Origin

I’ve always been drawn to clothing.

Not only for how it looks —
but for how it transforms a person.

Growing up around aggressive inline skating,
I learned early on that what you wear
can change the way movement is perceived.

A trick becomes a style.
Style becomes identity.

That idea stayed with me.

 

              Form becomes identity.

When I first moved to Canada,
I worked at a small streetwear boutique.

At first,
it felt like I was getting closer
to the world I wanted to be part of.

But over time,
something felt missing.

Around that period,
I discovered designers like
Rick Owens, Yohji Yamamoto, Rei Kawakubo,
and Alexander McQueen.

Their work showed me that clothing
could carry attitude, emotion, and philosophy.

Not just appearance.

At the time,
I couldn’t afford those pieces.

So I started making my own.

I didn’t know anything in the beginning.

No pattern making.
No proper construction.

Fortunately there was a small sewing room
in the corner of the school.

I went there every weekend when it was quiet.

I still remember the sunlight hitting the tables,
surrounded by rolls of fabric and sheets of pattern paper.

That was where things started to take shape.

Slowly,
Through repetition.
Through mistakes.
Through time.

     Learning through repetition.

Even making a simple T-shirt felt difficult.

The neckline uneven.
The proportions slightly off.

But when I put it on,
I felt closer to the person I wanted to become.

That feeling stayed with me.

Later, after graduation,
during a period where everything felt unstable —
difficult living conditions, uncertainty, and the weight of the pandemic —
I made a coat.

Looking back,
it felt less like making clothing
and more like trying to hold myself together.

a difficult living situation,
and the uncertainty brought by the pandemic.

That’s when I made a coat.

I referenced military structure —
strength, authority, control.

But I intentionally left traces of imperfection.

Raw edges remained.
Stitching resembled repair.

That tension —
between structure and fragility,
between composure and collapse —
became part of how I think about clothing.

Looking back,
it felt like I was trying to create something
that could hold me together while I was feeling falling apart.

Over time,
I realized that was never only about clothing.

It was about identity.
About resilience.
About becoming.

And in many ways,
it still is.

                                                                                                                           A space that holds it all.