When I started my clothing line in the spring of 2015 I experienced the most satisfaction I've ever felt about my style, I specially attribute it to the fact that I was designing for the person I wanted to be, rather than who I was at the moment. Getting dressed for the day was a pleasure, I felt some sort of pride doing it on ordinary days where no one but myself would get to see what I wore, it made it less frivolous, and in a way, a form of self-care.
I guess it was silly of me to expect that fantasy of sartorial splendor to last forever. I don't know who said that one quote—or how it goes exactly, but it is something like whatever comes disappears that very moment. It will not go; it is already gone.
Early, on this year, a series of afflicting circumstances started happening in my personal life, and I found myself floundering in the most unexpected of ways, I tried the best I could to hang on to, and indulge on as many things that under regular conditions would have been a delight, like designing and dressing up, it even made sense to see it as an armour to face adversity. Sadly, my mind became consumed by distress, and everything lost meaning, even the most enjoyable activities became a burden, and getting dressed became a daily dejection. My favorite jacket, once considered flattering for its structured form, was now too stiff, the top with the really high neck in which I used to feel imperturbable became obstructive, all my skirts, constricting, dresses, languid. I felt uncomfortable no matter what I wore. Everything was inconvenient, distorted and improper.
Could it be that evolution, whether is physical or emotional, is just that abrupt sometimes, where tragedy acts as a wormhole and going through one has just left me stretched and warped out of shape? If so, what do I do now? I'm not willing to compromise my style to suit my predicament, but I think it's necessary to interrupt my vestiary reverie and shift the narrative from a utopian self to the vogue cripple I've become.
Restoring my equilibrium is not something I can achieve through clothes, but they can help alleviate some of the residual symptoms that are stifling my existence. Firstly, I am ditching seasons—a logistic nightmare for breathless and brittle little me. My approach has to be one of consideration, I am often detached from myself when I design, because as mentioned, I focus on a fantasy self, so this time I'm designing for someone in grief, and my main concern is to create engulfing, concealing, sedating and simplified garments. It might not be what everyone is waiting and hoping for, I know how eagerly most of you await for cold weather collections, but it is what I need, a symbolic surrender to the poetry that exists in sorrow.