Shivin Singh on Absent Findings - Fashion in the UAE

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Shivin Singh on Absent Findings and Making Fashion in the UAE

written LE MILE

Before founding Absent Findings, Shivin Singh studied finance and accounting. In conversation with LE MILE, that background becomes less a biographical detail than a way of thinking through clothes. His answers keep returning to decisions about what a limited fabric allows, what an heirloom sari can survive, what a craftsperson can realise and what a young studio should protect before scale begins to change the conditions of the work.

Absent Findings is built from materials that already come with consequences, from deadstock fabrics that cannot be reordered once they are gone to heirloom saris that carry family life, craft and time before they enter the studio. Singh is careful not to treat either as a surface reference. A fabric can determine the role of a garment before the collection is complete. A sari can be cut and transformed, but its fall, border, colour and rhythm still have to remain present in the new piece. Here, memory becomes part of the construction instead of remaining decoration.

Singh also speaks about the UAE as a place where tailoring skill and practical knowledge have long existed, while the structures and recognition around luxury production still have to be built with consistency. For Absent Findings, this is tested at the level of standards, through pattern development, material testing, fittings, leather goods and the proximity between design and production.

In the SS27 collection, that discipline becomes visible in clothes in which tailoring, sari-derived fluidity and a theatrical sense of setting are held closely together. What follows is an interview about the conditions behind the clothes. Singh speaks about finance, saris, deadstock, architecture, surrealism, Milan, the UAE and the people whose hands and images shape Absent Findings from within. The result is a conversation with a designer who is less interested in mythology than in the exact point where material, memory and making begin to depend on one another.

LE MILE
Which decision at Absent Findings still reveals your background in finance and accounting?


Shivin Singh
My background in finance and accounting still reveals itself in the way I scrutinise every creative decision at Absent Findings. I do not want the brand to exist simply as something visually beautiful; every idea must have an internal logic, a practical justification and a clear point of differentiation.


That mindset played a significant role in developing our approach of combining deadstock fabrics with heirloom saris. Both materials can be understood as forgotten fabrics, one left behind by overproduction, the other often stored away despite carrying generations of memory and craftsmanship. Bringing them together felt emotionally and conceptually coherent, while also satisfying the more analytical part of my mind. Even when the outcome is poetic, I need the reasoning behind it to be rigorous. For me, creativity becomes stronger when the story, material choices and commercial reality all support one another.

Architecture, the sari, memory and surrealism return across your collections. What has to change in your understanding of a reference before it enters another collection?

Architecture, the sari, memory and surrealism are fundamental to who I am, so they have naturally become cornerstones of Absent Findings’ creative language. I do not think my understanding of a reference has to change completely before it returns, but it must deepen. Each collection should reveal another dimension of it rather than simply repeat what came before.


In the first two collections, we focused strongly on the curved architectural lines of Le Corbusier’s Palace of Assembly in Chandigarh. The shape became a recurring motif across the garments, to the extent that some people began to see it as our version of a monogram. It is rare for a young brand to develop something recognisable so early, so I believe it is important to preserve it, not by overusing it, but by self-referencing it when it feels relevant.
 My relationship with the sari is still being decoded. With every collection, I try to isolate and simplify another aspect of it: a draping technique, a line across the body, a construction principle or the emotional weight held within the fabric. The challenge is not only how to reinterpret these elements in a contemporary way, but also how to work with the saris themselves. I may have ten beautiful heirloom saris in front of me and have to ask how I can preserve their memory and craftsmanship without allowing the result to become nostalgic.


Surrealism is more instinctive and difficult to repeat by nature. It often emerges through stories, images and dreams, many of them from conversations with Laura, who remembers and shares her dreams far more frequently than I do. Some of those dreams eventually become the starting point for an entire visual world.

The references remain, but my access to them changes. I have to keep studying them, questioning them and finding new ways for them to exist within the language of Absent Findings. Fine art, film and music references may shift from season to season according to my current obsessions, but the underlying concerns remain constant.


When you cut into an heirloom sari and translate it into a new garment, what are you careful not to lose?

Cutting into an heirloom sari is one of the most nerve-racking parts of the process because the intention is not simply to preserve it, but to transform it quite drastically without losing its grace.
 We are especially careful to retain the fluidity and natural fall of the sari, which is why these textiles often become softer, more flowing silhouettes. This brings an important balance to Absent Findings, particularly alongside the precision and structure of our tailoring.

We also try to preserve the point where the body of the sari meets its border. There is a distinctive break in colour, texture and visual rhythm at that junction, and I find it incredibly beautiful. It feels like an area of consequence, a visible moment of transition within the textile. Wherever possible, we allow that meeting point to remain present in the final garment, so the sari’s original language is not erased even as it becomes something entirely new.

Which design decisions have to be made earlier when deadstock cannot be reordered?

The availability of deadstock fabric plays an important role in how we plan both the collection and the production cycle. Because the material cannot be reordered, we have to understand very early how much of it we have, which garments it can realistically support and whether it should be used for a statement piece or a design intended for wider production.
 Interestingly, the fabrics available in the smallest quantities are often the ones I fall in love with most. Those materials naturally become the medium for the more narrative and design-intensive looks within a collection. Their scarcity works well in that context because those pieces are usually produced in very limited numbers anyway.


When we have a more substantial quantity of a deadstock fabric, we can approach it with greater freedom. It can be developed across multiple garments, sampled more extensively and used for pieces that may become part of the core commercial offering.

The limitation therefore shapes the hierarchy of the collection very early. The quantity of a fabric does not only determine how many garments we can make; it often influences the role that garment will play within the wider story for that collection.


Sajid first entered your life through alterations to your mother’s saris. How has working with him changed the way you design?

My way of designing has changed as I have become more aware of our combined strengths, of what Sajid and I can achieve through prototyping and sampling, and what the broader production team can execute consistently. I now design with a clearer understanding of how an idea can be realised, while still leaving room to challenge the limits of our existing techniques.

At the same time, Sajid has become a far more experimental pattern cutter. He is increasingly open to unconventional methods and new ways of constructing a garment, while continuing to deepen the tailoring skills that have always been central to his practice.

The result is a more intuitive working relationship. I understand how far I can push an idea, and he understands how to interpret that idea without losing its intention. Our individual strengths have gradually become part of a shared design language.



MUTED

You have said that the UAE should be recognised as a luxury producer. Which forms of craft, production and knowledge were already present in the region, and what did Absent Findings have to develop for itself?

Many of the essential capabilities were already present in the UAE, particularly within the tailoring community. There are highly skilled craftspeople here, many of them from the Indian subcontinent, who have developed an extraordinary understanding of construction through years of practical experience. Their knowledge is often instinctive: they have learned by making, altering and solving problems directly with cloth.
 What was often missing was not talent, but structure. The region has not always placed enough value on the craft of making, and the role of a designer has sometimes been reduced to having a good eye, creating graphics or identifying trends, while production is outsourced elsewhere. By the time those ideas return as finished garments, they can already feel disconnected from their original context or even a season behind.


My training at Polimoda allowed me to bring a more systematic approach to the skills that were already here: professional pattern development, sampling procedures, material testing, quality control and a clearer relationship between design and production. When that structure is combined with the instinctive abilities of local craftspeople, it becomes incredibly powerful.
 For our leather goods, Absent Findings had to develop many of the specific standards ourselves. We worked through questions of edge burnishing, reinforcement, leather handling, construction methods and finishing until the bags could meet the level we expected from an international luxury product. The underlying talent was present, but it needed direction, experimentation and a shared standard of excellence.

We take immense pride in making everything in the UAE. I sometimes bring our Gallery Bag into major luxury retailers and mention to the sales associates that it was produced here. Their surprise is revealing. These are people who work closely with luxury products every day, yet many still struggle to imagine that a bag of that quality could be made in the UAE.

That perception is exactly what I want to change. I understand the emotional power that labels such as “Made in Italy” or “Made in France” can carry; I felt it myself growing up. My ambition is for “Made in the UAE” to eventually command the same respect, not through branding alone, but through the quality, discipline and integrity of the objects we produce.


Absent Findings designs for men and women, yet SS27 entered Milan through the menswear calendar. What does menswear mean to the brand now?

Absent Findings began as a purely menswear brand, but that definition shifted very quickly. At our first pop-up during BRED Abu Dhabi, we saw that many women were drawn to the tailored jackets, trousers and shirts, in effect, to the entire offering. It made us realise that there was also an archetypal woman to whom the brand was speaking very directly.
 From that point, we began approaching the collections with a broader perspective. We looked at the clarity with which brands such as Lemaire and Phoebe Philo communicate to their clientele, and considered how Absent Findings could position itself as a gender-fluid brand. Phoebe Philo is not presented as unisex, for example, yet I know many men who deeply desire the clothes. That kind of attraction beyond an assigned category is something I find very relevant.


Our relationship with Ms Michelle Ngonmo and the Afro Fashion Association has also been instrumental. They have strongly supported the brand’s direction and created opportunities for us to present the work, including our inclusion within the Milan Fashion Week menswear calendar. We have now shown there twice and received a great deal of encouragement.
 Menswear therefore remains the structural foundation of Absent Findings. We still draw heavily from menswear tailoring codes, particularly in construction and quality of finish, but the voice of the brand has evolved. Today, the majority of the collection is unisex, with perhaps one or two looks each season conceived specifically as womenswear.

Entering Milan through the menswear calendar does not restrict the brand; it gives context to where our construction language began. It also helps buyers understand the Gallery Bag and the wider product offering as part of a complete, gender-fluid world rather than as isolated accessories.


Tell us about the first customer who changed your idea of who Absent Findings was for.

Our first customer outside of friends and family fundamentally changed my understanding of who Absent Findings was speaking to.
 I met him during our first pop-up. He was a man in his late thirties or early forties, wearing a Yohji Yamamoto shirt, beautifully oversized wool shorts and a pair of Raf Simons x adidas Replicant shoes, which immediately brought back a lot of memories for me. Before we had even spoken, I felt that he understood the world of the brand.
 He was a dentist from Al Ain, but deeply interested in design and extremely confident in his own taste. He knew what he liked and did not seem to need external validation for it. That quality stayed with me and became central to how I began defining the Absent Findings customer.
 The brand is for someone who trusts their taste, understands the value of considered design and recognises intention without needing excessive decoration. There is always room for frivolity and play, but it should feel purposeful. That first customer showed me that our audience could not be defined simply by demographics. It was an attitude: self-assured, discerning and quietly individual.


Has Laura Puscasu ever shown you something in your own collection that you had not seen while designing it?

Laura is the Art Director of Absent Findings and my fiancée, and she shows me something new in the work almost every day. Through her visual storytelling, she creates the world in which the garments exist, often making the designs feel more layered and interesting than they did to me during the development process. She has an ability to play with texture, pattern, light and composition in ways that reveal qualities in a garment long after I have mentally moved on from designing it. Sometimes I see one of her images and think, perhaps we really are doing something good. Then I have to pull myself out of that satisfaction and continue working.
She also helps shape the emotional context of each collection from very early on. While we are developing and prototyping, we try to build the atmosphere around the collection and live within it. Many of the details that eventually define that atmosphere come through Laura’s dreams, which she remembers vividly and shares with me. They often reveal unexpected connections in the clothes and allow me to see my own work from a completely different perspective.



For SS27, the collection was placed inside a theatrical apartment created with artists, filmmakers and furniture designers connected to the UAE. What did that setting reveal about the clothes?

The setting allowed us to understand more deeply something we had always sensed: that Absent Findings speaks to the avant-garde spirit emerging within the UAE’s artistic community. We are not separate from that movement; we are simply contributing to it through fashion. The paintings in the apartment were borrowed from artists we deeply admire, each of whom is creating a singular and honest body of work. Placing the clothes alongside their work, as well as within furniture and sculpture created by people connected to the region, made the collection feel less like an isolated fashion presentation and more like one element within a broader cultural setting.

It showed us that the garments are most alive when they exist in conversation with other forms of expression. Absent Findings is for everyone, but its point of view is intentionally singular. That apartment made clear that the brand belongs among people who are building distinct worlds of their own. We are deeply grateful to the artists Sara Kamar, Farah Soltani, Inés Boubakri Haddad and Ahmed Emad; to Khaled Hassan of Forma Object for the furniture; and to Simon SPX for the music that helped complete the setting.


As Absent Findings becomes more visible, what do you most want to protect about the way the studio works?

I most want to protect the intimacy and intention behind the way we make. Every garment is created by a single craftsperson rather than being passed anonymously through a production line. That relationship between the maker and the garment gives the work a consistency and humanity that I never want to lose.

I also want to preserve the way deadstock fabrics and heirloom saris come together naturally within each piece. The materials should never feel forced into a sustainability narrative. Their histories, textures and limitations must remain integral to the design itself. People often tell us that our studio does not feel like it is in Dubai, and I understand what they mean. Dubai can be quick to embrace a particular aesthetic completely, whereas our space resists that kind of uniformity. The walls are covered with references, experiments, Laura’s work and my own, constant reminders of who we are as creators and where the collections come from.

As we grow, I do not want the studio to become cleaner, safer or more impersonal. I want its point of view to become even stronger. We have learned to produce work at an international level while facing all the constraints of a young independent brand. As some of those constraints begin to disappear, the quality and ambition should grow, but the closeness, curiosity and discipline of the studio must remain unchanged.

— Explore the Full Collection at www.absentfindings.com
all images by Absent Findings

credits
Photography & Art Direction Laura Puscasu
Styling Shivani Sudhir
Hair Grenezza Muji
Set Design Laura Puscasu, Shivin Singh & Ravinder Singh
Talents Oliver Raison, Dinika Govender, Leonardo Fabio Romero Santos, Karina Ilieva, Semyon Peresypkin, Noah Bashir & Sara Zabihi
Film Direction Yassin Yassin & Laura Puscasu
1st AC Abdulla Almualla
Executive Production Subrata Singh & Ravinder Singh
Production Shivin Singh
Original Soundtrack “Cascade” from The Carrington Project by Simon SPX
Kit Hire Koko Films & KC24

HACOY - Maximilian Rupp on Munich Fashion and Comfort

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Inside HACOY
the Munich Brand Shaping Comfort with Restraint

Fashion has learned to keep desire slightly unfinished. A new season, a new cart, a new reason to feel almost complete. HACOY enters that cycle with a quieter proposition, shaped around what founder Maximilian Rupp calls “a sense of enough.” Founded in Munich, with Romana Tricoli leading the design side, the brand looks at clothing through contact, habit and restraint, from silk underwear and a unisex cupro pajama to swimwear and bamboo T-shirts made for the city that first gave the project its pace.

The focus sits close to the body, where a garment has very little space to pretend. A waistband, a seam, a collar, fabric after several hours of wear. These are small decisions, but they determine whether comfort remains an idea or becomes something lived with. HACOY develops its pieces with long-term manufacturing partners in Italy and Lithuania, where material, fit, production realities and responsibility enter the process early, before a garment can become part of the range.

In conversation with LE MILE, Rupp speaks about refusal, everyday desire, material honesty and the discipline required to let a young independent brand grow from one city without outgrowing the restraint it was built on.

LE MILE
HACOY seems to begin with a simple promise: clothing should make daily life feel less loud, less forced and less disposable. What did you feel was missing in fashion before you started building the brand?

Maximilian Rupp
A sense of enough. Most of the industry is built to keep you slightly dissatisfied, because that is what makes you buy the next thing. I wanted clothes that do the opposite, clothes that you stop thinking about once you own them. What was missing, for me, was restraint. Pieces that don't perform, don't shout, and don't expire in your head after one season.

What has "Better, not more" already made you refuse?

Discounts, for one. We don't do sales, and we've turned down the big seasonal sale events even when the maths looked good, because a brand that is "better, not more" can't also be "40% off." We've passed on collaborations that would have given us reach but not meaning, and on expanding the range just to have more to show. The hardest refusals are the reasonable-sounding ones: another drop, another category, another channel. Most of them I say no to.

Where does comfort usually fail in a garment?

At the points of contact. The waistband, the collar, the seam against the skin, the label that scratches after an hour. Comfort fails when it is treated as something you add at the end, after the look is decided. The body is honest about it. It just takes a few hours to tell you.

HACOY is currently focusing on silk underwear, a unisex cupro pajama and swimwear, all categories that sit close to the body and private daily routines. Why did this intimate layer of dressing feel like the right place to move into now?

Because if "less loud" is going to mean anything, it has to start where no one is watching. These are the clothes for waking up, resting, being alone. There is nothing to hide behind: no styling, no occasion, no audience. You can't fake quality in a piece that is only ever experienced privately. That felt like the most honest place to be.

Romana Tricoli leads the design side, while you shape the broader system around it. Where do strategy and design have to agree before a garment can move forward?

On whether the piece earns its place. Romana can take an idea further than I can on the design side. My job is to hold the constraints: the material, the price it can honestly carry, whether we can make it the way we say we make things. We have to agree on the why before the what. If a piece is beautiful but we can't produce it responsibly, it doesn't move. If it is responsible but says nothing, same answer. The agreement is almost always about restraint.

You studied business psychology and fashion brand management, which is an unusual combination for a founder working with clothing so closely tied to feeling and routine. What did that attention to human behavior teach you about fashion?

That almost no one buys clothes rationally. People buy a feeling, and a small story about who they are. You can exploit that or you can respect it. I chose to design for the everyday self rather than the aspirational one, the person getting dressed on an ordinary Tuesday, not the imagined version of them. Behavior also taught me that habit beats novelty. The pieces people actually love are the ones they reach for without deciding to.

HACOY
portrait of founder Maximilian Rupp

When does function become more important than material purity?

When purity would fail the person wearing it. A "purer" fiber that pills, shrinks, or falls apart in two years is not the responsible choice just because it sounds clean. The material is a means, not the point. If a considered blend lasts ten years and a single fiber lasts two, the blend is the more sustainable garment. I would rather be honest about that than perform purity.

HACOY works with long-term manufacturing partners in Italy and Lithuania, giving the brand a concrete European production geography. What did these partners change about your original idea of the brand?

They made it slower and more honest. I came in with an idea of the brand. They taught me the reality of making: minimums, lead times, what a fabric will actually do, what is genuinely possible. You can't bluff your way through a workshop. Working with the same people over years turns production from a transaction into a relationship, and that changes what you are willing to put your name on.

"Hyper local, global" begins with one city first, not a global rollout. What becomes clearer when a brand grows from a place instead of from a market plan?

Who it is actually for. The idea is local hubs, city by city, where over time each city produces its own clothing rather than everything flowing out of a single source. Italy is where we hold the standard today, but it is a starting point, not a permanent anchor. The longer goal is production that lives where the people who wear it live. When you grow from a place, you have real people and real context giving you feedback, not an abstract target group on a slide. A market plan tells you where the demand should be. A city tells you who is actually showing up, and what they actually need. The second one is harder to argue with.

The new bamboo T-shirts are planned as a Munich-only launch, which makes locality part of the product itself. What has to happen for a garment to feel connected to a city without turning into merchandise?

Merchandise is when you print the city's name on a shirt and call it belonging. Connection is when the city actually shaped the thing: where it is made, who tried it first, the fact that it exists at this scale because of this place. It has to come from a real constraint and a real relationship, not a graphic. If you removed the word "Munich" entirely and it still felt of Munich, you have done it right.

Alongside the brand, you work on MAR, your personal painting practice. What kind of space does MAR give you, and what can it hold that would become too private inside a fashion brand?

MAR has no brief and no customer. Nothing has to be useful, coherent, or finished. It can hold doubt and mess, the things that don't resolve, which a brand is not allowed to show. HACOY has to be legible to other people. MAR doesn't have to be legible to anyone, including me. I need both, and I think they protect each other.

You mentioned ADHD and mental health as subjects you care about. Has that influenced how you build a working environment around the brand?

Yes. I've tried to build the brand around how I actually work rather than how I am supposed to. That means fewer, deeper focuses instead of many shallow ones, being honest about capacity, and a structure that bends rather than punishes. I am not interested in a culture that treats a different kind of attention as a flaw to be managed. If anything, the way my mind works is part of why HACOY looks the way it does.

Fashion still depends on real bodies, real fabric and people making decisions together. How do you prevent AI from making an independent brand look larger or smoother than it really is?

By using it for the work, not the front. I run a lot of the brand alone, and AI lets one person do what used to take a team. But the temptation is to use that to look bigger and more polished than we are. I try not to. A startup magazine once decided not to feature us because they assumed we were already a big company. I took it as a compliment, because at most we are three people. It told me the work was landing, but it also reminded me how easily the surface can outrun the truth. So the decisions that matter stay human, the texture stays human, and the brand is allowed to look exactly as small and handmade as it is. The danger is not the tool. It is letting the surface outrun the substance.

If HACOY's first phase is about proving the model in Munich, what would tell you that the brand is ready for another city?

Pull instead of push. Not a single revenue number, but the quieter signs: people coming back, rewearing, telling other people without being asked, a community that holds together when I am not actively feeding it. The day the model runs in Munich without me pushing on it constantly, and there is genuine demand coming from somewhere else, that is the signal. Until then, moving would just be ambition pretending to be readiness.


— Explore the Full Collection at www.hacoy.com
all images HACOY Press

Clothing in Use - The Language of Maara Studio

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Where Colour Holds
Maara Studio by Izabela Barbaric

written LE MILE

Maara Studio takes shape through a way of working that stays close to the garment itself and to how it is worn. Founded by Izabela Barbaric, the label develops through decisions that remain tied to the piece rather than building a fixed vocabulary.

Maara Studio

Maara Studio

Colour enters the collections with a clarity rooted in presence. It holds the garment in place, allowing it to register immediately while remaining connected to the body wearing it. The effect is direct, with a controlled sense of staging.

A similar precision runs through the way garments are imagined in relation to specific people. Many pieces are connected to women from Barbaric’s own circle, as a way of thinking through posture, gesture and how a piece is carried. This thinking informs proportion, material and colour at a level that remains embedded in the garment itself, without resolving into fixed characters or narratives.

Material and production follow these conditions, with small editions produced through Italian ateliers keeping the process close to the object so adjustments remain traceable and decisions do not disappear in scale. Fabrics such as silk, cotton and linen are selected for how they respond in wear, how they hold shape without fixing it, and how they shift over time. What emerges is a way of approaching femininity that does not need to be defined in advance. It takes shape through use and through how a garment holds together while being worn. In the following conversation, Izabela Barbaric speaks about how this approach developed and how it continues to inform Maara Studio.

Maara Studio

Maara Studio

Maara Studio

LE MILE
When did your design language reach a point where it needed its own label? Was there a decisive moment, or did that step take shape gradually? And how closely is that founding impulse tied to the assured femininity your work expresses today?

Izabela Barbaric
The desire was there from an early age. As a child, I used to flip through catalogues and magazines and knew I wanted to be part of that world. At first, I took a different path, worked, gained experience, and saw a lot, but something creative was always missing.
During the pandemic, that thought became more concrete. The turning point came in a conversation with a friend who simply asked why I wasn’t doing it. I didn’t have an answer. In that moment, I realised there was no real reason not to, so I started. Confident femininity was never a concept to me, it was always a feeling. For me, it is less about an external image and more about an inner attitude: taking space, being present, and not adapting.
Over time, that feeling became more defined through the process itself, through making decisions, but also through moments of uncertainty. That attitude was always there, but it only became tangible through building my own label.

Looking back at your earlier years — before Maara existed — what did you believe fashion could give you that it perhaps couldn’t at the time? And has that belief changed?

Fashion has always been a way for me to express mood and personality. It is about feeling comfortable, moving freely, and dressing intuitively rather than according to expectations.
That sense of freedom is still at the core of my work today. If anything, it has become even stronger.

Colour plays a central role in your collections. It feels deliberate, almost defiant in its openness. What does that luminosity mean to you beyond its immediate visual impact?

Colour represents joy to me, but it is also a statement. It expresses presence, confidence, and a certain independence from the need to conform. Colour always carries an attitude. At the same time, it is a form of communication. It influences how a look is perceived, the mood it carries, and how present it feels.
Sometimes colour is an intuitive decision, sometimes it is used more consciously to create contrast or a sense of calm. It also helps structure my collections by creating connections or, in some cases, intentional breaks.

Much of contemporary fashion operates through irony or conceptual distance. Against that backdrop, Maara feels direct and sensual. Is that a conscious choice? And what does that directness allow you to express that might otherwise get lost?

Yes. I believe in honesty in expression. Clothing should connect and evoke something without needing explanation. That directness makes it accessible, while still remaining deeply personal.

Maara Studio
portrait of designer and founder Izabela Barbaric

Maara Studio

Who do you design for? And how does that presence — real or imagined — influence the way a piece takes shape?

I design for individuals. I often have a friend or an important woman in my life in mind, her presence, her way of living, the way she presents herself, how she wears colour, and how she wants to be perceived. Clothing should enhance that personality, not overshadow it. It is about presence, confidence, and a sense of joy.
This idea directly shapes my designs, especially in terms of silhouette and proportion. Colour and material also come from this, because each piece needs to adapt to the person, not the other way around.

When you design, how consciously are you thinking about the body? Is movement something you construct deliberately, or does it emerge intuitively as the piece develops?

The feeling on the body is essential. A piece needs to feel natural and move with the wearer. When that works, everything else follows almost automatically. I think about the body and movement very early in the process. It is not something that comes at the end, it accompanies the design from the beginning. There is always a moment where I test how a piece falls, how it moves, and whether it supports the body or restricts it. Many decisions are made at that point.

Several of your pieces carry the names of women from your own circle. What shifts in your process when a garment is connected to someone you know personally? For you, is friendship more a source of inspiration, a space of resonance — or at times even a form of corrective?

It makes the process more personal. I think about real characters, their energy, their presence, and shared memories that are meaningful to me. Friendship is a strong source of inspiration for me because it strengthens each person in their own identity. That is essential.
At the same time, these relationships create a kind of resonance. They influence how I see my designs, how I develop them further, and sometimes how I question them. It is less about direct feedback and more about a shared understanding that shapes the process.

What does working in small editions allow you to preserve? And when does limitation start to feel like a conscious choice rather than a constraint?

It keeps me close to the product. I can work more consciously, make more precise decisions, and preserve the uniqueness of each piece. This creates something more personal and less interchangeable.

When working with small Italian ateliers, where does quality become non-negotiable for you — in the material, in the cut, in the finishing, or in something less tangible?

Everything.
Quality reveals itself in the details, in the materials, the cut, the craftsmanship, and above all in the fit. That is where I take the time it needs. For me, it also means paying close attention to the construction of a garment, how it is built, how cleanly it is made, and how well it holds its shape over time. That is where the difference really lies.

Croatian roots, Italian production — how present is that duality in your thinking? And where does it surface most clearly in the design itself?

For me, Croatia represents boldness, freedom, and a very vivid understanding of fashion, a way of expressing oneself and embracing life.
Italy, on the other hand, stands for precision, craftsmanship, and uncompromising quality. Both cultures carry a strong female energy, as an attitude, as a presence, as something natural. A woman as the centre, as a driving force, as someone who shapes rather than follows. This duality also becomes visible in the design itself, in the interplay between strong colours and clear silhouettes, between expression and controlled construction. That tension defines my work.

— Explore the Full Collection at www.maara-studio.com
all images seen by Karolina Golis, beauty by Anna Winkel for Maara Studio

SALZWASSER - Lennart Henze on Sustainable Fashion

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From the Coast to the Studio

*How SALZWASSER Turns Simplicity Into a Design Language

written SARAH ARENDTS

SALZWASSER was born where the wind carries salt across the shore and the horizon never ends. Founded in 2019 on the North Sea island of Norderney, SALZWASSER marks its sixth anniversary. What began on the coast has grown into a Hamburg-based studio that continues to work within Europe, maintaining short production routes and close collaborations.

Each piece starts with material selection: Merino wool, organic cotton, linen. Natural fibers chosen for their quality and origin. Production takes place in Italy, Portugal, and Germany, where every step is clearly defined and carried out with consistency. The result is clothing designed to last, made without synthetics, focused on fit, proportion, and longevity. The current collection continues this approach with knitwear made entirely from Merino wool — soft, breathable, and structurally stable for years of wear.

SALZWASSER
founder: Lennart Henze

Sarah Arendts
What was the starting point for the special quality that defines the brand today?

Lennart Henze
For me, it all begins with a deep love for good products — for things that stay with you for a long time and get better every day. I realized early on that true quality is never a coincidence; it comes from patience, care, and the courage to leave nothing to chance.
I’m fascinated by materials, construction, and tactile experiences — how a fabric falls, how a knit breathes. SALZWASSER was born out of this dedication: the ambition to create clothing that feels substantial, is impeccably crafted, and is not designed for just one season but for a life full of good moments.

The new knit styles made from 100% Merino wool expand your core collection. How did the idea for this collection develop?

The collection emerged from the desire to use natural materials in their purest form.
Merino comes with natural properties: temperature-regulating, soft, breathable — and without any synthetics, it performs better than many technical fibers.
After our more distinctive, technical-looking half-zip sweaters, we wanted to create knits that are even more reduced: simple crewnecks with subtle knit structures — understated and timeless.
Once again, made as a mono-material: no synthetics, 100% Merino wool. For us, this was a logical step — moving away from synthetics and towards a pure, natural material world that harnesses the best performance nature has to offer.

Your half-zip sweaters have long become synonymous with SALZWASSER. When did you realize they were more than just a classic pullover?

When I noticed that we hadn’t just adapted a classic half-zip — we had reimagined it.
The half-cardigan structure, used inside-out, the modern, slightly looser cut — that’s what made it unique. Bolder, more contemporary. And then came the decision to produce entirely without synthetics and even achieve GOTS certification — something rare in this category.
The fact that the sweater was so well received and that we were able to expand it twice through crowdfunding showed us that people value the full package: natural fibers and sustainability, quality, and European production.

Italy, Germany, Portugal — what connects these places for you?

First of all: quality and craftsmanship. Each of these countries has its own textile handwriting, and we value them all. Germany is our home, where everything began — on Norderney, in the far north. Portugal is a place of longing and inspiration for me — the coast, the light, the calm. Italy brings its own warmth and elegance — and a precise textile tradition.
And, of course, there’s something else connecting them: a transparent European supply chain.
Shorter routes, more personal relationships, responsible production. These places are part of our identity — reflected in our colors, our aesthetics, and our sense of nature and timelessnes.

How do you prevent sustainability from becoming rhetoric?

By not treating it as marketing, but as a mindset. And by enabling people to understand what real responsibility means: natural materials, European manufacturing, transparency. For us, sustainability isn’t a concept — it’s our starting point.

Where does design begin for you?

Design begins for us with reduction and responsibility. We follow a circular textile design approach, focusing on mono-materials, natural fibers instead of synthetics, and long-lasting construction. At the same time, we aim to create a stronger emotional connection to each piece — through timeless, minimalist forms that people can truly live with.
We don’t think in seasonal cycles or collections, but work on a continuous range. Our vision is clear: Focus on Essentials. Design evolves through subtraction — until only what is meaningful, beautiful, and lasting remains.

Timelessness — more about endurance or calm?

For me, timelessness is calm — and from that, endurance follows. A calm cut, reduced details, natural tones that never shout.

What role do places play — sea, light, the North?

SALZWASSER was born on the rough northern coasts. Coasts have always been places of longing and calm. Traditionally, people living by the sea have mastered a slow, minimalist, and simple way of life. They value durable gear and meaningful experiences with nature — they focus on what truly matters. With a contemporary design approach, SALZWASSER translates this lifestyle and mindset into modern everyday clothing — for city, countryside, and coast. It reminds people of moments of longing and allows a return to what’s essential. Focus on Essentials.

What should people feel when they wear SALZWASSER?

Freedom.

Calm.

And focus on what truly matters.

SALZWASSER
www.salzwasser.eu

based in Hamburg, Germany
designing timeless essentials from natural fibers — all made in Europe

At SALZWASSER, sustainability means durability, repairability, and transparent production within Europe. Every decision, from the yarn to the finished garment, follows this logic. The aesthetic remains consistent, defined by quiet lines, natural tones and functional clarity. As the brand enters its sixth year, SALZWASSER reaffirms its commitment to creating garments built for purpose and time.

Inside Shop Like You Give a Damn - Sustainable Fashion

.specials
SHOP LIKE YOU GIVE A DAMN
*A Department Store for the Future of Compassion

written AMANDA MORTENSON

Shop Like You Give a Damn was founded by Alex Jansen, Kim van Langelaar, and Stephan Stegeman to make ethical choices straightforward. Early on, the team tried to verify the ethical claims of brands they admired and discovered that reliable data to separate intention from reality was missing.

Together with a tech partner, they built an AI-supported assessment framework and tested it on a selection of the most ethical brands, but none met every criterion. The lesson became their principle of better, not perfect. The platform has been 100 percent vegan since day one and curates brands around three non-negotiable pillars of animals, people and planet. Its goal is progress backed by proof, with transparency throughout the production chain, fair labour and a smaller footprint. The team has assessed thousands of labels, works closely with more than 150 of them and continues to raise the bar through dialogue, evidence and clear standards.

DAWN

Shop Like You Give A Damn
founding team: Kim van Langelaar, Stephan Stegeman, and Alex Jansen

Amanda Mortenson
“Better, not perfect” is a central idea behind what you want to communicate. How did this become a guiding philosophy for Shop Like You Give a Damn, and how do you embody it in your decisions?

Stephan Stegeman
“Better, not perfect” became our mantra after an eye-opening experience early in our journey. About five years ago, we set out to verify every ethical claim our brands were making. We give a damn about animals, people and the planet, so it was crucial to ensure every brand on our platform truly aligned with our values — always vegan, fair and as sustainable as possible.

But we quickly hit a roadblock: there wasn’t enough reliable information to say with confidence which brands were genuinely better than conventional fast fashion. That uncertainty kept us up at night. Then a tech startup approached us with an AI-driven tool to verify sustainability claims. We worked together for six months to build a framework and tested it on what we thought were the hundred most ethical brands. The results were humbling — not a single one met all our criteria.

That experience crystallised our philosophy. If we chased perfection, we’d have no brands left to support, and that helps no one. So we decided to champion progress — brands that are proudly vegan, treat workers fairly and work to minimise their environmental impact. Every decision we make starts with asking: is this better for animals, people and the planet? If yes, it’s on the right path. We’ve now assessed over two thousand brands, using that knowledge to keep raising the bar and helping good ones get even better.

In your view, what are the biggest misconceptions people have about “sustainable fashion” and veganism?

One of the biggest misconceptions about sustainable fashion is that it’s actually sustainable. It isn’t — at best, it’s a less harmful version of regular fashion. Producing new clothing always consumes materials, water and energy, and generates waste and emissions. The fashion industry still accounts for around ten percent of global carbon emissions — more than all international flights and shipping combined.

The most sustainable choice is not buying new clothes at all. Using what you already have longer and consuming less is the best way to reduce impact. After that comes reusing, swapping or buying second-hand. If you must buy new, choose responsible brands that use better materials and fair production.

When it comes to vegan fashion, many people don’t realise it’s more than diet — it’s also about what we wear. Materials like wool, silk and leather all involve animal suffering and serious environmental costs. Wool, for instance, often involves painful procedures like mulesing and enormous water use. Leather isn’t just a by-product of meat — it’s its own industry, with chemical-heavy tanning that harms both workers and ecosystems. True vegan fashion means avoiding all animal materials and choosing plant-based or innovative alternatives, from organic cotton to apple, mushroom or cactus leather. It’s not impact-free, but it’s far less harmful.

When you look at materials, what trade-offs do you see most often, and which ones surprise people the most?

When you start really looking into materials, you realise there’s no such thing as a perfect one. Every fabric comes with trade-offs — it’s about choosing what does the least harm while moving the industry in a better direction.
Many people are surprised to learn that most vegan leathers still include some form of plastic, like polyurethane. That’s not ideal, but compared to animal leather — which involves suffering, toxic tanning and high emissions — a responsibly made PU- or bio-based leather is still a better choice.

The same goes for plant-based fabrics. Cotton sounds sustainable because it’s natural, but conventional cotton is extremely water- and pesticide-intensive. Organic cotton is better, but not perfect. Recycled fibres and low-impact blends help, yet they depend on proper recycling systems that don’t exist at scale.

What surprises people most is that natural doesn’t automatically mean sustainable, and synthetic doesn’t always mean bad. A “natural” fibre like wool or silk can have major animal rights and environmental issues, while a recycled polyester might have a smaller footprint if it’s kept in circulation.

At Shop Like You Give a Damn, we try to navigate those grey areas honestly. We look for what’s vegan, fair and more sustainable — accepting imperfection while supporting innovation. Real progress happens not when we find one flawless material but when the entire industry shifts its mindset from exploitation to responsibility.

How do you draw the line between what’s “good enough” and what’s still too problematic?

For us, the line starts with being 100 percent vegan — that’s non-negotiable. From there, we ask whether something is genuinely better than the mainstream alternative. That means no greenwashing, no empty buzzwords — just real, evidence-based improvement.

We have clear internal guidelines on what materials we accept. Products must be made from fabrics that are not harmful to animals and significantly less harmful to people and the planet. On labour, it gets more complex. Ideally, every worker earns a living wage, but not every region is there yet. Sometimes a verified minimum wage plus transparent progress toward a living wage can be acceptable for now. The key word is progress.

So “good enough” doesn’t mean perfect; it means effort, transparency and direction. If a brand is vegan, pays fairly and uses better materials, we’re happy to stand behind them. But if any of those pillars — animals, people or the planet — are missing, it’s not good enough.

You require sellers to adhere to your values. How do you support them in improving over time?

When we assess brands, we ask a lot of difficult questions and explain why certain choices don’t meet our standards yet. Even if a brand isn’t ready to join us right away, we often see them come back after improving.

We’re now working with over 150 brands, so we have a good understanding of where they tend to struggle and what helps them grow. Our goal is to use that shared knowledge to bring brands together, because this isn’t a competition. If we want to change the fashion industry, we need to do it collectively. One twig breaks easily, but a bundle doesn’t. That’s how we see ethical fashion — as a community. In the near future, we want to invest even more in that network, helping brands learn from each other and expand our collective impact.

KnowledgeCotton Apparel

Kings of Indigo

How do you communicate nuance or “imperfection” to your customers, without alienating or confusing them?

We try to be as factual and transparent as possible. That means saying we’re “more sustainable,” not “sustainable.” It might sound small, but it matters. Every product has an impact, and the goal is to make that impact smaller — not to pretend it doesn’t exist.

We remove vague or misleading claims like “eco-friendly” unless there’s real proof. And we make sure our language never excludes or offends anyone. Ethical shopping should feel approachable, not moralising. When people buy from us, we want them to know they’re making one of the best choices available — not a perfect one, but a conscious one that’s better for animals, people and the planet.

Recently, Shop Like You Give a Damn acquired the website of NOAH Italian Vegan Shoes. What motivated that move, and how will you integrate its legacy?

Our decision came from deep respect for NOAH’s pioneering role in vegan fashion and a shared desire to carry its mission forward. Founded in 2009, NOAH spent sixteen years proving that high-quality design can be completely vegan and ethical. It was one of the first brands we partnered with after our launch in 2018 and had long been a pillar of the community.

When NOAH announced its closure, we didn’t want that legacy to disappear. By acquiring its website, we can ensure that everything it built continues — its vision of compassionate, high-quality vegan fashion will live on and reach new audiences.

As you scale, what are the hardest tensions you face?

One of the hardest parts of running a sustainable company is making choices that are good for sustainability but bad for business. We’ve onboarded brands that customers love but later had to remove because they no longer met our standards.

It’s tough, because building a truly ethical business is difficult. Many brands and platforms have disappeared for that reason. But to make a real impact, a company also needs to earn enough to sustain its team. Only then can it continue to drive change. Balancing credibility and survival is never easy, but it’s essential.

What keeps you and your team motivated?

Most people in our company are vegan for the animals, and that shapes everything we do. It’s about compassion — making sure we don’t exploit people or destroy the planet. Even in hard times, when resources are tight or things get complicated, those values keep us inspired and focused on why we started this in the first place.

Looking ahead five to ten years, what do you dream Shop Like You Give a Damn could become?

I hope that in the next decade we’ll be the leading vegan, fair and sustainable fashion marketplace in the world. I want us to continue raising awareness about the problems in fast fashion while offering people an easy, enjoyable and trustworthy alternative.

KOMODO

SUITE13LAB

SHOP LIKE YOU GIVE A DAMN
www.shoplikeyougiveadamn.com

based in Amsterdam, The Netherlands
offering over 20,000 vegan, fair and sustainable products

A recent step reflects that approach with the acquisition of the website of NOAH Italian Vegan Shoes, preserving the legacy of a pioneer in vegan fashion and keeping its mission accessible. For Stephan, it comes down to building a credible way to buy with less harm, buy better and keep compassion at the center of commerce.

Kuyichi

Thinking MU

Rotholz