Designer and researcher working with textiles, sustainability and material based storytelling.
Dear friend,
Writing
2025
A series of imaginary letters written from places steeped in rich textile traditions, each one woven with inspiration, texture, and feeling
Dear friend,
I’m in Paris again—there’s something about this city that keeps calling me back. It’s a place that feels both impossibly romantic and effortlessly rebellious—perhaps that’s why I always end up wandering its streets in a frilly lace-trimmed bohemian dress but grounded with a masculine jacket and unapologetically chunky boots.
The moment I step onto its narrow, winding streets, I can’t help but think of the artists and dreamers who once wandered these same cobblestones. What was it like to live here during the dazzling Art Deco era of the 1920s? Were the nights at Café de Flore really as wild and epic as they say?
In Paris, memory lingers—it’s as if the city itself is a little nostalgic. It doesn’t take much to slip into another time. An afternoon spent wandering the extravagant flea markets of Clignancourt feels like time travel: vintage vinyls, delicate handmade lace, ornate pendants, and forgotten antiques, each whispering its own story.
I’ll be sure to bring back a few treasures—Paris and its style, after all, are nothing if not timeless.
With Love,
PARIS
I’m in Paris again—there’s something about this city that keeps calling me back. It’s a place that feels both impossibly romantic and effortlessly rebellious—perhaps that’s why I always end up wandering its streets in a frilly lace-trimmed bohemian dress but grounded with a masculine jacket and unapologetically chunky boots.
The moment I step onto its narrow, winding streets, I can’t help but think of the artists and dreamers who once wandered these same cobblestones. What was it like to live here during the dazzling Art Deco era of the 1920s? Were the nights at Café de Flore really as wild and epic as they say?
In Paris, memory lingers—it’s as if the city itself is a little nostalgic. It doesn’t take much to slip into another time. An afternoon spent wandering the extravagant flea markets of Clignancourt feels like time travel: vintage vinyls, delicate handmade lace, ornate pendants, and forgotten antiques, each whispering its own story.
I’ll be sure to bring back a few treasures—Paris and its style, after all, are nothing if not timeless.
With Love,
PARIS
Dear friend,
I’m writing to you from a quiet spot not far from Tokyo, nestled by a lakeside where the view of Mount Fuji is at its most breathtaking.
After a few intense days in Tokyo’s bustling metropolis, I’m grateful to trade in my city clothes for a traditional sashiko quilted jacket and thick, comforting knits.
Winter has cast a soft grey veil over everything, lending a peaceful stillness to the landscape. The world around me is tinged in blue-grey hues, reminiscent of traditional Japanese indigo textiles, where shades flow gently into one another.
No matter how much you anticipate seeing Mount Fuji, the sight still manages to take you by surprise. Perhaps it’s because your gaze is first pulled downward—to the vibrant streets lined with shops asking for attention, tangled overhead with a maze of electric wires stretching toward the sky. But then, you look up. And through the mist, there it is—the mountain, rising in quiet majesty above the noise. A serene giant, watching over it all.
Lyricist Lin Xi’s wrote in famous Cantonese song:
“No matter how much you love Mount fuji, you can’t move it away. The only way to move Mount Fuji is walk towards it.”
With love,
MOUNT FUJI
Dear friend,
I’m up in the mountains, where the land is barren, but the views are nothing short of spectacular. I've spent the past few days hiking through Ladakh, taking in the rich history and culture that pulse through this rugged landscape.
In a place where nature is so harsh, I never expected to find such vibrant beauty. Each day brings dramatic sunrises and sunsets, with the sky shifting rapidly from deep blues to purples and fiery oranges. But even more striking than the sky are the bursts of colour found in the people and their clothing.
Everywhere I go, I see prayer flags fluttering at hill stations and resting points, their vivid colours dancing in the wind. The traditional clothing here is equally mesmerizing, worn proudly by women in garments woven with intricate patterns, tie-dye techniques, appliqué, and patchwork. These textiles are bold, richly detailed, and stunningly vibrant against the muted mountain backdrop.
Here, clothing is more than just fabric—it tells stories of kinship, spiritual beliefs, trade routes, and evolving trends. Made from local wool, yak fibers, and materials exchanged across borders, these garments are as practical as they are beautiful. They stand as a powerful reminder of the craftsmanship and creative expression that fashion can hold.
With love,
LADAKH
Dear friend,
I’m spending the weekend immersed in nature’s own version of luxury.
After traveling overnight from London to the Scottish Highlands on a sleeper train, I’ve finally arrived in the land of lochs, munros, ruined castles, and storybook cottages. Armed with an abundance of woollen jumpers, thick socks, and a few of Scotland’s nature-inspired plaids, I’m ready to embrace the wilderness.
What I’m discovering is that a quiet revolution is taking place here at grand estates. Wilding is about stepping back and allowing nature to lead—letting natural processes shape the land and sea, mend damaged ecosystems, and restore weary landscapes. Through wilding, nature reclaims its rhythm, creating wilder, richer, more biodiverse habitats. It’s about reviving the remarkable web of life—habitats, processes, and, where needed, even the species that once called this land home.
And I have a feeling that after a few days of hiking, camping, and wild swimming, I too might become one of the species returning to the land. What a rare and beautiful kind of luxury.
With love,
HIGHLANDS