Jen Rosa

The Solo Strategist (and Partner in Crime)

“The eye has to travel.” 

Jen moves with intention. Formerly on the road 80% of the time, she learned from CEOs and makeup artists alike: roll, don’t fold; choose carry-on unless liquid treasures demand otherwise; uniform your palette (navy, black, gray) so every piece works. Her backbone is classic: Levi’s, a blue button-down, a navy or gray sweater, Manolo Carolynes for instant elevation, a ten-year-old Acne coat or JW trench, grandpa sandals (black socks, unapologetically), a Dries silk bandana, and always her LUCA black shirt—“it goes with everything.” Safety is a system, not a mood: her husband has the full itinerary; check-ins happen throughout the day; travel insurance is non-negotiable; never accept drinks from strangers; never solo at night; keep the battery up, the cash low, and the hotel door double-checked with Do Not Disturb engaged. Arrival ritual? Shower, sanitize, latte, then walk like there’s no tomorrow. She archives sensorially: matchbooks, coasters, a loaf of bread from Paris for the dinner table back home; Mexican vanilla and Rosetta guava jam; New York newspapers and an armful of magazines—long live print. She plans (reservations, structure) but leaves a window for serendipity. And when she travels with her husband—and their dog—the pace recalibrates: a budget, a plan, one night deliberately left open, and often a return to Il Pellicano where dolce far niente needs no itinerary beyond swim, aperitivo, pasta, rest.

Ana María Cintrón

The Family Traditionalist

“We will always have Buenos Aires.” 

For Ana María, travel is a generational thread—stitched through Recoleta porteros and media lunas, with museums and theater seats pressed with memory. There’s a ritual to the return: Rodi Bar, Museo de Alba, a play at Teatro Colón, a quick pass by Ramírez’s new collection, and that first espresso in the apartment that becomes “home” the minute the kitchen is stocked. As a stepmom and planner-in-chief alongside her research-obsessed husband, she’s built a system that keeps wonder intact: carry-ons for all (“mastering the art of packing is something I’m most proud of”), healthy snacks to outsmart delays, layers for shifting weather, noise-canceling headphones, and kid-friendly tablets that buy everyone an hour of peace. Priority check-ins and lounge access soften long connections; direct flights are a small miracle when they happen. Her definition of success is disarmingly simple: no one gets sick. After that, it’s equilibrium—museum mornings, park afternoons, a concert or a play, the pleasure of farm-to-table wherever they land. Camps for kids have become a surprise unlock: everyone gets their portion of joy. And when things wobble—as they did one evening in Venice, the operatic schedule ticking away—her son pointed to a humble sign: tickets sold here. “Marco saved Venice,” she laughs. “In chaos, pause and think.”

Julliana Hernández

The Fashion-Week Correspondent

Helsinki’s quiet gravity. Copenhagen’s human scale. A notebook and a Muji pen. 

For the freelance fashion writer, Copenhagen is less hype, more human. It’s in our Puerto Rican homes already—the Royal Dansk tin that became abuela’s sewing kit; a line by Jens Risom at the Caribe Hilton; even Jamonilla Tulip in the pantry. The Danish ease—call it hygge—aligns with Julliana’s own minimalism. Style that reflects a lifestyle feels truer than performance.

Her kit flexes with each season, but the scaffolding is firm: confirmations weeks in advance; a planner on hand; braids to erase hair from the to-do list; MAC for long wear; a large bag (never under 16”) because stories—and snacks—need space. There’s a 7-Eleven almond-butter protein bar and mango chia pudding stashed between a small journal (two pens) and whatever she acquires en route. She posts at day’s end—experience first, documentation later. She moves between observer and participant, eyes open to micro-shifts (“boho’s return always begins off-runway”), and remembers the thrill of a candid conversation with Ganni’s Ditte Reffstrup, the kind of off-schedule moment that lands truer than a front row. Between shows she recenters with a Gasoline Grill burger and a city-specific playlist she’ll replay at home, collapsing time back into sound.