up. (Shout out to Amanda, who offered, but I “had a ride.”) It should be simple. But it’s not for me. The idea of my having worth enough for anyone to take me to the airport let alone love me does not exist. The accident of falling asleep at a friend’s house after a fun night out is small, but to me, it carries connotations of so much more.
In usual RaeAnna style, I am incredibly behind on my travel writing. Normally, I put it off because I don’t want to edit pictures, but the pictures have been edited since the plane ride home. I’ve just been ridiculously terrible at getting the writing portion done.
Las Vegas is the perfect place to go when you want to pretend you’re not where you are. So many of the casinos have destination themes, and they sure do go over the top. You can enjoy a romantic gondola ride through Venetian canals and be under the Eiffel Tower ten minutes later before seeing the Sphinx before heading to the tropics enjoying a slice of pizza by the Statue of Liberty. Truly there is so very much to do and see and let your imagination run wild. If you’re me or just like a good picture opportunity, there’s really so many places you can do just that. Honestly, you can spend your whole trip posing around the world within two miles.
Hello, Vegas! I’m here to play!Thanks for a good time! I’ll be back soon.
Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas Sign This sign is iconic for a reason. I wasn’t quite sure where I thought it was, but it’s a bit of a walk from the strip. There is a convenient parking lot if you don’t want to walk there like I did. What I didn’t realize was that it was two sided! On the other side, as you’re driving away from the strip [duh], it says “Drive Carefully Come Back Soon.” I walked past the sign on my very first day. I didn’t stop to take a picture because there was a VERY long line, and warning, there is always a long line unless…. I went at 6:00 am the next day, and I was the only one there. Except for Elvis, from Pittsburgh. He serenaded me as I posed. Luckily, I was prepared and brought two outfits so I could take pictures front and back and pretend I was leaving to post when I was actually leaving.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521948″]
Standing in the middle of the room for a cool picture.
The Venetian Really anywhere you go here, there are gorgeous picture spots. Had I known, I would have gotten up earlier and snagged a picture before all the people arrived to shop and site see. Inside is equally gorgeous with their flower installations.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521956″]
Dancing in the morning glow.
Mandalay Bay Again. This one is HUGE, so the picture moments are endless. The main entrance is really gorgeous and filled with waterfalls and tropical plants. If you can’t tell, I managed to match my outfit to the theme of the place. I got there too late in the morning for a sunrise golden hour, but I made it work, I think. This one is at the very end of the strip, and I almost never saw it thrumming with people.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521958″]
There’s nothing much better than reading in the pool.Of course I had to see the sphynx.
Luxor PoolsI stayed here the very first night. I’d only been to Las Vegas once before in 1999… It was an ode to my childhood trip. The pools are very well known and make great photo spots. When I was there at the end of April/beginning of May, one pool was closed due to COVID, another was under renovation, and the third was open. It was good enough! I landed at 9:00 in the morning and was poolside by 10:15. The pools crowd very quickly, so I suggest getting there early if you don’t want too many bodies sharing the spotlight. SphynxBy noon, I had a bunch of content because I changed into a cute outfit to pose in front of the Sphinx. If you’re trying to find it, like I was (it’s hard to know where things are when you’re INSIDE the casinos), the Sphynx is out the doors next to the front desk, facing the waterfalls. I had to get creative with my angles because the normal photo spot for the Sphinx was closed. They turned out fun anyways!
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521955″]
This was my favorite place in all of Las Vegas.
Bellagio There are so many gorgeous photo spots. I suggest all of them. I fell, absolutely fell in love with the Conservatory and Botanical Garden. The first night I was there, I walked the entire strip and into the Bellagio. I followed the flowers to the Conservatory, where I was left in awe, which meant I visited every single day to appreciate it at different times of the day. It’s a 14,000 square foot Botanical Garden with a stunning glass ceiling; every season and for Lunar New Year, the Horticulture and Engineering teams create a unique and brilliant floral and botanical installation. They reuse, recycle, replant, and repurpose as much as they can in their commitment to sustainable art. They recently changed the installation for summer, and now I want to go back to see it. This may have been my favorite thing in Vegas…. And it’s free.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521972″]
Best food I had in all of Las Vegas.
Best Friend In Park MGM, Roy Choi’s incredible and experiential restaurant can be found. This was a must on Amanda’s list, and I never say no to food. I didn’t know what to expect, but the moment we walked up, I was in. 90s Kid Paradise. I’m not kidding. If you were raised in the 90s like I was—aging myself—, then you’ll have, at the very least, nostalgia, and, at the best, a full on nostalgiagasm. There is so much going in the front, and then we walked to the dining room… I wasn’t expecting that. The food was incredible. The best food of the trip, hands down. I will go back again.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521975″]
It was hot. This was the coolest I was the entire trip.
Hilton Garden Grand Vacation Just a normal Hilton. It’s connected to the Flamingo, so my friends wanted to stay there for pool access (discussed below). The cute part about this hotel is the oversized chair. Everyone needs one of those pictures on vacation.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521978″]
I really loved this bathtub.Rooftop pools are for me.
Waldorf Astoria Rooms Themselves I stayed here the last couple of nights. There is no casino here, which means it’s quieter and caters to a less rambunctious crowd. It’s also nice as fuck, which is why the rooms themselves are the perfect place for a photoshoot. I don’t take baths, but I took a bath every day I was there. Also… not a bad view to get some work done. PoolThe rooftop pool is really, really nice. It has a fabulous bar with wonderful waitstaff. You’ll need a reservation for the cabanas, but honestly you don’t need it. Amanda and I lounged in our Texas icon, Buc-ee’s, swimsuits before immediately changing into something cute. I spent several hours by that pool. Paul, the bartender, is fantastic and also an Iowa native; we hit it off when he wasn’t busy. The [nonalcoholic] drinks are delicious. I felt like I had loads of money sitting by that pool… A beautiful fantasy.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521981″]
These were my favorite pictures from the entire trip.Who wouldn’t want to eat a baguette in front of the Eiffel Tower?
Paris Eiffel TowerThe Eiffel Tower is one of the most photographed structures in the world, one of the most tagged locations on Instagram. Okay… the real one, but that means the Eiffel Tower in Las Vegas is a must see and must photograph spot too. There’s loads of ways to get your picture, but I suggest heading across the street to the Bellagio Fountain and posing with your back to the Eiffel Tower. That way you get a cute foreground and the entire tower in the frame. And if you scroll through Instagram, very few people are doing that. Arc de Triomphe This spot isn’t quite as noticeable when you’re walking around the strip because it’s nestled back into the hotel. The Arc de Triomphe is on the side of Paris, where people are picked up and dropped off. I woke up early and headed over there to take a whole bunch of fun Parisian inspired photos with the Arch in the background.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521983″]
Meow Wolf was incredible.
Meow Wolf This was such a fascinating experience. If you want to spend an entire day taking unique, strange, and potentially disturbing pictures in the midst of a hoard of people, this is the place for you. I truly loved it, and there is so much to take in. I didn’t spend a lot of time behind my camera. Instead I immersed myself in the immersion. I did pause to take this picture because the room truly was beautiful.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521985″]
I preferred looking over it after it closed.
Flamingo’s Pool For the young, party people—not me—this is the go to spot. It’s very pink. Very crowded. Very expensive. I stayed in the Hilton Garden Grand Vacation attached to the Flamingo for one night, so I got in for free. But you will have to wait in line and pay to get in. If you want a chair or a table or a couch, pay some more. It’s not my scene. I walked in and walked right back out. I took this picture on a walkway overlooking the pool after it had closed. Honestly, I think it’s better than being surrounded by a whole lot of sweaty, wet drunk people while trying to get a picture for the gram. Take a flight of stairs. Worth it.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521984″]
I would not go back, but you should decide that for yourself.
Fremont Street If I never go back to Fremont Street, I will be okay. It did not speak to me. It was fine once. There’s a lot of alcohol, gambling, and drunk people. LIGHT. So much light. There’s not really any amazing photo opportunities except for literally standing in the middle of the street, surrounded by people. Which can be a cool picture, but that’s about it. I do like the picture, though; it’s not my usual aesthetic.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521986″]
This was just a cute nook.
An Alley of Shops Between Linq and Flamingo I tried so hard to find out if this area had a name, and I have no idea what it’s called if it’s called anything at all. Onward, it’s a nice, clean lane with shops and restaurants.. It’s a great little spot for just a casual picture in the sun. Nothing crazy, but nice.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521988″]
I was feeling myself.
Caesars Palace Can we briefly mention the lack of an apostrophe… I don’t like it. Grammar aside, it’s a beautiful casino. Huge. Being completely transparent, there are tons of photo worthy spots, but a lot of times the interesting thing about it is the art and sculpture recreations. So go explore and find the naked man statue that speaks to your soul, I mean, Instagram feed.
Shop the Look [show_shopthepost_widget id=”4521989″]
So there’s a run down of my favorite photo worthy locations. The thing is, this is not at all a comprehensive or even intensive or even well-researched look at Vegas’ Insta notable spots. This is what I found works and is pretty while still trying to have fun and not be intimidated by the swarms of people.
If you’re on your way to Vegas, remember to stop by the Bellagio’s Conservatory & Botanical Garden. You will not regret it, and send me a picture of what’s installed right now. Also eat all the food, every single bite.
