Your Life Is a Movie 🎥

"My eyes are on my life. They are my own private camera. I extend all the experience from my private life into my work, because living is my library."

– Ralph Lauren

Your eyes are your own private camera.

Have you ever thought about that before?

The past couple of weeks I've talked about how the new F1 film inspired me, lighting a spark once again for the art of cinematography.

I don't know much about it, but I do appreciate its beauty.

While cinematographers immortalize their work in digital files, the scenes of our own lives unfold right before our eyes—and most moments aren't immortalized at all.

Some we capture as photos and videos, as words in our journals. But most we want to store in our hearts.

When we focus on embracing a moment fully, it sends our hearts racing. When we truly embody a moment, it leaves us unsteady—changed by what we've witnessed.

In this age of endless capturing, we often forget how to embody moments.

We think we're immortalizing experiences while most leave no imprint on our souls. We share fragments of what we've captured online, while those same moments remain unabsorbed in us offline.

Ralph Lauren understands this.

He knows how precious it is to live his private life deeply, and then letting some of it seep through into his public work.

I want to start looking at my life more through a cinematographer's eyes.

Not eyes that filter for what could be published, but eyes that savor every frame. That make moments stand still for a second.

That night walking home through summer rain, my world looked like a movie—it felt like a movie.

Nothing extraordinary happened.

But I realized the importance of noticing textures.

I watched how cobblestones turn glossy when wet. I noticed the grainy texture of asphalt under my sneakers. I observed how my feet sprung beneath me like an automated mechanism.

In the grocery store, I studied how people dance around each other in narrow aisles. The varied textures of foods on display. The choreography of evening shopping.

Then I started enjoying the physicality of the moment more than ever.

I felt the weight of groceries in my hand. How I switched the bag when muscles grew tired. What raindrops actually feel like on bare arms.

The moment felt full because I decided to experience it fully.

Even though I'm writing about it now, I knew then that I would keep most of it in the camera roll of my private eyes.

This is just a snippet of what I can communicate publicly about a moment that belonged entirely to me.

Let this be a friendly reminder to us all: capture life through your eyes and through embodiment.

The most beautiful scenes aren't meant for sharing—they're meant for living.

Bisous,

Elle