01/08/2026
“Pass me the phone!” These are the first words Ms. Genevieve Astrid von Ekstrom, 47, says whenever she arrives somewhere nice. She never asks how everyone is doing. She asks who’s taking photos. Within 30 seconds, some poor friend has somehow become a photographer, bag holder and emotional support tripod.
Genevieve once spent 6 mos “finding herself” in Cadaques and somehow came back with the exact same personality. Divorced. Childless by choice. Proud owner of 63 cashmere sweaters in 52 shades of oatmeal.
Her algo consists almost entirely of World of Interiors home tours, galleries in Copenhagen, linen manufacturers in Belgium, ceramicists with fewer than 700 followers and women named Emma making tomato salads in silent kitchens.
She insists museums are “churches for people with emotional intelligence” despite spending approx. 18 seconds looking at paintings before disappearing into the gift shop for a 96€ bookmark.
She owns enough scented candles named after forests to start one.
Every August she disappears into the Swedish countryside for what she calls her “annual reset”. Every sunset reminds her of Tuscany. Every lake requires her to be present. Every handmade ceramic mug costs more than her first car. Every inconvenience is somehow Mercury in retrograde.
All the paintings in her house have a story although none of the artists would recognize the version she tells. She firmly believes good art should be “felt rather than understood”, which is fortunate because she understood almost none of it.
Her name is Genevieve Astrid von Ekstrom.
If she says a painting changed her life, assume she means it matched her hallway.
🤣 🖼️ ❤️