For many years, I believed in lucky shoes. During an earlier chapter of my career, I owned a pair of golden Marni mules that I wore whenever I met clients or presented creative pitches. Whether coincidence or ritual, every important presentation seemed to succeed when I wore them, and they gradually became a private talisman.

A few weeks before the launch of Simulated Lovers—the publication of my first book and my first vernissage in Paris—I bought these golden Bottega Veneta sandals, imagining they would accompany another defining moment in my life. They ended up being slightly tighter than expected and I only wore them once. Strangely, I have never considered that a disappointment. They represent a different kind of milestone. Rather than bringing me luck, they remind me that I no longer need to seek confidence through objects. The talisman has fulfilled its purpose because the belief it once carried has quietly moved inward.