For nearly two decades, Jess Graves has told us what’s worth our time and money. She first launched The Love List in 2007 as a lifestyle blog, and has since built a loyal audience on Substack by recommending things the way she would to a friend: only when she’s genuinely excited about them. But the real subject of her work is attention: what we notice, and what we keep reaching for once the novelty wears off. Here, Jess talks about trusting her own taste without needing anyone’s approval, how writing helped her find pleasure in her life after calling off her wedding, and how her grandmothers shaped who she is.

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You started The Love List in 2007. Nearly two decades later, you've built a career around having a distinct point of view in a world where everyone has access to the same references. How has your understanding of personal taste evolved, and what makes someone's perspective genuinely their own?

"I’ve always known what I like. What’s changed is how much I need anyone else to agree with me. When you spend years paying attention, you start to recognize your own preoccupations. You can also admit that something everyone loves does absolutely nothing for you."

"Having access to the same references doesn’t mean we’ll all notice the same things. I’m interested in what someone notices, and why they keep coming back to it. Tell me what you love about the sweater you’ve worn for fifteen years. That tells me more about you than knowing what you want to buy next."

 Recommending a piece of clothing, a restaurant, or a book is very personal; you're inviting someone into your way of seeing the world. How do you think about that relationship with your readers, and what makes something worthy of sharing?

"I take it seriously when someone spends their money or their Saturday afternoon on my recommendation. They’re trusting me with a little piece of their life. I want them to feel like they have a friend who pays attention and will tell them whether something is worth it."

"Usually, I want to share something because I’m already telling my friends about it. I want to explain why the jeans fit so well or insist that someone order a dish I’m still thinking about. That enthusiasm has to come first. If I’m trying to come up with a reason to recommend something, I probably shouldn’t."

You've shared about the difference between disclosure and storytelling, and finding the angle that makes a personal experience resonate beyond yourself. Has writing changed the way you understand your own life? Are there things you've only recognized about yourself through putting them into words?

"I’ve kept a diary since I was a kid. Writing has always helped me hear myself. I can think about something endlessly, but when I try to explain it on the page, I usually find the sentence I’ve been avoiding."

"After calling off my wedding, I was surprised by how much pleasure I found in my own life. Writing about ordinary days helped me recognize that. I’d sit down thinking I was writing about making dinner and realize I was writing about how good it felt to be home. Sometimes I understand what I’m saying only after I’ve said it."

"I’ve always known what I like. What’s changed is how much I need anyone else to agree with me."

Your work is so intertwined with an appreciation for beautiful things, but you've also spoken about making ordinary days feel extraordinary. Has your definition of luxury changed as you've gotten older? What feels genuinely indulgent to you now?

"I still love beautiful things. But I care much more now about how I get to enjoy them. A sweater I love feels even better when I’m wearing it at home with nowhere to be. I don’t need someone to see me in it."

You've spent much of your career observing culture and deciding what deserves our attention. In a world that constantly encourages us to want something new, how do you recognize what has lasting value? What have you loved for years and still find yourself returning to?

"I pay attention to what I keep reaching for once the excitement of finding it wears off. Do I still want to wear it? Would I go back even if I couldn’t tell anyone I’d been? There’s a lot of information in what you enjoy without an audience."

"Vintage Levi’s. My Gram Gram’s diamonds. I don’t get tired of them, and I don’t need them to feel new. I like having things in my life that I know that well."

So much of your work involves looking outward, discovering things, and sharing them with others. What has helped you become more comfortable turning that attention inward? Is there something about yourself you've come to appreciate more deeply in recent years?

"Spending time alone has helped. I’ve always had a strong sense of who I am, but I can spend an enormous amount of energy thinking about how someone else feels. It’s easier to hear what I want when I’m not anticipating what another person needs."

"I’ve come to appreciate how easy I am to delight. A dozen oysters can improve my entire outlook. I like that about myself. That enthusiasm is useful in my work, but I get to enjoy it even when I have nothing to share."

So much of our personal taste is inherited before we even recognize it as our own. Were there women in your life who shaped your understanding of beauty, style, or the rituals of everyday living? What have you carried forward from them?

"My grandmother Freda was very over the top. Lots of jewelry and perfume, trinkets everywhere. Her beach house was a violet riot of purple upholstery. She drove a Camaro, loved soap operas, smoked Benson & Hedges and had a mean dog that bit. Fifty percent of me is her."

"My maternal grandmother Margaret was very elegant and Southern and proper. She had her hair set in curls at the same time every week. Every inch of her enormous house was decorated to a tee. I can’t even imagine what it cost just to hang those massive avocado-colored velvet drapes. She had built-in planters for her violets and an enormous crystal chandelier in the formal dining room where we had Thanksgiving. Some of my best childhood memories are in that house. I’m fifty percent her, too."

"I have a domestic, traditional side and a wild streak. It comes out in my clothes and accessories, even the way I do my makeup and nails. I love that dichotomy. I will never be all one thing."

Jess's Ritual: