La Petite Leonie

✦ Curated for a Life Well-Traveled ✦ franco-britannique ✦ F1 ✦ aesthete ✦ bon vivant ✦ Paris | Bordeaux ✦

[leonielaurierfr]

I know I’m supposed to be coy about it.

But I like fucking. I like being touched like I’m something you’ve waited for. I like silk sheets sticking to my thighs, my lipstick smeared, my voice sweet and wrecked.

I like when it starts with dinner and ends with my legs over your shoulders. I like being called beautiful with your hand on my throat. I like coming loud in hotel rooms with too many mirrors.

I like looking perfect, and then letting you fuck the perfection off me. I like wanting more than I should. And taking it.

[nature-travel-photography]

Poconos Sunset - Author: Marchhare317

[zkadr]

here is my instagram˘ᵕ˘

[leonielaurierfr]

The Detour Was the Point

I used to love plans. It made me feel safe to know where I was headed — where I’d sleep, what I’d wear, who I’d become.

But some of the most beautiful moments in my life have happened far off the itinerary.

The alley café with no name, where I wrote half a poem. The walk I took just to clear my head — and ended up watching the city turn golden. The stranger who said something so kind, I wrote it in my journal.

There’s magic in not knowing. In saying yes to the unknown. In trusting that detours don’t mean delays — sometimes, they’re direction.

I still plan. I still love structure. But I’m not afraid to follow instinct when it whispers, “Turn here instead.”

Because maybe that’s where the real luxury lives — in the freedom to follow curiosity.

[leonielaurierfr]

What I Pack

Every trip begins with a ritual: packing the pieces that feel most like me.

I lay them out slowly — a favorite silk dress, a good book, face oil that smells like home. I don’t overpack, but I do over-consider. Every item earns its place.

I bring comfort. I bring softness. I bring elegance in folds of fabric and textures that soothe. Even in a new city, I like to feel like myself. Grounded. Curated. At ease.

Packing is a form of manifestation. I don’t just prepare for the trip — I dress for the version of me I want to meet there. I bring what she would wear. I think of how she’ll walk, what she’ll notice, how she’ll delight in the unfamiliar.

Travel is an adventure. But what I bring with me — in my suitcase and in my spirit — is always a return to self.

[leonielaurierfr]

The Joy of Being Unavailable

There is power in being a little bit hard to reach.

Not because you’re playing games — but because your energy is sacred. Your time, selective. Your presence, intentional.

I used to believe I had to be accessible to be kind. That to care meant to always be on call. But now I understand: the softest thing I can do for myself is create space. The kind of space where I can hear my own thoughts. Where my peace is not constantly interrupted by urgency that isn’t mine.

Being unavailable is not about avoidance. It’s about alignment. It's saying: I value connection, but not at the expense of my calm.

So I turn my phone face down. I leave messages on read until I’m ready to reply. I don’t explain every boundary. Some are just mine to keep.

And in that space, I bloom. I don’t rush to respond — I rise to receive.

[leonielaurierfr]

The Bath Ritual

A bath is not just a bath. Not when you make it a ritual.

It begins long before the water runs. With the choosing — salts or oils? Lavender or rose? Music or silence? The lighting of a candle. The folding of a towel. The slow unclasping of the day.

When I slip into the water, I’m not trying to be clean — I’m trying to return. To myself. To softness. To breath. It’s as though the heat pulls the weight from my shoulders, the tension from my thighs, the noise from my mind. And in that steam, I remember: I’m not here to rush. I’m here to feel.

There’s something ceremonial in bathing with intention. I soak, I think, I dream. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I sing. Always, I emerge lighter.

In a world that prizes productivity, the bath is rebellion. It is slowness. Stillness. Surrender.

This is not self-care as a trend. It’s self-devotion as a practice.

[leonielaurierfr]

Luxuries of the Mind

There are luxuries we wear — silk, scent, jewelry. And then there are luxuries we cultivate — stillness, discernment, curiosity.

I’ve come to believe that the most opulent things are often the least visible. A calm nervous system. The ability to walk away. The presence of mind to choose what nurtures and what doesn’t. These are not purchased. They’re practiced.

For me, luxury lives in my thoughts as much as on my skin. I invest in the quality of what I consume mentally — the books I read, the silence I keep, the conversations I allow near me. I let beauty shape my inner world the way it shapes my surroundings.

You can have diamonds and still feel empty. Or you can sit by a window, tea in hand, wrapped in clarity — and feel like royalty. True elegance begins in the way you speak to yourself. The way you protect your peace.

So while I love a new pair of heels or an evening wrapped in velvet, I never forget: the most enduring luxury is a beautiful mind, unbothered.

[leonielaurierfr]

A Room of Her Own

There are days when the world feels too loud. Too demanding. Too full of opinions and noise and need. And on those days, I retreat to the room I built just for me.

It’s more than a physical space — though yes, it has four walls, candles, and the softest rug I could find. But more than that, it’s a declaration: I deserve somewhere that doesn’t ask. That only allows.

It’s my sanctuary. My still point. I read there. I cry there. I stare out the window and let the light fall across my collarbones without needing to do anything. I recharge. I remember who I am.

Every woman deserves a room like this. It might be a nook in the bedroom, a chair by the window, a few minutes alone in the bath. It doesn’t need grandeur. It needs intention.

Because when the world asks too much, we must have a place that gives us back to ourselves.

Lingerie becomes a spell — cast quietly, held close. Not for show. For self.

[leonielaurierfr]

Not for Show

Let them think lingerie is for seduction. For red lights and heels and someone else's gaze. Let them imagine it’s all about what’s seen. I know better.

The most powerful lingerie is worn under layers, beneath silence, behind closed doors. It’s for slow mornings, tea instead of champagne, a book instead of a performance. It’s for standing at the window in sunlight, wrapped in nothing but confidence and lace.

My favorite set isn’t the loudest. It’s the softest. The one that moves with me, breathes with me. The one I wear on days when no one is coming over — and that’s the point.

Because this isn’t about exhibition. It’s about sovereignty.

When I wear beautiful things beneath my clothing, I walk differently. Not because I want attention — but because I’ve given myself it. It’s my little secret. My softness. My self-devotion.

Lingerie becomes a spell — cast quietly, held close. Not for show. For self.

[leonielaurierfr]

Skin & Silk

Silk isn’t just a fabric. It’s a sensation. A secret language. A whisper between body and self. And for me, it has always meant more than glamour — it has meant grace. Quiet grace. Personal reverence. A reminder of how I deserve to be touched, even when I am alone.

There’s a ritual to it. The way freshly laundered silk feels when I press it to my cheek before dressing. The way it slips over shoulders and kisses skin. The way it moves with me — never clingy, always flowing, always free.

When I wear silk, it isn’t for anyone else. It’s not about seduction in the traditional sense. It’s about honoring intimacy — with myself. With the space I occupy. With the quiet inner knowing that I am allowed to feel beautiful, even when no one is watching.

This is where I find the real luxury. In the small, deliberate acts of softness. Choosing texture that pleases. Moving slowly. Letting fabric dance across collarbones like a lover’s touch.

I don’t need a reason to wear something exquisite. My existence is the reason.

[leonielaurierfr]

How I Begin

Before the world asks me to perform — to respond, to be brilliant, to be beautiful — I begin with a return. A return to my breath, to my body, to the quiet hum of my own rhythm. This is my beginning.

It’s not about efficiency. It’s about intimacy.

A warm shower becomes something sacred — a baptism of sorts. Steam rising. Soap lathered slowly. The feeling of water tracing the shape of who I am. I wrap myself in cotton not just to dry, but to comfort. I stand at the mirror not to critique, but to see.

I choose a scent. Something floral, something warm. I oil my skin and thank it. I brush my hair, not because I must, but because I can. I offer myself gentleness before I face the world.

My mornings are not rushed. They are curated. I do not tumble into my day — I step into it, fully embodied, fully aware. That is the gift of choosing how you begin.

And when I do it right, when I give myself that space — everything else I touch carries a little more grace.

[leonielaurierfr]

The Softest Hours

There’s a reverence to early mornings that I’ve never quite been able to explain — only feel. That silken quiet before the world has found you. Before it calls your name, sends a message, asks for your time. Before the sun is fully up and expectations begin their steady knock. These are the softest hours.

They belong to no one but me. I don't fill them with alarms or screens. I let them unfold slowly — like steam curling from a teacup or sunlight stretching across my floors. I sit in stillness. I breathe. I exist in the space between sleep and action, where nothing is required and everything is possible.

Luxury, to me, is not always gold or silk or the glint of diamonds. It’s this: the privilege of time. Spaciousness. The quiet freedom to decide how the day begins — and how I show up for it. A morning that asks nothing but presence is the most indulgent gift I can give myself.

I take my tea warm and unhurried. I light a candle not for necessity but ceremony. I brush my hair gently. I move slowly, not because I’m lazy, but because I’m honoring the act of waking. The world can rush. I prefer to rise.

In these early hours, I find pieces of myself I may misplace in the busyness of the day. My breath. My quiet knowing. My softness. They wait for me here.

And so, I begin.

[nature-travel-photography]

Stalheim, Norway - Author: _Isabelle-nature

[petitworld]

by Misha Gillingham

[leonielaurierfr]

The Ritual Is the Reward

The most beautiful moments often begin in quiet repetition. The gentle steam of morning tea. The slow lacing of silk stockings. A spritz of perfume behind the ear — not for anyone else, but for the woman I meet in the mirror.

Rituals are not habits. They are spells we cast daily to return to ourselves.

There’s power in how we prepare — for the world, for pleasure, for the presence of another. And those who know me well, know that I never rush the beginning.

So linger with me here. Where everything begins with intention… and ends in delight.

— L

[leonielaurierfr]

Savoring the Moment

There’s a kind of magic in stillness.

Not the kind that begs to be filled with noise or distraction, but the rare, velvet hush that invites you to simply be — here, now, wrapped in the quiet luxury of the present.

It’s the glow of golden hour spilling across your sheets. The trace of silk over bare skin. The way your favourite glass catches the light, half full of something sweet, half full of promise.

We spend so much of our time chasing — the next appointment, the next thrill, the next version of ourselves that feels just a bit more worthy. But what if you allowed yourself to stop for a moment… and savour?

To breathe deeply. To feel fully. To listen to the way the light softens everything it touches.

The richest pleasures aren’t always loud. Sometimes they whisper. And if you’re lucky, you’ll be quiet enough to hear them.

Stay a little longer. Sip slowly. Touch deliberately. This moment is yours.

— L