The other night I caught a glimpse of myself walking past the mirror. Hair in a messy low bun, linen robe tied (barely), a candle flickering in the corner. I’d just finished wiping down the counter and turned on something soft in the background — probably Chet Baker again.
And weirdly, it felt like I was in one of those quiet French movies where no one says much, but everything is calm and beautiful anyway.
That’s what the old money evening routine is like. It’s not about silk sheets or five-star spa treatments. It’s about little things that make the evening feel slow and deliberate — like the day didn’t just run you over.
There’s always a moment when the shift happens. I’ll walk around the living room, scooping up whatever ended up on the couch or floor — socks, a half-read magazine, a plate I meant to rinse. Not because I’m trying to be some tidy person, but because starting the evening with a bit of order just makes everything feel softer.
And honestly? If I don’t clear the mess at night, waking up to it the next morning feels chaotic. It’s always stuff that takes ten minutes to deal with, but it sets the tone. Like clearing the stage so the next day doesn’t open on clutter.
Then I change. I don’t have a special drawer labeled “elegant nightwear,” but I do have a soft T-shirt that’s been washed a hundred times, and a pair of cotton pants that somehow still look decent. The point isn’t to look styled — it’s to feel like you’ve stepped out of your workday and into something gentler. Something just for you.
Skincare is quick. Warm water, whatever face cream is on the sink, and maybe a swipe of lip balm if I remember. Nothing fancy. I used to feel like I had to do the 10-step thing, but now I just want my skin to breathe. Also, standing in front of the mirror with the bathroom light dimmed? Surprisingly peaceful.
When it comes to dinner I used to not pay lot of attention on it. I used to eat in front of the PC. I used to eat really quick on the counter when i was single. I used to not cook for dinner. Now is different.
Dinner is always done (of course when you leave in Italy you cook also for dinner), but never a big production. Sometimes it’s meal prep from Sunday. Sometimes my husband will take care for it. Sometimes i will pop everything in the oven and focus on the rest of the stuff around the house and my night routine. But i am glad i got the habit to cook and sit down. Plate it. No eating hunched over the counter. Even if I’m alone, I like pretending it’s a little event. A proper meal before the world goes quiet.
And then comes my favorite part — the in-between stretch where nothing has to happen. I might read a few pages of something I’ve been trying to finish for weeks. Or scroll a bit until I realize it’s making me feel worse. Or stand in the kitchen doorway sipping tea, thinking about absolutely nothing. That’s the joy of it — no pressure. Just space.
Almost every night I brush my hair out while standing in the hallway. No mirror, no reason, just because it feels grounding. Or I’ll sit on the floor for a while in my robe, leaning against the wall with the lights off. I know that sounds strange. But there’s something comforting about being still when the rest of the day felt so full.
And then I get into bed. No rituals, no pillow spray, no perfect scene. Just me, the cool side of the sheets, and that tiny sense of relief that I gave myself a soft ending — not because anyone told me to, but because it makes life feel a little more lived-in. A little more mine.
That’s really what this old money evening routine is about for me. Not an Instagram prepared scene. Not pretending to be someone you’re not. Not performing luxury. Just slowing down enough to notice that you’re here — and that’s enough.
If you’re curious how these calm evenings set the tone for the next day, here’s what my old money morning routine looks like.
