Growing up, Easter was never just one Sunday.
In Bermuda, it’s a full three-day weekend because Good Friday is such a big holiday, and some of my sweetest childhood memories begin there.
Fish cakes.
Hot cross buns.
Kites stretching across bright island skies.
The kind of traditions you can still taste, smell, and feel years later.
And somehow, wrapped inside all of that, was always the dress.
If the Christmas JCPenney dress was a moment, Easter was next level.
Instead of me going to Grandma, this time she came to me—with the dress.
Every spring, she’d fly in before Easter and stay through my birthday, Mother’s Day, and all the way until school let out for the summer. Her arrival marked the start of an entire season for me, not just a holiday.
Honestly, it’s probably why I still start celebrating my birthday in April and somehow carry the energy straight through June. #TaurusEnergy
And tucked inside her suitcase would be my Easter dress.
By the time she walked through the double doors at the airport arrivals gate, Easter had officially begun.
The dress was part fashion moment, part family ritual.
Pastels, lace, bows, shiny little shoes… yes.
But more than that, it was the feeling of knowing something special was about to happen.
Good Friday on the island meant the traditions started immediately.
Hot cross buns in the morning.
Fish cakes.
Family time.
And of course, kites.
Looking back, I can see how much those moments shaped my love for style.
It was never just about what I wore.
It was about what the outfit meant.
The memory.
The people.
The place.
The ritual.
Long before the handbags and the carefully curated collection, fashion was already helping me archive emotion.
And maybe that’s why these old Easter photos feel so important now.
They aren’t just pictures of dresses.
They’re pictures of Bermuda.
Of Grandma.
Of tradition arriving at the front door in spring.
