You can write to Feline magazine via email, or call via mobile. If you would like to discuss anything in Feline magazine, please do not hesitate to call, text or email. You can contact Feline magazine, about anything you wish, such as more information about featured beauty products or simply discuss article's, etc. 

Telephone: 07830611060 or 07404472709

Email: cinderellabook1@outlook.co.uk or felinemagazine@mail.com
Feline magazine is looking for contributing writers, stylists, graphic designers, photographers, and sales staff. Students looking for work experience should email Sunshine with a short introduction, some examples of work, and detail what they can offer Feline magazine, and what Feline magazine can offer in return.

We are also selling advertising space, and are also looking for Sponsors to launch the website and magazine, maybe you are rich, and want to manage this magazine, and it's content? 

Please email Sunshine for further information, and feel free to discuss anything with us! 

Editor: Sunshine Mirza

Editor's Message

There are moments in life when the world feels split open — when private grief and public honour collide so sharply that you don’t know whether to fall to your knees or stand taller. Losing my mother was one of those moments. And yet, before she was even buried, she was featured in the National Portrait Gallery, just when things were looking up, she passed away. 

I keep returning to that fact. To the surreal tenderness of it. To the idea that her face — her story — was held in a national space of beauty and remembrance while I was still learning how to breathe without her. Many of you may have seen her image across billboards, like the tube, or anywhere in London. She died that week, as her portrait was released as part of an exhibition. 

It made me think about the architecture of a life. How we spend years trying to understand who we are, what we’re building, what we’ll leave behind. My mother didn’t chase legacy; she simply lived with a kind of quiet brilliance that made people remember her. She taught me that a life isn’t measured in milestones or accolades, but in the way you make people feel — in the way you leave the world slightly softer, slightly braver, slightly more awake.

Seeing her honoured like that, in the days between death and burial, forced me to confront the truth that life is both fragile and monumental. That we are temporary, but our impact is not. That grief and gratitude can coexist in the same breath.

As I continue to build this magazine — this home for stories, beauty, and the feline courage of being fully alive — I carry her with me. Not as a shadow, but as a light. A reminder that what we create matters. That who we love shapes us. And that legacy is not something we chase; it’s something we become.

My mother died this year, and in the strange quiet between loss and burial, her portrait was featured in the National Portrait Gallery. I stood there looking at her face — honoured, illuminated, held — while learning how to live without her.

It made me think about the architecture of a life: how someone can leave the world and still expand within it. How legacy isn’t something you chase, but something you create simply by being who you are.

As I continue shaping this magazine, I carry her with me — not as absence, but as direction. A reminder that beauty matters, that stories matter, and that the way we touch the world outlives us.