Indigenous/vintage-inspired The Row items: follow up.
also...life lately, and lots of cobalt blue.
First off: really humbled by all of your thoughtful, intelligent, provocative comments on my last piece. As I mentioned, my intention wasn’t to punish The Row’s success (I’m operating within a capitalist mindset, after all). But if I am thinking in capitalist terms, then I should also reward merit. And merit isn’t always found in labels or high-end boutiques—there are so! many! brands! and creators who struggle to access the right platforms, playing on the uneven field that is the fashion industry. Maybe my contribution is to help spotlight their work, their grit, and their talent.
A great follow-up read if you are interested in a pragmatic take on how government policy can either support or hinder the development of Indigenous design—and with it, the possibility of fair competition—> Miguel Mesa Posada’s article in the Harvard Review of Latin America.
Lastly, I’m sharing a couple of links where you can buy the same kinds of pieces The Row is charging way more for—except these come straight from original/small creators:
The Maasai Shuka
The mochila Arhuaca
The “Bolillo” flats
The structured bag
The French workwear jacket
Moving on.
These past couple of weeks, most of my time has been spent inside my head. In the physical space that is my car. Driving to appointments. Driving to school. Eating while I wait for my kids. Heading to the gym where I workout without trainers or partners, as I have grown allergic to breathless small talk in between sets. If I’m not in the car, I’m alone at home while my kids are in school and my husband at work. That’s when I write. Try to externalize whatever shapeless storm has been forming in my head.
In between these non-events, I’ve made these deliberate, slightly annoying stops just to breathe. To remind myself that this is valuable. That maybe, this exact day, with all its rough and soft edges, will end up being one of the top ten memories my girls carry from their childhood. Like how I remember sitting in the backseat as a kid, feeling carsick and craving a grilled cheese sandwich. Nothing remarkable about that moment, and yet it’s stayed with me for decades, while so many “important” memories have evaporated like a gas bubble.
Why does memory hold on so arbitrarily?
—
I said I wouldn’t get deep on today’s newsletter— that it would be just about clothes. Living in them. Wearing them. Wearing the heck out of them, in fact.
Lately I’ve been craving the feeling of living out of a suitcase. Compact. Not too much to choose from. Repeating. I hate the word capsule. But yeah. A capsule. The thing is, this is me:
A true gemini. So what I’ve done is put clothes away in plastic bins, out of sight, the way you do with a toddler’s toys: rotate them, so they get excited when something “new” shows up again.
Except there’s nothing new.
And what keeps repeating is the relentless, never-ending search for newness.
Monday
Tuesday
?
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
Saturday
While driving back, I noticed this house
Which sort of inspired this color palette:
Sunday
?
Monday
Tuesday
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
<3 Laura
Love your honesty, Laura. And I can truly relate to "I love routine, Until I’m bored, then I love excitement. Until I’m overwhelmed, then I love routine." - only instead of 'routine' I personally experience a craving for simplicity - both in colors, cuts and maybe most importantly in the number of items in my closet.
Do you end up culling your wardrobe when you reach 'I'm overwhelmed' stage?
the way you make me want to wear my clothing in new ways...and try things I didn't think were *for me.* like, its actually crazy. You open doors within me I didn't even realize I had closed.