Latest / Style Room: Fashion, beauty & personal style / Finding Stillness Above the Noise: The Rooftop Garden Secret | Style Room
Transcript
- There is a specific kind of silence that only exists twenty stories above the street, where the air smells like damp earth and jasmine instead of exhaust and ambition. You have to climb past the noise to find it, but once you’re there, you realize the city isn’t shouting anymore; it’s breathing. Let’s unpack that feeling for a second. We spend so much of our lives looking down. Down at our phones, down at our shoes, down at the cracks in the pavement as we hurry to get from point A to point B. We are constantly scanning for obstacles, for deadlines, for the next thing we need to fix or buy or become. But today, I want you to imagine lifting your chin. Just an inch. Maybe two. I found this little sanctuary last week, tucked behind a nondescript door in a building that looks like it hasn’t been renovated since the nineties. It wasn’t on any map. It wasn’t Instagrammable in the way that makes people stop scrolling. It was just… real. A patch of green fighting its way up against concrete, held together by terracotta pots that had seen better decades and trellises woven from recycled wire. And standing there, surrounded by the hum of the city below but separated from it by just twelve feet of open sky, I felt my shoulders drop for the first time all month. It’s not just about fresh air, though that helps. It’s about perspective. When you’re on the ground, everything feels immediate. A missed train, a rude comment, a stain on your favorite blouse—it all looms large because it’s right in front of your face. But up here? The problems shrink. They become part of the landscape, small and manageable against the vastness of the sky. This rooftop garden doesn’t ask anything of you. It doesn’t care if your hair is messy or if you haven’t called your mother in three weeks. It just asks that you be present with it. And in return, it gives you back your own mind. As a stylist, I am obsessed with texture. Not just the visual texture of silk versus wool, but the emotional texture of a space. How does it feel to touch? How does it sit on your soul? Most city apartments are hard edges and smooth surfaces—glass tables, polished floors, sleek appliances. They are beautiful, yes, but they can feel cold. Like a showroom. Like you’re being watched. But a rooftop garden is different. It is soft. It is uneven. It is alive. I remember running my fingers over the rough, cracked rim of an old clay pot holding a stubborn rosemary bush. That roughness grounded me. It reminded me that growth is messy. It reminded me that things don’t always go according to plan. The lavender was blooming out of season, slightly wild, slightly chaotic. And there was something incredibly liberating about that. We often think of confidence as being sharp, polished, perfectly tailored. But I’ve come to believe that true confidence has a softer edge. It’s the ability to stand in the wind without flinching. It’s the quiet knowledge that you can grow anywhere, even in the cracks of the city. When you step onto that roof, you aren’t performing for anyone. You aren’t curating an image for social media. You are just a human being, standing among other living things. And that simplicity is radical. It strips away the performance. It leaves you with just you, and the plants, and the sky. No filters. No edits. Just the raw, unfiltered joy of existing in a place that belongs to no one and everyone at once. There’s a fascinating history to these hidden gardens, if you look for it. In Paris, they call them 'jardins cachés.' For centuries, people built walls high enough to hide their private worlds from the prying eyes of the street. It wasn’t just about privacy; it was about safety. About creating a microcosm where you could control the environment, however small it was. I used to work in an office in Manhattan where we had a tiny balcony, barely wide enough for two chairs. We never talked about it. We just went there when the emails stopped making sense. It became our secret ritual. A place to breathe before diving back into the fray. These spaces are acts of rebellion, really. In a city that values verticality, speed, and visibility, choosing to stay still, to nurture something slow-growing, is a quiet defiance. It says, 'I matter more than the hustle.' It says, 'I need roots, even if they are just in a bucket.' Think about the last time you felt truly disconnected from the noise. Maybe it was in a library, maybe it was in a car parked in a driveway. But a rooftop garden takes that disconnection and turns it into connection. Connection to the seasons. To the pollinators. To the rhythm of the sun moving across the tiles. It reconnects us to the natural world that urban life tries so hard to erase. And in doing so, it reconnects us to ourselves. You start to notice things you forgot how to see. The way light hits the brickwork at 4 PM. The sound of a pigeon taking flight. The smell of rain hitting hot stone. These details matter. They anchor us. They remind us that we are part of something bigger than our daily to-do list. Now, let’s talk about what you wear when you go up there. Because I know some of you might be thinking, 'Gabriella, do I need to dress up for a rooftop?' Let me tell you, dress for the life you’re building. If that life includes moments of peace, then dress for peace. I’m not talking about heels. Please, I beg you, leave the stilettos at home. You are not going to dance on a tile floor. You are going to walk carefully, mindfully, perhaps barefoot if the weather allows. Think of fabrics that move with you. Linen that catches the breeze. Cotton that breathes. A cardigan that feels like a hug when the evening chill sets in. Style isn’t just about looking good for others; it’s about feeling protected and empowered in your own skin. When I wore a simple, oversized linen shirt and wide-leg trousers last time I visited, I felt like I was wearing armor against the chaos. Not the rigid armor of a blazer, but the fluid armor of comfort. I could stretch my arms out. I could lean against the railing. I could sit cross-legged on the bench without worrying about wrinkles or hemlines. And there’s a power in that. A power that says, 'I am comfortable in my own body. I am comfortable in this space.' This is where fashion meets psychology. When you feel physically comfortable, your mental state shifts. You stop guarding yourself. You open up. You become receptive to the beauty around you. So, choose clothes that allow you to be vulnerable. Clothes that let you breathe. Because that vulnerability is where the magic happens. That’s where you stop performing and start living. And honestly, that’s the most stylish thing you can do. One of the hardest parts about finding a hidden gem like this is knowing you have to leave. You step back through the door, the latch clicks shut, and suddenly you’re back in the hallway. The smell of perfume from someone’s apartment mixes with the scent of coffee from the lobby. The noise rushes back in. It feels jarring, almost violent. Like coming up for air after being underwater too long. But here’s the thing: you don’t lose that peace when you leave. You carry it with you. It becomes a resource. A battery you can recharge. I started keeping a small sprig of mint in a jar on my desk after visiting that rooftop. Just a little piece of that greenery. When the day gets heavy, when the emails pile up and the stress starts to tighten my chest, I close my eyes and smell it. And for a second, I’m back there. Twenty stories up. The wind in my hair. The city humming below. This is the joy of discovery. It’s not just about the place itself; it’s about the memory it creates. It’s about having a secret weapon against the grind. In a world that demands constant output, having a place to put your head down and rest is revolutionary. And it doesn’t have to be a grand estate. It can be a fire escape with three potted herbs. It can be a windowsill with a single succulent. Find your spot. Claim your space. Protect it fiercely. Because when you have a sanctuary, you have a center. And when you have a center, you can handle the periphery. You can deal with the traffic, the arguments, the endless scroll. You know that somewhere, in the sky, there is a garden waiting for you. And that knowledge changes everything. It makes the noise bearable. It makes the rush worth it. Because you know there’s a quiet place to return to. And that is a gift you give yourself every single day. Before we wrap up, I want to say something important. Sometimes, finding these spaces can feel exclusive. Or intimidating. What if I don’t know the rules? What if I’m not invited? Here is the truth: belonging is not given; it is taken gently. You don’t need an invitation to appreciate beauty. You don’t need a membership to breathe clean air. If you find a shared garden, introduce yourself. Ask about the plants. People love talking about their tomatoes, their roses, their struggles with aphids. It’s a universal language. It breaks down barriers faster than any small talk about the weather ever could. You will find that the person watering the petunias is likely just as tired of the noise as you are. You are both seeking refuge. And in that shared desire for peace, you become neighbors. Even if you only share that moment once a month. And if you can’t find a public garden, make your own. Buy a plant. Put it in the sun. Talk to it. Nurture it. Watch it grow. There is a profound joy in witnessing life thrive under your care. It reminds you that you are capable of creating beauty. Of sustaining life. Of being gentle in a harsh world. That capability is your superpower. It is your style. It is your signature. So, go outside today. Look up. Is there a ledge? A window box? A patch of dirt behind the bodega? Explore it. Tread lightly. Respect the space. And when you find that moment of stillness, hold onto it. Let it fill you up. Let it remind you that you are more than your productivity. You are a gardener of your own soul. And that is a role worth playing. Thank you for climbing up with me today. I hope you find your own rooftop soon. Until next time, keep your head up and your heart open. Love you.