Autumn / Winter 26

I sleep through the mornings cause I love writing late into the night, in my distressed denims resembling an open letter between me and you, dear night thoughts.

Last night I dreamt of when we were getting high in our little East of Eden, listening to Sweet Sixteen, a bit sad for feeling seventeen already. We sang with our heroes, thirty-three rounds per minute. I still remember the funny Rimbaud doodles on sweaty t-shirts, and the idea they carried to upturn everything like the scoundrels we dreamed to be, just like Arthur.

And me? With my ripped school uniform? One time, we cut the velvet pants to dive into the last whiff of salt-water freedom. Do you remember our first punk haircuts? And those thrifted biker jackets we got with all those fringes in the back? We were really livin’ on a prayer.

We wanted to throw a party in a Napoleon villa not far from my hometown, pretending to be in a Sofia Coppola movie driven by Marc Bolan’s Children of the Revolution, listening to Happiness Stan by Steve Marriott and Small Faces. I wonder who would have ever attended: we were the only ones into those things.
We never cared. Why should I now? Attitude never changed.

I remember the warm smiles in those short winter days filled with brown leaves: they always felt warmer than the clothes we had on, daydreaming kids with wild hearts, blue jeans and just a t-shirt.

Tonight, however, is where all the disappointment, the heavy hearts, every naive mistake we made led us. Is this all there is, ever was and will forever be? Do our past experiences and expectations still hold us down or are these ideal times to find ourselves?

Subversive, drenched with memories and the longing of rebellious days, silhouettes stay, as antique codes meet contemporary garments in a juvenile dance of contrasts.

Waistlines fall gently, colors drift between eras. Blue wool felts and distressed velvet carry the weight of old winters, matched with worn faded black denim and repatched gold jacquard bands. Azalea tones bloom softly, layered over thin black tulle, on which delicate floral embroideries appear like memories.

Silver pearls, chains and rusted leathers.
A wardrobe that feels like an echo of those days.
Dear night thoughts, I keep on wandering.

SG