Lately, I’ve found myself asking a difficult question — is slow living a luxury reserved for the few? In a world spinning ever faster, where the cost of living climbs and the weight of everyday pressures bears down, is it only those with time and means who can choose to live with intention?
As the founder of a small ethical clothing brand rooted in slowness, this question tugs at me often. Some weeks move in a blur — full, demanding, anything but slow — and I wonder: am I contradicting the very values I’m trying to uphold?
But then I remember… slowness isn’t always about pace. Sometimes, it’s found in the stillness of small rituals — waking early to greet the sea before the working day begins, or a weekend spent pitching a tent on a windswept Cornish beach and letting the wild air reset something within me. These are the moments I return to. This is my version of slow.
Still, I know this is just one story. One version of a life trying to live gently.
So, I wanted to explore what slow living can look like in a completely different rhythm — in the heart of a fast-paced city. I reached out to Frankie Paz, a beautifully curious soul who reminds us that no matter where we are — surrounded by traffic, towering buildings, or open sky — we can carve out space for intention, connection, and presence.
Here’s what she shared with me.
What inspired you to live on a narrow boat?
Years ago, I was really lost. I was deep in addiction, caught up in a lifestyle that was slowly destroying me. I knew that if I stayed in London, I’d get pulled even deeper into the party scene — so I ran. I ran to save my life. I ended up in the jungle, where I fell in love with a local man. We married, and for five years I built a life there — far away from everything I knew. It was in that wild, raw place that I slowly started coming back to myself. One day, I was on a boat with my Latin family — drifting, cooking, laughing — and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like me again. Not addicted to anything. Not running from myself. Just being. Just breathing. That moment stayed with me. I knew then that one day a boat would be my home. Because for me, a boat represents freedom. Simplicity. A remembering of who I really am underneath it all.
How does living on a narrow boat encourage you to slow down?
On a boat, you’re connected to the elements whether you like it or not. The weather shapes your day. The seasons dictate your rhythm. It humbles you. When it rains, I get so excited — I can hear the rain dance on the roof, and it’s pure magic.
I choose not to have the internet on my boat, so when I come home, I read, I rest, I build fires to keep warm. The birds wake me up in the morning. The wind decides how fast I go (which is never very fast). You can’t rush life on a boat, so I’ve fully surrendered to it.
I’ve created a life where, when I’m home, it feels like I’m in a little countryside cabin — even though I’m still in the city. It’s quiet. It’s slow. It’s simple. And that stillness helps my creativity. It gives me the space to dream, to write, to just be without distraction. It’s almost like I’m living in my own 1900s romance novel.
What does slow living mean to you, and how do you practice it?
Slow living is everything to me. We’re taught by society to move fast — to do, do, do. And if we’re not careful, we end up living a life that doesn’t even feel like ours.
Slow living is about creating little intentional moments. Taking the time to sit with a cup of tea. Watching the sunrise. Even when life feels wild — especially then — finding ways to pause and remember what’s real, what’s your truth.
How do you stay connected to nature while living in the city?
I forage most days. I watch the sunrise whenever I can. I build fires almost every day to keep warm. Nature isn’t something I visit — it’s part of my daily life, even in the city.
How do you stay grounded in such a fast-paced environment?
I make sure I have at least one day a week with no phone, no plans, no people — a day to remember who I am without the noise.
It doesn’t have to be dramatic — just simple rituals that anchor me back to myself.
What advice would you give to someone wanting to slow down and live more mindfully?
Start small. Add one thing. Go for a morning walk. Wake up a little earlier. Notice how your body feels. Notice what feels good and keep building from there.
It’s not about doing slow living perfectly — it’s about creating tiny spaces in your day that feel like yours.
Do you think living in a small space has made you more mindful of your consumption?
Absolutely. I’ve lived in small spaces most of my life — in tiny kitchens while cheffing on retreats, or now on my boat. When I’m in a big kitchen I’m always losing things!
I think there’s this idea that we always need more — more space, more stuff. But honestly? I’ve found I’m happiest in small, simple places. I also have to think do I really need this when buying things.
How does this connect to your approach to slow fashion and mindful consumption?
We all know the world is full of things — beautiful things, epic things. But I always ask: will I love this in years to come? Will it last? Will it feel good on my skin, would it be something I would pass on to my kids if I have them.
I only buy what I need — partly because I don’t have space, but also because I can’t be bothered with clutter or more cleaning. I want fewer things that mean more. And the things I have I want them to be forever things.
In the end, slow living isn’t about perfection or escaping the demands of modern life — it’s about presence. It’s about choosing, even in small moments, to come back to ourselves. Whether it’s a deep breath between meetings, a quiet morning before the city stirs, or a weekend spent under open skies, slowness can live wherever we are. What matters most is that it’s honest — that it reflects who we are, not who we think we should be. In a world that asks us to rush, choosing to live with intention is a quiet act of resistance — and a powerful way to return home to ourselves.
With love,
Ruby.
Frankie's instagram: @moodymangoalchemy