Style.

It’s a thorny bush to tend, a back road in Boston that seems impossible to navigate. That is, until you get to know it. Then it’s just like the back of your hand.

Perhaps you are devoted to a daily uniform of jeans and a tee. Or maybe you’re completely inspired by the latest fashion trends. But beware that tricky back road. It’s riddled with frost heaves, tight corners, and more often than not, an aimless feeling that lacks direction.

The perils and the pitfalls of dressing may be many, but one should never be deterred. To look one’s best. Have an inner self-confidence. To inspire.

Like the gal dashing across the street to hail a cab with a fabulous hand bag. Or the gentleman strolling along with a gait so confident and demeanor so intriguing it’s hard not to stare. Something about them, in that moment, catches our eye. Gives us pause. Inspires us to make more of an effort. To resist the urge to run errands in sweats, sans make up.

It’s that little something called style. Not Parisian ateliers, exclusive price tags, haute couture kind of style. It’s certainly not about designer names, trend reports or the amount of money spent. It’s personal. Authentic. Confident. Comes from within. Hard to define, yet you know it when you see it.