The beginning

The Beginning

“It's not possible to constantly hold onto crisis. You have to have the love, you have to have the magic. That's also life.” – Toni Morrison."

This has become one of my favourite quotes ever. It is so easy to hold onto emotional crises and try and solve the unsolvable and fix what is broken - it’s not until you surrender to love, magic, and the unknown, that better things start happening.

Beginnings are so raw and butterfly inducing, they’re the realest experience of innocence being beautiful and the unknown being exciting and not scary. The earliest stages of me starting this business felt like falling in love for the first time, for its organic-ness and serendipity, and how life’s flow wasn’t obstructed by too many thoughts but instead carried by passion and hope. Life is so sweet and peaceful when it feels uncomplicated, that’s what makes beginnings so special. However, unlike falling in love for the first time, I had shed layers of girlhood and naivety when I fell into Casa Nushki, so in a way I felt more in control than being totally carried by emotion – the butterflies were contained. The best things are always born from an unadulterated leap of faith. Love showed me what it means to be fully alive, I didn’t know I was able to feel so deeply and intensely and re-finding this sensation in solitude was so powerful.

Understanding the inner workings of your own heart is the first step to being able to understand the beauty, complexity and injustice in the world. I decided to take loss in my stride and turn the uncertainty into opportunity, I turned to textiles, warmth and the unknown. I booked a one-way ticket to Morocco with no specific plans to make clothes, I just had an ineffable gut feeling that there was something there for me, and I guess I was right. It’s the classic story of loss of love paving the way towards clarity and creativity. Sometimes I question whether my first big love should have impacted me so deeply, but then I circle back to myself and realise that the truest and perhaps the most defining things about me are that 1. I don’t like things that don’t feel eternal, whether it be a friend or a piece of art – ephemerality and fickleness feel pointless to me, 2. Love is a priority in my life, and 3. I don’t and cannot do anything half-heartedly. I don’t buy things that I don’t think will last, and I don’t have anyone in my life in a big way who only makes a cameo appearance. I believe that good things stand the test of time. And life is a big process of honing down your instinct to be a better judge of what is timeless and what is just a lesson.

Fes felt special almost instantly, the place enticed me with its tall arches, winding roads, music coming from mysterious corners, and textiles hanging everywhere. The city was filled with artisans who made, jewellery, teapots, clothes, perfume, it felt so good to be in a place where making art was normal, accessible and unpretentious. I didn’t think it could get any better until I heard Nina Simone’s ‘I put a spell on you’ from a tiny window in the medina. I stopped outside the wrought iron peephole and felt like I was in a time warp, there were jewels, vintage bags, cowboy boots and birds on the other side, not to mentioned Nina singing on vinyl. Was I dreaming?

I walked in and met Omar, he was instantly so effortlessly cool, he wore a farmer’s cap and was smoking a funny cigarette while drinking an espresso. The room was a treasure chest of vintage bags, jewellery, trinkets ranging from Maxim’s de Paris and the Sahara Desert – talk about having something for everyone. Matisse and Picasso had probably eaten their boiled eggs from the Maxim’s egg cups. I was really wow-ed when he showed me Patti Smith’s guitar pick, that she gave him herself on a trip to Fes. He had every vinyl disc from Leonard Cohen to Ravi Shankar, that small room felt like a place where time and space ceased to exist. Before I knew it, five hours had passed listening to the greats and hearing stories of rockstars who passed by Fes back in the day. I was so happy to be able to feel magic in solitude again, I was home. 

Being surrounded by unpretentious art and warmth was what gave me the green light of succumbing to trial and error, so I decided to use my very limited selection of tools (paper, a pencil, a measuring tape) and make some clothing patterns. I had found some beautiful vintage sabra silk rugs and thought they’d be perfect for the clothes I had designed. Before I knew it, I found more beautiful textiles, and a local tailor, and through a lot of translation from Arabic to French, I made 10 sample pieces. They weren’t perfect by any means, but I felt a strong sense of seeds being planted, I saw the potential and that’s all I needed. In the name of kismet, I made friends with a Swedish model who happened to live in Valencia, and I was passing through Valencia on my way home – so we ended up spending the weekend in the sun together taking photos in the clothes I had made.

After insouciantly posting some photos on Instagram, I started getting interest and demand from people asking where they could buy these clothes, and just like that I had apparently started a business. After taking the venture more seriously, with commitment, intentionality and longevity in mind, I went back to Morocco and met Laila Nadir. Her warmth, kindness and hospitality made this connection feel so right. She made the most delicious tagine and fed me about 20 different Moroccan deserts, the way to my heart is absolutely through my stomach. It didn’t feel like a ‘business deal’ in a canary wharf kind of way, it felt like the beginning of a beautiful collaboration and friendship based on a shared want to keep traditional crafts alive, and to create collaborative art. I was so excited to work with Laila and her family, and it was so special to go back and visit her months later and show her the garments that had been worn and cherished by women all over the world. I love the fact that the supply chain is so transparent, I have a personal connection to every woman I work with, and I find it so fascinating that even the beginning of her cooperative of female weavers was the product of the end of a romantic relationship. It really solidified the whole hell hath no fury like a woman scorned trope. Something great was born in those unplanned days of long drives through dusty roads, all kinds of stimulation and an unapologetic reclaiming of my independence.