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We bonded over her unexpected India connection—her brother James Foster coaches in the Indian Premier League—which led us to chatting about how incredible London resident Anushka Sharma would look in a pair of E.L.V. jeans.

A few weeks later, I walked over to her studio, tucked away between Dalston and Stoke Newington, where the brand’s hyper-local, East London DNA comes alive. Everything is made within a three-mile radius, named after neighbourhood landmarks like the Rio Cinema and Ridley Market. In her cutting room, Anna showed me how design becomes a superpower: turning discarded hotel bed linens into fluid gathering details, upcycling furniture leather offcuts into panelled jackets, and converting tiny denim scraps into handmade paper.

Here is our conversation on building a truly circular business—one that changes the fashion system 1% at a time.

Akanksha Kamath (AK): Anna, thank you for having us in your studio today. Looking around, I can already see the sheer amount of work that goes into this—bales of post-consumer waste denim sitting over here, and then the finished garments on the rack. I loved meeting at your Annoushka collaboration event a few weeks ago, but seeing the inner workings of E.L.V. Denim is incredible. Tell me about the name—it’s that East London vibe, right?

Anna Foster (AF): When I came up with the name, there wasn’t a think tank helping me. It was born out of necessity. I was born and raised in East London, I live here, and the business was always going to have its roots here. Since I rework post-consumer waste vintage clothes, E.L.V. felt natural. It was a singular decision, and I didn’t debate it at all.

AK: How far do you live? Do you just roll out of bed and land in the studio?

AF: It’s a 15-minute walk from Dalston up to Stoke Newington. It’s nice to have that familiarity, seeing the same people and having conversations on the way. I try not to rush so I can walk rather than jump on a bus going, “Oh my God, I’m late.” We have to value taking time to say hello to someone; that sense of community has disappeared a bit.

AK: It gives it a real neighbourhood feel. What would you describe as its East London DNA?

AF: East London is historically the home of manufacturing. Everything we make is within a three-mile radius of the studio. Keeping manufacturing local was essential when I started. It made no sense to put it somewhere where I couldn’t be in control—partly because I’m a control freak, but also because we’re inspiring ateliers to work in a very revolutionary way. If I’m putting that responsibility on them, I have to support them. East London is edgy, innovative, and births so much fashion creativity. Plus, our collections are named after local landmarks—the Rio Bomber, the Dalston jean and jacket, the Hackney Trench, the Ridley, the De Beauvoir dress. It’s genuine.

AK: As an East London girlie myself, I definitely see that edge. But denim is also universally at home anywhere.

AF: It’s the most democratic garment in your wardrobe; everybody relates to a pair of jeans. When I started, I was naturally drawn to it because I was a denim lover. But when you research what denim costs the environment, the figures are shocking. Unhappy jeans without a purpose are thrown away so quickly, yet that material cost the environment, the makers, and society so much. Using design to redesign our way out of a problem is the best approach. Clothes are part of the design world—when a garment reaches the end of its first life cycle, we transform it so it can eventually be transformed again.

AK: That reminds me of a speech by the founder of The Revival at the State of Fashion Biennale in Arnhem, who works with waste from Kantamanto Market in Ghana. He said, “Clothes are waste in the wrong hands.” You give it to a tailor or designer, and it’s never waste. Was there a specific moment when your perspective shifted during your styling career?

AF: Yes. I was working on high-street commercial contracts, which are financially great because editorially you don’t get paid much. But it started feeling icky. Fast fashion mass-produces poor-quality garments, and the more design required, the less profit they make, pushing design to the bottom of priorities when it should be at the top. The turning point was on a shoot on an island. A sample dress hadn’t arrived, so they arranged an overnight flight from China to New York, a plane to Florida, a private courier down to us, and a boat to the island. The sheer environmental and monetary cost for one dress made me realize I had to move away from that industry model.

AK: How do you describe E.L.V. DENIM on the sustainability spectrum, given how loosely that word is thrown around?

AF: I boldly say we are at the top. We don’t create new garments from virgin materials. We take something that would end up in a landfill in Ghana or the Atacama Desert and convert that waste into a positive resource. Other brands have sustainability policies, but they are “We Try Harder” brands. Buying rolls of deadstock fabric isn’t a silver bullet because it’s still cutting from a roll. True circularity comes from using existing garments and design tools available right now.

AK: Take me through these pieces in the studio—the construction is so distinct.

AF: We combine an “outside” panel and an “inside” panel from two different jeans—like a black outer and a blue inner—to create our styles like the Bootcut, the Boyfriend, or the Ray. For garments where jeans are damaged or short, we use a machine we call “the clicker” to punch out shapes, construct new paneled fabrics, and turn them into pieces like our capes, the Harvard skirt, or extended-hem jeans.

AK: Why the central seam instead of the traditional side seam?

AF: Jeans have been designed by men for men since 1892 as flat workwear, but women’s bodies are cylindrical—hips, waist, thighs. Side seams don’t honor those contours. By placing seams down the middle, the fit becomes 3D. Plus, we leave an adjustable seam allowance down the center. A wearer can let out or take in their jeans by one to two sizes as their body evolves. We offer that adjustment service for the lifetime of our jeans.

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AK: I see you’ve expanded into other deadstock textiles, too, like hotel bed linens and leather.

AF: Yes! We use upcycled hotel bed linen from partners like Sanderson for our Celia dress and shirts. Bed linen creases easily, so we gather and pin-tuck the fabric intentionally so the creasing looks deliberate—design hiding material obstacles. For our leather jackets, we take furniture offcuts, group them by size, map them, and stitch them into strips. Scraps that are too small for clothing are sent to students, converted into home insulation, or turned into our handmade denim paper for labels and stationery.

AK: What’s the ultimate vision for expanding this model globally?

AF: Right now, global clothing waste is shipped back and forth between charity networks, rag trades, and offshore sorting facilities without adding value. My goal is to bypass that back-and-forth by creating localized E.L.V. hubs directly where the waste accumulates—in the UK, Europe, the US, and India. India has incredible design, manufacturing, and sorting infrastructure. I was actually discussing this global vision with Akshata Murthy when she visited the studio for the Richmond Project, which encourages young girls to get into numbers. I showed her how integral data and numbers are to running a circular business, and she immediately understood. By manufacturing at the source of waste and distributing locally, we upskill local economies and take responsibility region by region. It’s about bypassing the naysayers and changing the world 1% at a time.

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So for this week, I had to look back at my camera roll. Always a good place to start. I’m going to divvy these up as The person or people I’m into and why. The place that I’m thinking about or visited(!), something I found (exciting), an object I’m obsessed with (hopefully one I own or am in the process of acquiring, and a thought that I’m ruminating in my mind (because that’s what I do — a lot).

Here goes!

The Person: THIS woman at the Sinead O’ Dwyer V&A Museum Show - ‘NOTICE ME’

“these hips are big hips.

they need space to.

move around in.

they don’t fit into little.

petty places. these hips.

are free hips.”

So wrote American author, poet and educator, Lucille Clifton in 1980. What she and other women of her ilk — I think of Roxanne Gay and her words: “Regardless of what you do, your body is subject to commentary when you gain weight, lose weight, or maintain your unacceptable weight.” — or Zadie Smith in ‘On Beauty’: “It was in the air…. this hatred of women and their bodies—it seeped in with every draught in the house; people brought it home on their shoes, they breathed it in off their newspapers. There was no way to control it.” And Susie Orbach’s written verses: “Body fascism and the tyranny of thin, and the sense that we should all be one size, is not only unrealistic, it is unhealthy and unattainable.”

I can’t help but wonder — I no longer see body positivity in ad campaigns, on the runway (Gucci was the biggest wake up call in Milan earlier this year, shining a light on Fashion’s Problem With Fat), or even at my Pilates sessions each morning. Forget body positivity, I don’t even see body diversity. We’re all looking, thinking and becoming the same. And so, seeing this woman, whose body, in many ways reflects my own — a curvy middle that slopes onto hips that are hugged by the columns of a sequinned dress, her arms bolder, stronger, weightier - as if her shoulders could handle the breeze upon them, but also her burdens - was an awakening.

I then went onto Sinead O’Dwyer’s website, saw that she has UK sizing that travels up to 20, and realised this is a designer unwilling to minimise the whole and entire human experience of a woman.

The Place: WatchHouse After Hours

Last week, on a perfectly sun-lit day, I made my way to WatchHouse at Millenium Bridge in London for their second After Hours evening — a series of cultural events like poetry readings, art nights etc. This was a celebration of one my most favourite things in the world — flowers, with a workshop by Peckham-based Sage Flowers. Making a bouquet is an art, and this was a step by step walk through on how to fix flowers perfectly into a bunch worthy of being perched on a high pedestal at home. Although I’m a lot less fussed with my flowers, and tend to flop them into a vase — ideally with a wilder look, leaves and other paraphernalia attached. But not to say that I can’t appreciate someone who really knows their way around flowers, doing the dicing and pruning with all heart and focus. So here is a step by step for you, if you’re looking to, you know, get crafty with flowers after your next trip down to Columbia Flower Market, or wherever in the world your local flower shop finds you 💐

The Find: Shaad Magazine

Super fun find, actually. A friend shared it with me over Spicy Margs outdoors at Dorian in Notting Hill (the most delish one I’ve had since Soho House lol). Chilli drinks aside, I love that I stumbled on this page — Shaad, whoever you are, is really good at pinpointing the oddities in our quotidian lives, like ‘All the stuff I do once I’m already 10-15 mins late’ — “Call a friend like haha why not” — I’m ded. Or ‘Thing to do during heatwave’. Wondering what? Read it here!

The Object: Giberto Venezia glassware *& much more

First of all, fully obsessed with this video on Instagram of the Murano glass brand, Giberto Venezia’s heiress, Mafalda Arrivabene Valenti Gonzaga at her Venetian home. Secondly, what’s not to love about beautiful vases that are sold at the Rialto Bridge in Venice and kept in the Aman in Venice. I’ll take the Paper Knife with a Ruby Root in Vermeil Crystal embedded within it. Glorious.

The Thought: How to move houses without losing your mind?!

We’re moving homes. Shifting away from what is increasingly feeling like the centre of London in E20 Stratford (have you been to the V&A East and V&A East Storehouse yet? What about the Sadler’s Wells? What about for a Dua Lipa concert at West Ham stadium) to West Wimbledon, Raynes Park. Now, you might ask, why are we doing it when I’m clearly lamenting the end of an era in East where Bad Coffee in Hackney Wick is where I get my beans each week, and where our weekends are filled with walks to Vicky Park and London Fields, with a pitstop at Pockets for the best damn pocket ever, Columbia Road Flower market for fresh flowers and other knick-knacks, and so much more? Well, my answer is, it’s time to make my own home — with my interiors, art that I will slowly invest in, a garden that has Magnolia, Jasmine and a Cherry tree. Enough said, really. Plus, the morning Waitrose shop doesn’t change, and did I mention, we get to be in the Wimbledon ticket lottery for the area. I’ll take it. Some character building is on the way. But first, we need to travel light, so watch out on my Instagram for any leave-behind pieces you could buy 🌹

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What drew me more deeply into the brand, however, was not the clothing. It was an article about Cucinelli’s philosophy of “humanistic capitalism”: fair wages, respect for workers and a belief in work-life balance. The idea reminded me of Gandhi’s belief in taking cities to villages, rather than villages to cities. I became determined to visit Solomeo, the Umbrian hamlet where the company is based.

Fast forward to last year, when the director of an Italian fashion conglomerate visited my galleries, KAASH and EVOKE. I was planning a short summer break in Italy and asked whether visiting Solomeo was a good idea, without knowing whether it would even be possible. He urged me to go and helped arrange the visit.

For me, it was personal visit on several levels: my upbringing, my profession and my love of clothes.

My grandfather loved fine things, especially tailored vicuña jackets, which I still wear. When I was eleven, he would speak mournfully of his Ranken suits, made by a colonial-era Kolkata outpost of Savile Row that closed around 1970. I rarely wear formal tailoring, but perhaps an appreciation for it was inherited. Cucinelli’s achievement is making the suit appear relaxed: tailoring worn with ease rather than stiffness.

It is also no accident that I chose a profession in the arts. I founded a studio and two galleries and am building a luxury resort in Goa. Studio KAASH in Bangalore is an experimentation hub for designers and artists from around the world, whom we marry with Indian craft to create products and artworks. After nearly a decade working with craft in India, I often wonder how crafts can truly be taken forward. My visit to Solomeo answered these questions to a great extent.

My guide was Alberto Antresini, a “client experience expert” for the company. He greeted me with, “Welcome to the Brunello family.”

A bit White Lotusy, I thought. But his authenticity and openness soon proved otherwise. “We believe in doing everything better,” he told me. The philosophy reminded me of the Buddhist tenet of realising one’s potential. I named my India space KAASH, Urdu for “if only”, to reflect the idea of realising the potential of Indian craft. Cucinelli, a first-generation entrepreneur, draws on Eastern and Western philosophy. Across the campus are quotations and sculptures devoted to Kant, Confucius and Gandhi.

At the entrance, student internship designs are displayed, some of which may enter a future collection. More surprising was being allowed to take photographs. Many factories and studios guard their processes closely. When I asked whether the company feared copying, Alberto replied: “You can copy the style, but not the quality.” The appearance of an object may be imitated; its essence is harder to reproduce.

And of course, there’s the inaccessibility of the factory grounds itself. Alberto stressed on the exclusivity of the visit; they get around 200 requests a week and can only accommodate two to three visitors a day. Their calendar for visits is packed till late 2027!

As I approached the rows of artisans working on the garments, I noticed, quality, here, is pursued with almost scientific severity in every small detail. A single loose strand can disqualify a piece. Finished garments are washed for precisely timed minutes and seconds to remove oils left by human handling.

Yet the organisation avoids constant surveillance. There is no clocking-in system. “Our organisation is built on trust,” Alberto said. Employees are expected to be self-motivated.

As I walked through the 1,200-person headquarters, the people seemed to instinctively pick up on my curiosity despite the language barrier, stopping to explain their work.

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They also have a unique work day: 8am to 4:30pm with a 1.5 hour break, which includes a siesta. If there’s one thing Mr Cucinelli hates, it’s people staying beyond 4:30pm, Alberto stressed. It’s like I’ve never left school, Alberto quipped.

For lunch at their dining hall I had a bitey pasta and bread made from local wheat. Alberto explained that the bread was made with just wheat, a special local variety, and water — no yeast. Very simple. The dining hall for lunch reminded me of a school with the entire organisation congregating on long wooden tables, and wholesome food. At the guest table we’re even served with Brunello Cucinelli wine, something I later realised is also retailed at its stores.

At my next stop: the garment-washing area, Riccardo patiently explained his process and complimented my linen shirt. He spoke with unmistakable pride about his work — laundry, of all things. Alberto repeatedly said he could never imagine working for another luxury company. Loyalty appeared to be cultivated through dignity rather than slogans.

That long-term thinking also shapes the clothes. When I asked for Cucinelli’s equivalent of a Birkin — the single product that creates queues and desire — Alberto mentioned “Never Ending Stories”, or NES: signature pieces designed to remain permanently available. It is the opposite of fashion’s limited-edition, fear-of-missing-out machinery.

The same restraint appears elsewhere. Unsold stock is not destroyed; it is used as research material for students or donated to charity. Celebrity relationships are described as discreet – “We don’t really do endorsements,” Alberto explained. “Our relationships with celebrities are discreet. We wait for them to approach us.” He also emphasised they don’t do red carpets. Their approach reminded me of India’s finest jeweller whom I greatly admire - Viren Bhagat.

We ended the visit in the hilltop hamlet of Solomeo, a town of around 400 people dotted with the Cucinelli family’s estates, villas, the tailoring school, a gardening school, an auditorium, a private library, and a small amphitheatre overlooking the surrounding bucolic landscape. In the square stands a large Cucinelli store with no external brand signage.

In a culture preoccupied with logos, visibility and public displays of wealth, Solomeo felt very different. The place can feel utopian, but its economics are real. Cucinelli began by spotting a commercial gap for brightly coloured cashmere, despite the muted beiges, whites and greys now associated with the house.

Alberto dropped me at the train station, sending me off with a bottle of cold pressed Solomeo olive oil as a gift — it was time for goodbye. I was touched. My visit to Solomeo lasted barely twenty-four hours, but I left thinking about the organisation’s approach long after the journey had ended.”

It’s not an easy debate to crack — starting yet another fashion brand, while trying to negate exactly what the fashion industry propels in the first place — WASTE. A lot of it. But, the way Mullen does it, feels thorough, thought-through, clear, with interconnected relationships, and a fashion brand as a mini thesis on how asking the right questions, making with intention and then asking the wearer to pause and really invest, not consume, can make all the difference. But, also, isn’t her mood board below, just divine.

There’s an ease to the silhouettes, but they’re underpinned by remarkable intention: menswear tailoring softened by handwork, fluid fabrics sitting alongside structured suiting, and a visual language built around contrast. It’s kind of ‘90s Calvin Klein, and Ralph Lauren menswear. So much to love, and so we got chatting. Below is our conversation, lightly edited for ease of reading. Enjoy 🌹 xxx.

Akanksha Kamath (AK): Take me through your background and the moment Arth landed as an idea.

Tamanna Mullen (TM): I’m from Punjab and grew up around textiles and agriculture. My parents have always been my primary source of inspiration. My mum was obsessed with garment-making, sewing and knitting pieces at home for me from a very young age, while my dad—a textile vendor and a self-taught artist—made paintings and ceramics with hand-dyed marble chips. That tactility and process still inform the work.

I designed my first dress at 13: a tiered skirt with an off-the-shoulder top and hand-placed beading. I bought the fabric with my mum and got it made by a tailor. That was my first experience as a designer and merchant.

AK: Before Arth, you spent six years at New Balance working closely with Teddy Santis. How much of that experience shaped the brand?

TM: I spearheaded capsule collections under Teddy Santis’s creative direction. Teddy, through Aimé Leon Dore, really pioneered this intersection of menswear, soft tailoring, streetwear and sport. He’s also known for a gender-fluid styling approach—we were making menswear, but around 40 per cent of the customer was actually women.

I identified with that customer. I’ve never bought a womenswear blazer; I’ll wear my husband’s or buy from the men’s side. I like the oversized fit and the way it’s tailored. I’ve taken a lot of that learning and training into Arth. I’ve always been drawn to menswear codes—their functionality, restraint and understated authority. That carries through in left-to-right buttoning, dropped shoulders, ease through the leg and the overall styling language.

AK: Why were sustainability and traceability non-negotiable?

TM: I don’t know if I’ve ever stopped to ask myself why, but I think it goes back to my upbringing and my core values. I grew up in Punjab, surrounded by both agriculture and textiles, so I was always aware of nature, fabrics and where things came from. I also felt a huge responsibility towards animals. I saw a goat get butchered in front of me when I was eight, gave up meat and have been vegetarian ever since.

As a kid, I admired people who built businesses responsibly. Stella McCartney was one of the original people I looked up to because she was pioneering innovative textiles that weren’t animal-based. I’ve always had that respect for the planet.

Then working in the industry really solidified it. Even though I was working on small capsule collections, they still sat within a mass-production business. I would sign off on liability invoices where a creative director had changed their mind and suddenly $200,000 worth of fabric became waste. That’s dead stock because someone decided to go in a different direction. Sitting in those rooms and seeing how those decisions were made felt very empty. I just didn’t think we were asking the right questions.

That completely changed the way I wanted to build Arth. Most designers start with design—they decide what they want to make and then find the fabric. I start with the materials. I ask: these are the seven materials I have in my palette, what can I make with them? It’s a different process and a different way of thinking.

I wanted every fabric to be responsible, natural and traceable—not just ‘made in India’ or ‘made in Italy’, but understanding where the fibre came from, how it was raised or grown, and who made it. It’s incredibly restrictive because you eliminate most of the fabrics available on the market, but I think it’s irresponsible today to put another fashion brand into the world without asking those questions. It wouldn’t fulfil me otherwise.

AK: Building that supply chain sounds almost obsessive.

TM: I spent nearly two years on it. The industry is highly opaque. I found a sheep farm in Australia on Instagram, tracked down the owner and called her because I was determined to make a traceable blazer. I thought, I’ll buy the wool and get it scoured, woven and finished myself. I quickly realised every stage had its own minimum order quantity.

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I also spoke to an anthropologist documenting organic cotton farmers in India. One person led to another. Our knitwear uses wool from regenerative farms in Uruguay, knitted in Italy and embroidered in India. We use banana fibre sourced from Myanmar and woven in India. Different regions have established expertise; we work in limited batches, so there are other ways to control impact.

AK: Who is the Arth woman?

TM: She is self-assured yet introspective—non-conforming, layered, deeply attuned to nature and highly discerning in how she moves through the world. Frida Kahlo, Bianca Jagger and Amrita Sher-Gil embody that inner conviction, cultural depth and quiet power. The brand language is built on contrast: masculine and feminine, hard and soft.

I want to dress the woman who isn’t dressing for the male gaze. She can look just as sexy in oversized clothes as she can in a mini dress.

AK: Tell me about Anchored in Motion.

TM: It came from the idea that as you traverse spaces and evolve, your anchor becomes internal. A lot of us in the diaspora feel a lack of belonging to a physical place, so there is a belonging within.

The collection brings together Italian suiting from a menswear swatch book and fluid banana fibre. One jacket uses organic twill usually meant for bottoms, but we turned it into a windbreaker and manually pleated it for 32 hours. It looks structured and masculine, but the texture is full of movement.

The embroidered motif on the shorts came from photographs I had taken of old European tiles and floors while travelling. My references are global; they do not belong neatly to one place.

AK: How do you build Arth’s visual world?

TM: Nature and architecture are central. For the Alibag shoot, we photographed inside a house restored after the Bhuj earthquake. It had been destroyed, then rebuilt using the pieces that remained. I loved that story, with nature coming through the windows.

A blazer may be structured and masculine-coded, but the lighting and mood should feel warm and soft. We may photograph the same cardigan on a woman and a man to show how it moves across bodies.

AK: Where does Arth go next?

TM: Impact and craft remain the pillars. I want to refine the visual language, create pinnacle suiting and build a curated wholesale strategy. I never want the brand to become mass, because then you lose a little of its direction.

Note to reader: I’ve worn the shorts several times since, and plan to wear many times over. Kind of obsessed.

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I was listening to a podcast and the quote “It’s time to rewild the world. To take a moment to learn things methodically, slowly, and take our time with them to increase the depth of our knowledge,” really stuck. If you are here, and if you subscribe to the interviews, spotlights and meet & greets I do with creatives around the world — you know that there is nothing I love more than stories of craft, creativity, putting hand and mind to the art of making. It is magic. And in a time of AI, doesn’t it feel magical to stop and savour that which is made by hand, and with heart.

So this week, I want to bring into focus Laura Vann — a jewellery designer based in Birmingham, UK, and someone who shares my love for bringing fabulous people together.

I went to Laura’s spring gathering in Marylebone in March, and around the table were women -- artists, dancers, creatives, authors, scientists -- a true testament to the world and women that Laura curates around herself. And a world I loved being a part of.

Her jewels -- art deco in quality have the lyricism of summer -- sea shells, motifs that call one out to sea. And movement -- something that dancer, ballerina and Principal at The Royal Ballet, Francesca Hayward takes us through gestures in jewellery.

Our conversation lingered on the timelessness of Art Deco — “It’s like a celebration of everything you can do within jewellery like old Van Cleef pieces… they’d have rounds, step cuts, incredible open work, hinge work, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, cabochon stones. It’s clever, intelligent, highly crafted jewellery.” And also the modernity of it — “there’s a local Odeon I used to go to. There’s something so interesting about how these buildings—once glamorous—are now bingo halls. It’s this contrast between craftsmanship and modern use that really sparks my intrigue.”

Read the lightly edited conversation below:

Akanksha Kamath (AK): Tell me about the ‘Tides of Movement’ collection. Where did it all begin?

Laura Vann (LV): We always start about a year in advance. I blend pragmatism with creativity—knowing it’s spring/summer, I wanted something fresh. So the idea of an oceanic, nautical-inspired collection felt right.

But we’re always inspired by Art Deco. There’s this building in Vancouver—the Marine Building. It’s so beautiful, so playful, with these marine details, but also that Art Deco geometry and strength.

That’s what I’m always trying to achieve—a juxtaposition between something on trend, but done in a very Art Deco way.

AK: Almost like a metronome for the brand.

LV: Exactly. Like shells—how do we take that and apply a timeless Art Deco finish so it doesn’t feel like a trend?

So we mood board: the building, landscapes, textures. Then we interpret it subtly—cabochon blue stones like droplets of water, seed pearls like grains of sand, buckle detailing like sailor’s knots. Not obvious, but familiar.

AK: Why Art Deco in the first place?

LV: When I see Art Deco jewellery, I see this incredible level of craftsmanship. It’s like a celebration of everything you can do within jewellery.

If I think of old Van Cleef pieces… they’d have rounds, step cuts, incredible open work, hinge work, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, cabochon stones. It’s so clever. Intelligent, highly crafted jewellery.

And I always find it a shame when someone comes for a bespoke commission and says, ‘I just want diamonds.’ I’m like—you’ve got this incredible world of gemstones, this explosion of colour and wonder. Why wouldn’t you want to use it?

AK: That’s also quite strategic, right? Not just aesthetic.

LV: Completely. My dad said to me early on—do stone-set jewellery, because nobody will want to copy you. It’s too complicated.

I didn’t listen at first. I thought we should do cool, simple pieces. And he said, ‘You’ll get copied by Topshop.’ And he was right.

Because if a big high street brand tried to replicate our pieces, they’d use glue instead of claw settings, crystals instead of white topaz—it just wouldn’t look right. So we’ve protected ourselves through craftsmanship.

AK: What was it like growing up in a jewellery family?

LV: There was always jewellery lying around—my dad’s quite a scatty person, so bags everywhere. I remember packing belly bars for Claire’s Accessories for pocket money and begging to get my belly button pierced.

But it wasn’t glamorous. He supplied catalogue companies, garden centres—it was a very different business.

My mum, though, she’s an artist and very into fashion. She’d have these beautiful pieces my dad gave her. My grandma had this gorgeous opal ring, and my mum would say I’d inherit it because we’re both Libras. So jewellery always surrounded me.

AK: And the business you built—why demi-fine?

LV: In 2013, it was either Topshop jewellery turning your fingers green or spending £2,000 on vintage. There wasn’t this middle ground.

I felt like there was a gap. I wanted to democratise this very elitist style of jewellery.

I remember going to a jewellery exhibition in Hong Kong—seeing original Van Cleef, Cartier, Tiffany. Incredible pieces. And I thought, people I went to school with would never see this.

Why should timeless jewellery only exist at that level? Why can’t we bring it to a wider audience?

AK: And sustainability—how does that factor in?

LV: It’s always been core. We use recycled silver from a German refiner, produce in small batches, never burn stock.

But for me, the real question is—will you still love this piece in five years?

There’s so much jewellery you look at after 12 months and think, ‘What was I thinking?’ That doesn’t sit right with me—ethically or creatively.

AK: You also went through a rebrand. What prompted that?

LV: Oh my gosh—never let a 23-year-old name a jewellery brand.

We started as ‘V Jewellery’ because I didn’t have the confidence to use my name. It felt… cocky. But it was a terrible decision—we couldn’t trademark it.

Then we became ‘V by Laura Vann’, which was a mouthful. Eventually we realised people were searching Laura Vann anyway.

When we finally changed it, it just felt like—okay, this just got serious. I didn’t realise how much I needed it. Now I feel incredibly confident in who we are. It’s been a journey of confidence building, really.

AK: Let’s talk about your collaborations—like Francesca Hayward.

LV: Craftsmanship is core to us, so I want to work with people who have their own craft. Francesca is a master of hers.

Also, with an ocean-inspired collection, you need movement—you can’t convey that with a static shoot.

And honestly, I just want to work with nice people. That’s become more important as I’ve grown in confidence. It’s not about aligning with someone just to elevate the brand.

AK: You also created “The Bling Ring” project.

LV: Yes—it’s where I design bespoke rings with people I admire. It’s a bit of a passion project because I get to pick the brains of incredible people and understand their idea of timeless jewellery.

We tell them about Birmingham’s jewellery history, show them the craftsmanship.

AK: What’s next?

LV: We’re working on a collection inspired by Art Deco cinemas. There’s a local Odeon I used to go to, and I discovered the architect, Harry Weedon, was from Birmingham.

We went through archive drawings—it’s all hand-drawn, incredible. The collection comes out later this year.

There’s something so interesting about how these buildings—once glamorous—are now bingo halls. It’s this contrast between craftsmanship and modern use. It really sparks my intrigue.

She smiles, then adds:

LV: This collection feels so close to my heart. I almost feel like it needs a documentary to tell the story—but my capacity might be a bit limited with a baby on the way.

But I think the designs are strong enough to do the heavy lifting. Even on a simple background, they’ll convey the story.

AK: That’s the best place to be.

LV: Exactly.

Art direction: Shagun Jangid

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But, all that joy in the sun also deserves a moment a) to be shared with everyone and b) reflection. What I loved, what I saw, what I thought, what I bought — all of it!

So here is a list and I hope you can make your way through some of these exhibition / activities / pop-ups - should you heart desire < 33

The Person: Ian Malhotra

I wrote about this guy back in 2023 for Vogue India, where I recommended him as part of a South Asians in London series. We never met then, but I’d seen his art well before that, in Galerie Isa in Mumbai many years prior. I finally made it to his studio in Brixton, and my god, he is as meticulous as his art — which I had described as something like a digital motherboard — with its old world-tattoo-like dots made in colour across a white canvas which from far away resemble a landscape. Much like Monet, Manet and all the other Masters, nature is Ian’s endless reservoir of inspiration. He told me, he’s fascinated by how a cloud in the sky can transfer onto a picture and then be seen by our eyes — as nothing but pixillations on a screen. And that’s what his art is — hundreds of hours spent making lines and dots that all started with a hand drawing on a page. I LOVE. Also, I urge you to make artist studio visits. I saw and learned so much — and Ian, if you’re reading this, you inspired to come back home and organise my desk!!!

The Place: Studio Nocturne

I LOVE A GOOD BOOK SHOP. And Studio Nocturne by Flora Gau is many things beyond a good book shop — it has clothes from a designer in Uruguay, it has curations on zines, thoughts, paintings, ideas and of course, good books. I came across Flora when I was scouting for a spot to celebrate Blush. She was curating the Alaïa book store on New Bond Street that my friend introduced me to, and that led me to Studio Nocturne — Flora’s new owned and operated project. It’s in De Beauvoir — which in itself is such a bougie little artistic spot in London, and Flora has things you’d love to take home. Make a visit, and also stay tuned for what we might do together!

The Find: Doppo

Fresh, beautiful Tuscan summer food - what’s more to say?

I went to this spot twice in one week. A wonderful PR introduced me to it, and I had to make my way back and introduce someone else to it! So Kiers — who does a lot of the brill camera work for LSS, was my date < 33

To discovering many more hidden gems on as busy a street as Dean Street — and let it for a change, not be Soho House! LOL

The Object: Juliette Minchin at Diptyque

At Diptyque, French artist Juliette Minchin who plays with wax to turn it into flowers, drapes (that could really look like real curtains) and incredible large scale structures, takes over the ephemeral space on the first floor of the New Bond Street Maison. You must go have a look. I had the pleasure of meeting the artist and walking away with a beautiful scented candle last month.

It was like entering an ephemeral garden with French artist Juliette Minchin, whose installation Promenade à la bougie transforms wax into a living, breathing landscape.

Through sculpted leaves, hybrid blooms and an imaginary herbarium dipped in white wax, Minchin reinterprets the maison’s candle-making heritage as a poetic walk through nature, scent and craft.

The Thought: Didion & Babitz by Lili Anolik

This is a book that will take you through the lives of two women through interviews with friends, family, letters written, documented art and so much more. It’s voyeuristic — it’s the ‘60s and ‘70s and it makes me realise I love nothing more than good research in writing. This is a field report in two incredible artists. I loved meeting Eve Babitz whom I didn’t know much about but she was partying with Jim Morrison of The Doors, and she was introducing Salvador Dali to her friends to see what transpires, and man, she had a lot of sex. A wonderful life, in many ways. Will be getting into the life of Sagittarius Queen, Joan Didion (I’m a few pages away) and I can’t wait to meet her through this author’s lens.

I’ve long loved Joya Mukerjee Logue’s paintings — they’re familial, they carry signs and symbols of the sari - draped in a dream-scape of a neutral palette that matches so much of my own wardrobe of cream, beige, caramel and ecru.

I came across her works for the first time when I was at Vogue India, and my wonderful colleague on the culture desk floated her name past the teams for an interview.

There is a beautiful slipperiness to Joya Mukerjee Logue’s paintings. Faces appear and disappear, figures seem to move before you have quite settled on them, and gatherings glow with a kind of atmosphere that you remember rather than bother to record.

Interestingly, some of the best memories seem to unfold like that in our mind’s-eye. A little bit hazy, some details critically remembered, lucid, while others that feel like a far away vision — blurry and incomplete. Yet the feelings are what we hold onto, tightly.

Mukerjee Logue seems to stretch that feeling into painting. What does it look like when people gather in her ancestral home? What do the contours of a memory like that look like?

Her work feels less like a document of a specific place or person, and more like the feeling of having been somewhere: a dinner that lingered late into the night, the blur of conversation, children dancing at a family gathering, the warmth of light against a table, the strange intimacy of being among people.

Born in Springfield, Ohio and based in Cincinnati, Logue paints from memory, instinct and what she describes as cultural memory, drawing from family history, visits to India, and the more universal choreography of human connection. Her recent work has moved through Delhi, New York and Paris, tracing ideas of night gatherings, ancestral spaces and the quiet charge that exists between people when they come together.

I spoke to the artist and painter about why her figures often remain faceless, her little travelling sketchbook, painting after dark, and the pull of India from Ohio.

Conversation lightly edited below for flow:

Akanksha Kamath (AK): I love that in your paintings, the faces aren’t quite clear. The moments you draw feel less like freeze-frames and more like movement and flow. Take me through why this is.

Joya Mukerjee Logue (JML): The figures in my paintings are not referencing specific people. Because of this I try to only show what I feel is necessary to capture a feeling, atmosphere and relationship. Sometimes figures do have a few features, and mostly that is to bring them a bit closer to a gesture or more recognizable body language.

Body language is interesting to me, and maybe it’s my Psychology studies that influence my work in this way. It is often spontaneous and intuitive when I paint figures. I rarely sketch much onto the canvas, only the silhouette, and the figures take on life and shape with my brush strokes at the moment of mark making.

You mention the moments I draw feel more in motion versus freeze framed, and that is a true observation. I like capturing figures in a moment, and the fluidity of my material, specifically the thinning of oil paint and layers of it, produce this type of composition. I think this goes back to painting atmosphere and only what is necessary to convey that in my mind.

AK: You recently did your solo show in New York. What did you choose to share there, in contrast to, say, Those Who Walk Before Me in Delhi?

JML: Like any artist, my practice evolves and my works reflect what is on my mind in a period of time. Around the time of my solo show in Delhi with Vadehra Art Gallery in 2024, I was thinking quite a bit about my roots, in terms of family history and geography. On a visit, my family and I uncovered architectural plans and old documents about the house and land. The paintings referenced family heritage, ancestral architecture and figures gathering in and around these sites. The palette was mostly warm, light, earth tones, and the compositions were a mix of memory and current day imagery fused together.

There were a few paintings that were different in color palette and mood, like “The Glow of the Bazaar at Night”, 2024 and “Night at Sadar Bazaar”, 2024 that were a stepping stone to this theme of night and the use of light. For most of 2025 I began to explore themes of night gatherings and went on to present these with Vadehra Art Gallery at India Art Fair and Art Basel Hong Kong, and then later with Rajiv Menon Contemporary at Untitled Houston.

When I began to plan for my NYC solo exhibition with Rutthowski;68, my debut US solo, night gatherings became the focus completely. I decided to explore scale, both very large and very small, and moments within gatherings at night. I painted three very large diptychs, 72x120 inches, and another large scale scene in a series I titled “After Dark”. I used layers of paint and the contrast of light and dark to give form to these figures and the landscape. I wanted to paint the atmosphere of human connection, with mood the focus over narrative. The scenes are not specific to any geography, but rather specific to human interaction. The viewer can get pulled into the large scenes and also find stillness in the tiny, 6x9 inch moments.

AK: When we spoke, you told me about your little travelling sketchbook. I so love that you draw whenever you can and wherever you can. What’s the last thing you drew and can you share a picture of it with us?

JML: Yes, I am a paper-aholic and in that way very analog- ask my teen how I am with tech (not great). :) I love journals and sketchbooks and collecting them. I always have a stack and it's one of the first things I pick up on travels. So naturally, I love to sketch whenever and wherever I am, and keep a pocket size notebook with me at all times. I also started my art path with watercolor, and there is no better medium to paint with on the go.

AK: What was the reception from the New York show? Tell me what some of the feedback was.

JML: It was my first solo in New York, and debut U.S. solo, so it felt like a special moment for me. There’s a global audience in New York that’s unlike any other city, aside from perhaps London, and you really feel the range of perspectives people bring into the room.

I was there for the opening, and for the last week of the show. I was struck by how much time people spent with the paintings, and how often they came back to them—that kind of attention means a lot to me. Both of those visits and many messages in between, viewers shared the universality and a common connection to the paintings- someone will see a gathering in Spain, someone else the Middle East, or Northern California. It reminds me that the work isn’t fixed—it shifts depending on who’s standing in front of it. It feels like the beginning of a wonderful ongoing conversation.

AK: You’re now going to show in Paris. What will you be showing there in contrast to New York? I believe it’s the same gallery?

JML: Yes, I recently had 3 paintings on view in Paris, at Rutthowski;68, as part of a group show “Without Fixed Form” wonderfully curated by Sophia Penske. These paintings are a continuation of my night gatherings, but with a focus on the relational connection between the figures and space.

On a side note, these paintings continue to show my love of chairs and light! I am sure there is some psychological reason why I am drawn to these together.

AK: Living in Cincinnati and drawing from memory about India, these two worlds feel so far apart. Why did you choose to draw these scenes specifically when you started?

JML: I love the quote by Jean-Michel Basquiat “I have a cultural memory. I do not need to look for it, it exists. It is over there, in Africa. That does not mean I have to go and live there. Our cultural memory follows us everywhere, wherever you live.”

If I think back to where my drawing from memory began, it was in my childhood journals filled with more drawings than words, from my yearly visits to India. Drawing and painting are ways of archiving the half of my heritage that felt at times far away growing up in Ohio.

AK: How have they evolved today, if they have? For instance, have you introduced new surroundings, new characters, new scenes that meld the present with the past?

JML: I consider all of my paintings present scenes. They are timeless. For example, when I am traveling in the US or abroad, these scenes can and do exist everywhere. In my recent solo exhibition “Your Presence is Requested” at Ruttkowski:68, there is a painting titled “With Company” 2026 and in this, there is a group of people having drinks at night and enjoying conversation and one another’s presence. This scene could be anywhere, Cincinnati, Delhi, Madrid, London etc. Then, if you take a look at another painting from my show in NYC, “Around the Table” 2026, it features a group of people around a table sharing a meal, a few donning saris or shawls (both I wear and see worn all over the world), with dinnerware and a candle. It’s the body language paired with the setting that is universal and timeless.

AK: Are there any familiar faces from your world in the paintings? Can you introduce us to some of them? For instance, if someone appears often in your paintings, like an aunt, mother or sister?

JML: The figures in my paintings, for the most part, do not necessarily represent specific people in my life. I think 1-2 paintings per collection have a family member in them, but sort of as a visual muse. My grandmother, my father, my mother etc have appeared in a few. In this most recent exhibit, I painted my sister and I dancing! (“Dancers”, 2026) It was based on a VHS film my father took of us in the early 80s. But again, I feel it is a familiar scene in that there are always children at gatherings dancing and enjoying themselves.

AK: What do you listen to when you paint? What inspires you? Do you ever get artist’s block? What do you do in those moments?

JML: I listen to a variety of music, but mostly it is to keep me calm and in the flow. Some collections have been painted to Chopin (Nocturnes), and Anoushka Shankar, while more recently I listened to Leon Bridges, Ezra Collective, Hermanos Gutierrez.. basically soulful, chill music. I was chatting with the amazing artist Melissa Joseph, who I really admire, and she described music as a gateway, to listen to the same song or podcast as a way to get back into the work, like memory recall. That really does describe how I use music in my studio.

Everything inspires me! I have a lot to paint. I have ideas in my mind at all hours of the day and night. It’s a bit overwhelming actually to focus on just one idea at a time. Slowing down, researching and experimenting are my antidotes to any creative block.

AK: What do you love about painting as a format over other techniques? Would you ever like to play with other materials and formats?

JML: Painting feels completely natural and intuitive for me. I have loved painting and the associated materials since I was a young girl watching my grandfather, who was a hobbyist painter, in his home studio in Ohio. I love the way paint mixes on the palette, and feels on the canvas. I like the freedom of paint and the magic of a simple brush stroke.

I have explored textile and hand-embroidery years ago, and would love to think about sculpture. I like creating with my hands in a literal sense.

Paper making? That could be fun…

Credit for the portraits of Joya in her studio: Matthew Pevear. Courtesy of Ruttkowski;68 and the artist.

Credit for the photos of the paintings: Matthew Pevear. Courtesy of Ruttkowski;68 and the artist.

Credit for installs in the gallery exhibition: Mikhail Mishin. Courtesy of Ruttkowski;68 and the artist.

The past few months have felt like graft. Good graft, necessary graft, but graft all the same. The kind where you are so busy doing the thing that you forget to ask why you wanted the thing in the first place.

Which is why our next LSS x The Art of Soft Structure guided journaling session feels very well-timed.

On June 1st, we’re hosting Leaning Into The Bigger Picture, an online journaling session about zooming out. About looking beyond the immediate chaos of inboxes, deadlines, errands, rent, reels, invoices and whatever else modern life is currently hurling at us. About asking: what am I actually moving towards? And do I still want it?

The moon is in Sagittarius on 31st May, which I am choosing to take personally. Sagittarius energy is big, wild, restless, slightly dramatic in the best way. It wants the horizon. It wants the story. And it certainly wants the reason behind the reason. It wants you to stop fussing over the tiny details for five minutes and remember there is, in fact, a whole sky above your head.

And as a Sagittarius/Capricorn cusp myself (guilty!), I feel uniquely qualified to understand the tension between wanting to roam free and wanting a properly formatted plan. I want adventure, but ideally with a calendar invite. I want freedom, but also structure. I want to fling myself towards the bigger picture, but I would quite like to know all the details of it first. Sounds like fun? It is.

We’ll be journaling around questions like: why do we do what we do? What are we seeking? What are we building? What have we been chasing without really stopping to look at it? And how can we savour the process a little more.

I’ve always loved journaling because it allows you to work through the unknowing of everything. You just have to write one honest sentence, and then another, and then another, until something true appears on the page and you think, oh. There she is.

That’s the energy of this session. Expect it to be less “how do I optimise my life?” and more “am I actually enjoying the life I am making?”

A reminder to seek, yes. But also to savour the seeking.

A reminder to look up.

There will also be a free journal up for grabs, because obviously if we are having revelations, they need to come with incentives!

And I have five free tickets for LSS readers, available from today. First come, first served. Enjoy < 333

Come if you’ve been working hard and need a minute to remember the point of it all. Come if you want to write with us, think with us, and maybe leave feeling a little more expansive than when you arrived.

Leaning Into The Bigger Picture with The Art of Soft Structure & LSS
June 1st
Online

Book your spot here: www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/1989823205773/?discount=LSSFRIEND

Five free tickets for LSS readers are available from today.

I hope you join our collective community journaling session 🌹🌹🌹

xx

The story behind the now ring that I wear on my index finger goes back about four decades. My mother, then a young woman, still as beautiful and glamorous as she is today, bought herself a pair of two natural diamond bands to wear on either side of her engagement ring. To start, I think it’s important to traverse my mother’s very distinct relationship to jewellery. One that feels so different to mine, as her daughter. She started wearing diamonds very early. Married at 18, my mother was a young bride, wearing gold and diamond jewellery neck, ears and wrists covered in a mix of her own, and her mother’s pieces. There’s a picture of her that I remember admiring every time I visit home in Mumbai and a dedicated afternoon of sifting through old albums is the only thing on the agenda. It’s in those moments that I look closer, almost screwing my face, to recognise the woman behind the nose ring and hooded drape on her head. It’s a funny thing — recognising that your mother was once a girl with hopes and dreams of her own too.

Over the years, I’ve seen my mum travel the corners of the country, and like a magpie, pick up saris woven with the most versatile threads and fabrics, and jewellery — long and short, necklaces and bangles set with the most rouge of rubies and green emeralds and sapphires, constellating with the sparkle of natural diamonds. She has, for me, always been my fashion and style education.

When I was three years old, my ears were pierced (as is custom in India) and I wore two tiny gold hoops in my tiny ears. Therein began my journey — one that would move, as these things tend to, from gold to diamonds, from tiny hoops to something weightier. Two decades later, my first piece of natural diamond jewellery came in the form of a promise ring — a beautiful emerald cut solitaire diamond ring, where if you look close enough, you can see the angular steps of the diamond, down to its floor. I almost didn’t recognise my hand. I felt like with that one simple gesture of placing a beautiful diamond on one’s very important finger, adulthood had officially entered the chat.

Soon after, my hand went through another upgrade, and of course for this one, I didn’t look too far from my mother’s own archive of beautiful objects. In the corners of her treasure chest (also known as the Godrej safe) I found a broken pair of natural diamond toe rings that she’d owned a long time ago. Now, you ask — who wears diamond toe rings? It sounds almost surreal, unimaginable even, to walk around the city with your toes gleaming under the hot Indian sun with two diamonds holding on tightly to your feet.

Truth is, I think there’s nothing chicer than a woman with toe rings. I think of Rihanna and her iconic pear-shaped diamond toe ring, Leandra Medine Cohen’s cool-girl stamp on the diamond toe ring. I think of wide-eyed, dark-haired women drawn in Raja Ravi Varma paintings, frolicking in the wilderness, wearing artful toe rings.

To dress your feet is such a wonderfully cultural act. For instance, in India jewellery extends to ankles — long considered an erogenous zone — and toes, and the tradition runs deep and wide. The feet, in Indian aesthetic tradition, are never an afterthought.

Later, it became distilled as something new brides wore in many North Indian traditions as a grounded declaration of her new life. But, when I look back at the women I’ve admired — on screen, in paintings, in family photographs — the toe ring, the payal, the anklet, has always felt like something far more charged than a marital signifier. Rekha, draped in a Kanjeevaram, her wrists stacked, her feet almost certainly adorned, always struck me as a woman doing exactly as she pleased, jewellery included. Similarly, Zeenat Aman in Satyam Shivam Sundaram (and I’m sure in other seminal films) adorned head to toe in iconic jewellery that personified her renegade outlook on life as well as Indian cinema.

My mother wore her diamond toe rings in that spirit, I think. Not as a bride (she had long left that chapter behind by then), but as a strong woman who simply loved beautiful things and saw no reason to leave her feet out of it. That, to me, is the real luxury of natural diamond jewellery — it’s never just one thing. It’s so many emotions and moments wrapped into a singular perfect piece. A natural diamond heirloom doesn’t hold a single story; it accumulates them.

Which is why what happened next felt almost inevitable. The toe rings broke. I guess, the most honest thing you can say about a diamond toe ring is that it is the most impractical-but-perfect piece of jewellery imaginable. Glorious in Goa, but rather inconvenient when prepping for boots-weather in Glasgow. So there they sat, snapped and ready for a re-life in that Godrej safe.

When I found them, I knew immediately what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to restore them to their original form — not because I didn’t love what they were, but because that felt like trying to step back into a chapter that wasn’t mine to reenter. Instead, I brought them to a jeweller I trusted and asked him to…

Read the rest of the journey of the diamond toe rings here: https://www.naturaldiamonds.com/in/love-diamonds/diamond-heirloom-from-toe-ring-to-ring/

This is the long reportage version of the column I run over at The Hindu Sunday Magazine. A brilliant newspaper, might I add — where I get to dissect India’s footprint on the world’s cultural stage.

There is a particular kind of cognitive dissonance that only the first Monday in May can provide. On one side of Fifth Avenue, the world’s most famous people ascend the Met steps dressed as living sculptures and hand-painted canvases. And on the other side, beyond the barricades and the flashbulbs, protesters ask who gets to fund culture, who gets to narrate it, and who pays the price when art becomes a billionaire’s calling card.

Timed with the Met Gala, the theme of the Costume Institute’s new exhibition is Costume Art, while the dress code for the gala was ‘Fashion is Art’. The Costume Institute’s annual spring exhibition, this year, moved into the new Condé M. Nast Galleries, a nearly 12,000-square-foot space adjacent to the Met’s Great Hall, named after the founder of Condé Nast. For decades, fashion lived in the basement. Now it sits on the ground floor, in the museum’s public consciousness and, quite literally, in the path of everyone entering the building.

The exhibition itself is built around the dressed body, pairing nearly 400 objects from the Met’s collection, including garments, accessories and artworks, to examine how fashion and art have shaped one another. It traverses the museum’s 5,000-year-old collection and organises itself around different kinds of bodies, from the naked and classical to the ageing, disabled, abstracted and mortal. The mannequin is no longer the blank, slender, anonymous stand-in fashion has historically preferred. Some mannequins even have mirrored faces, returning the viewer to themselves. It is a clever curatorial move, not least because it asks the person looking to consider where they sit in the frame.

And yet, even as the exhibition made a scholarly case for fashion’s place in art history, the gala around it was being shaped by another kind of frame. This year’s exhibition and Benefit were made possible by Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sánchez Bezos, with additional support from Saint Laurent and Condé Nast. The Bezos presence produced its own counter-programming. Activists staged a ‘Labor is Art’ fashion show in Manhattan, bringing together Amazon workers, unions and supporters. Others papered the city with messages objecting to the gala’s billionaire patronage.

The old defence is that at least billionaires are funding the arts. It is not an entirely useless defence. Public museums need money. Fashion exhibitions cost money. Conservation, research, acquisitions and free public access do not run on vibes. Most major cultural institutions have long relied on the generosity, ego, taste and tax arrangements of the very rich.

The Met Gala is no longer a private dinner photographed for posterity. It is a content empire. Vogue’s livestream was broadcast across its digital platforms, including YouTube and TikTok, and the red-carpet replay was presented by brands including Colgate, eBay, Eli Lilly and Company, and On. The party raises funds for the Costume Institute, yes, but it also drives a week-long global economy of livestreams, affiliate links, beauty breakdowns, brand placements, reaction videos and red-carpet punditry. In internet time, one Met Gala night lasts for months, if not, years.

Perhaps that is why New York City mayor Zohran Mamdani and his wife, artist Rama Duwaji, chose not to attend. Their absence was meaningful not because mayors have always attended the gala, they have not, but because this year’s context made staying away a statement. Mamdani, whose mother is filmmaker Mira Nair and whose wife is an illustrator, is hardly allergic to the arts. Instead, he released a fashion portfolio honouring the garment, retail and warehouse workers who keep the industry running, including tailors and former Amazon employees. It was not a rejection of fashion. It was a reorientation of the spotlight.

For India, however, the night told another story. If last year’s Met Gala made Indian representation feel newly visible, this year made it feel expansive. Alia Bhatt and Sabyasachi were absent, but red-carpet veterans Isha Ambani and Natasha Poonawalla returned, as did Sudha Reddy for her third appearance. Manish Malhotra went in for his second, while Karan Johar, Gauravi Kumari and Sawai Padmanabh Singh made their debuts. Diya Mehta Jatia, who has attended before, was also present alongside Isha Ambani. It was not one story of India, but many: cinema, craft, contemporary art, royal archives, philanthropy, couture, jewellery, business and theatre.

The strongest looks understood that the theme was not an instruction to dress as a painting, but an invitation to think like one. Isha Ambani’s custom Gaurav Gupta sari drew from Raja Ravi Varma’s Padmini: The Lotus Lady, and was made in collaboration with Swadesh. It came with a veil by Gaurav Gupta, a blouse encrusted with real diamonds, and a draped flower sculpture by Brooklyn-based Indian artist Sourbh Gupta. In her hand was one of the evening’s most quietly brilliant accessories: a steel mango bag by Subodh Gupta, the Indian contemporary artist whose practice has long elevated the everyday objects of Indian domestic life into monumental sculpture.

Gupta’s work often incorporates stainless-steel tiffin boxes, thali pans, bicycles, milk pails and kitchen vessels, turning the ordinary into a meditation on migration, aspiration and the economic transformation of India. His works have been shown and collected internationally, including by institutions and galleries such as Tate, Hauser & Wirth and the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Asian Art. At the Met, his language took on a new scale: intimate, handheld, wearable.

It also appeared on Ananya Birla, whose Met Gala debut paired a Robert Wun couture look with a stainless-steel and acrylic sculpture-as-mask by Gupta, made with traditional Indian silverware. “The starting point for us was this idea of how something every day can be reimagined into something extraordinary,” Birla says. “That’s a common thread that runs through both Robert Wun’s couture and Subodh Gupta’s sculptural mask. Both take the familiar and give it a nouveau presence. This juxtaposition spoke to me, as I find myself at the cusp of business and music each day,” she tells The Hindu.

For Gupta, the translation from sculpture to mask was an interesting new dimension. “For me, whether I make a mask or any other work, it is still a piece of art. The form may change, but the thinking remains the same.” He adds, “When someone wears the work or carries it, it becomes like a performance, they become part of the artwork. I like that exchange. And Robert Wun approached Birla’s look with a similar interest in the body and its architecture. “This is the first time our work is also a part of the exhibit. As a brand there has always been a connection in what we do with the body and the human form, and that naturally became part of how we approached Ananya’s look.

Gauravi Kumari and Sawai Padmanabh Singh brought another register of Indian storytelling. Designed by Prabal Gurung, her look incorporated her grandmother Maharani Gayatri Devi’s chiffon sari, reworked into a pink sari-gown with pearls in homage to the late royal’s unmistakable style. His centred on the Phulghar coat, a regional form developed with Gurung and realised in Jaipur by Yash and Ashima Tholia and their team, constructed in deep velvet and completed over more than 600 hours with aari, zardozi, dabka and resham.

For Kumari, the point was continuity rather than nostalgia. “For me, it was important that it felt personal, considered and deeply rooted in my heritage.” Her observation on India’s growing presence at the Met is perhaps the clearest articulation of what has changed: “It’s been very meaningful to see India’s presence grow at the Met Gala each year. It reflects a broader recognition of the depth and diversity of Indian fashion, craft, and creativity on a global stage. What’s particularly interesting is how each representation brings a different perspective - there isn’t just one narrative. It feels like a moment of greater visibility, but also of nuance.”

That nuance mattered because the Met carpet has not always known what to do with Indian fame. Last year, when Shah Rukh Khan stepped onto Vogue’s carpet, there was a collective wince from those who knew the scale of what had just happened. The hosts seemed under-briefed, as though one of the most beloved movie stars on earth had arrived without a fact sheet. Sabyasachi Mukherjee had to supply the context. No shade, really. Without preparation, anyone can stumble. But the moment underlined the gap between global fashion’s appetite for representation and its ability to recognise the people it is representing.

This year felt different. Names were pronounced with care. Context was offered. The coverage appeared better aligned across local and global Vogues. The red carpet seemed to understand that Gauravi Kumari and Sawai Padmanabh Singh were not just well-dressed young royals, but carriers of a precise cultural story.

Daniel Rodgers, Fashion News Editor at British Vogue, describes the best Met Gala looks as those that “can ignite the internet and withstand a more rigorous reading the next morning.” On this year’s theme, he says, “It means looking at fashion through an art-historical lens. On one level, it’s about the long-standing relationship between designers and artists: Yves Saint Laurent’s Mondrian dresses, Versace’s Warhol prints. But it can also extend to garments that operate as objects in their own right – pieces that complicate our understanding of beauty, luxury, wearability… Importantly, this is not a conversation confined to one geography.”

That last line is the invitation. The more specific a story is, the more universal it often feels. Diljit Dosanjh understood that last year, in his feathered turban, Golecha necklace, gilded Prabal Gurung sherwani and tehmat. Karan Johar understood it this year. His Met Gala debut in Manish Malhotra, styled by Eka Lakhani, looked to Raja Ravi Varma’s visual language: the romanticism, the drapery, the theatricality of an artist who shaped how India came to see itself.

“The mood board for Karan’s look between Karan, Manish and me was very clear,” says Lakhani. “We wanted it to be about Indian art, Indian culture and our rich heritage. It was Karan’s idea that we draw inspiration from Raja Ravi Verma’s visual language, his romanticism, the rich drapery and just how beautiful his storytelling is in terms of his paintings, with his paintings.” For her, the task was not merely decorative. “We wanted to make sure that the outfit is unmistakably Indian but it doesn’t become costumey.”

She also makes clear how elaborate the machinery behind such a moment is. “Eventually you’re working with your hair stylist, your makeup artist, the photographers, the set designers because a visual narrative is very important from an overall point of view and not just a costume point of view or an outfit point of view.” The Met Gala, in other words, is not just a look. It is a pitch deck, a research paper, a production still, a diplomatic mission and a meme waiting to happen.

Anaita Shroff Adajania has seen the event change from rarefied fundraiser to global content machine. “For years, I’ve had the privilege of styling attendees for the Met Gala,long before it became the cultural phenomenon it is in India today. Back then, the guest list was a more understated reflection of global patrons of the arts, individuals for whom fashion, culture, and philanthropy intersected with quiet sophistication. Being part of that world felt rarefied, almost sacred.”

This is the paradox of the Met Gala. At its best, it offers a stage on which cultures can speak with real specificity. It allows artists, designers, stylists and patrons to make visible the intelligence of craft. It can turn a sari, a tiffin box, a mango, a Phulghar coat, a Ravi Varma reference or a pearl necklace into a global conversation. At its worst, it is a gilded room in which power congratulates itself for buying proximity to taste.

I am not sure where I stand on the question of whose money should fund our dreams. The easy answer is that money is money, and museums need it. The harder answer is that money is never only money. It changes the guest list, agendas, and reframes the story. In The Devil Wears Prada 2, the tech billionaires circling Runway magazine could have felt like satire, but after the Met Gala livestream, it reads more like a business plan.

Still, I watched Gauravi Kumari and Sawai Padmanabh Singh speak about Jaipur, craft and inheritance to a global audience, and I felt the old thrill that fashion can still produce.

The Met Gala remains fashion’s grandest red carpet. This year, it was also something more revealing: a stage for cultures, a fundraising engine, a media property, a museum argument, a billionaire’s playground and, despite itself, a mirror. What we saw in it depended entirely on where we were standing.

Read my column article here: https://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/fashion/met-gala-2026-india-isha-ambani-karan-johar-ananya-birla-steel-mask-mango/article70944254.ece

There is something deeply satisfying about seeing art move from a gallery wall (or a digital screen) onto the street. When I first saw Manuja Waldia’s work—specifically her vibrant, surreal explorations of brown feminine identity—it felt like a breath of fresh air. It is work that manages to be both deeply personal and yet cannily familiar.

The news of her collaboration with Zara has been a highlight on my Instagram. When I broke the news on April 13, a day after the collection hit stores worldwide, the post received over 10K views and multiple shares, views, reposts and comments. So an in-depth Substack interview with the artist on LSS was overdue.

It’s rare to see a global giant step back and let an artist’s vision lead, but that’s exactly what happened here. With “no brief” and total creative trust, Manuja has translated her bestselling 2017 works into beautifully produced T-shirts that feel less like fast fashion and more like wearable manifestos on sisterhood and radical joy.

Based in her studio in Goa, Manuja balances the “daily abrasions of capitalism” with a routine filled with bird song, good coffee, and oil painting. We sat down to talk about the dream cold email that started it all, her “altar” to yesteryear Bollywood actress Parveen Babi, and why she believes art should be democratised.

The Conversation (edited lightly for flow)

Akanksha: To start, tell us a bit about yourself. Where are you based, your style, and the milestones that got you here?

Manuja: I am an artist based in Goa, currently focused on oil painting and writing as the main mediums of expression. I’m renowned for surreal visual narratives that delve into brown feminine identity, my gaze and experience growing up in India. The work explores identity as a spectrum and the complex role of the artist as both anomaly and participant in capitalism. Formally trained as a visual designer, I’ve collaborated with clients such as Sephora, Google, and Penguin Random House. My award-winning work has been validated by global institutions like Forbes, Communication Arts, CNN and The Atlantic.

Akanksha: How did the Zara collaboration actually happen? Take us behind the scenes of that first inbox alert.

Manuja: The Zara team reached out a few months ago, and it evolved from there. They selected two of my bestselling artworks from 2017, now featured on beautifully produced T-shirts with front prints, back embroidery, and custom hangtags, available worldwide in-store and online.

Akanksha: What was the brief like?

Manuja: There wasn’t one! Their incredible team put everything together. Thanks Antía, Elena, Iñaki and Oscar!

Akanksha: Tell me about the prints you chose—’Turmeric’ and ‘Three Friends With Their Desserts.’ What is the story there?

Manuja: They are from an earlier body of work, depicting scenes of sisterhood and radical joy. ‘Turmeric’ depicts brown bodies luxuriating together, anointing one another with the spice. Appropriated under colonial intentions in the West, here turmeric is reclaimed as a timeless symbol of brown resistance and self-determined care. Its anti-inflammatory properties make it a vital part of working-class life, soothing the daily abrasions of capitalism and patriarchy. The scene celebrates rest, care, and communal tenderness as acts of resistance.

Akanksha: I’ve noticed you often draw Bollywood icons—like the Parveen Babi painting with the Miu Miu sandals. What’s the thought behind that?

Manuja: While I was growing up in the 90s there was always a TV on, somewhere. I am drawn to these icons like how Andy Warhol was drawn to Liz Taylor and Marilyn Monroe: it’s half reverence and half amusement at their projection of femininity which feels so unfamiliar to me. Painting classically with oil is a long meditation, and it’s hard not to think about their behind the scenes lives... In older eras, Indian cinema still had a sense of naturalism/realism and I am drawn to witchy icons with a unique signature (like Shabana) who remind me of my mother, grandmother, aunties and friends.

Akanksha: Why the 1999 Miu Miu mesh sandal in the Parveen Babi piece?

Manuja: That painting is an ‘altar’ to Parveen Babi. I’ve inserted objects that I adore visually. The blue mesh sandals are from Miu Miu’s 1999 collection. But since they are covetable shiny glossy objects, combined with Parveen’s pristine visage, the painting starts to read as an ad as well. What is the line between altars and advertisements in our late stage capitalist world?

Akanksha: What does life in Goa look like for you as an artist?

Manuja: I love my routine here in Goa. I wake up to a gorgeous view of the Indo-Portugese church and cemetery with beautiful sunrises and birdsong. My partner Puneet is a coffee snob and he usually has a delicious brew ready for me to enjoy along with breakfast. Usually, the rest of the day is divided between work sessions (painting, writing, website, marketing, emails) chores and spending time with our pets!

Akanksha: For those just getting acquainted with your world, where should they start?

Manuja: I recommend buying my small paintings! I like to offer accessible prices, and these works on paper are a great way to start collecting my work: manujawaldia.com/collections/drawings.

Shop the Manuja Waldia X Zara collection here

All images, courtesy the artist. Portrait in Goa from Vogue India

Video art direction: Shagun Jangid

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Hello friends,

Not often do I get to lead a journaling session. This Thursday, April 30th, on the eve of the full moon, I will be co-hosting a journaling session with my friends at leather journal cover brand The Art of Soft Structure. I wrote about them a couple of weeks ago for LSS Things of Beauty. I really do admire what they’re building - a whole brand dedicated to the art of spilling your thoughts on a page and concurrently filtering, finding and tuning into what truly matters.

Writing in a journal does that, you know. I’ve always looked to a page to reveal my deepest, most honest thoughts. And never does it fail. As great writer and fellow Sag, Joan Didion wrote, "I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear."

It is one of the most clarifying acts, writing.

For the session, I will be reading aloud an original piece of prose that I am YET to write. But I promise, it’ll be good. And because we want to give you your money’s worth, one attendee will also receive a leather journal cover and complimentary notebook as part of our giveaway from this session. All you have to do is answer a question as you checkout in the link.

Moreover, I wanted to take a moment to say that LSS is and will always be a place of community and creativity. How can we spend a moment together and yet benefit from it. Both Martyna and I have navigated change in our lives. I’ve scribbled in diaries during my move across continents, and now as I navigate what my career should look like. We are all always in the middle of something — entering a new chapter or exiting a previous experience. I love that place of the in-between. As unsettling as it is, it is also a great teacher.

You do not have to be a writer to journal. So don’t for a second let that hold you back. You will be guided throughout so you won’t for a second feel like you don’t know what you’re doing — although, those feelings are encouraged too.

Finally, this is the first in our series of guided journaling sessions. The hope is to take these around the world for in-person community gathering — London, Copenhagen, and who knows, India, too. I would love for you to join us for all of these.

As our first time joinees, I would love to offer you 50% off our first collective journaling online session.

Use the code [LSSFRIEND] at checkout here: www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/1987608309960/?discount=LSSFRIEND

This is a limited-run promotion, so please do book your spot before April 28th, 2026 1 PM BST.

I can’t wait to have you there

xx

I was at the Elsa Schiaparelli exhibition at the V&A recently and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Not just because it was beautiful, which it was, but because it felt… intellectual in a way fashion rarely does anymore. You could see her signatures sprawled across sketches, patents filed under her name, fabrics she had quite literally invented. The swimsuit with an integrated bra, decorative zips as a design element — she was constantly trying new and inventive things. There was… a sense of authorship, of ownership, and of a mind at work.

And it made me wonder, when was the last time we had a genuinely new idea in fashion?

Yes, there are designers pushing boundaries. Iris van Herpen is particularly good at creating new, awe-inspiring things, but again, they have a quality of the unachievable or the unwearable. When was the last time we actually had a new invention in fashion?

Now I know the world is talking about how AI is making us dumber, and I swear to god I might gag if I read one more caption written by a senior editor using ChatGPT. I mean, you are literally a former EIC. It would be nice to see at least your words retain some originality. Or, if you are using it, perhaps try masking it with an edit, a flourish of your own. You know what I mean. Because right now, everyone sounds the same? If one more person “doesn’t announce themselves” but “enters the room quietly” — I will, keel over.

And that got me thinking about AI.

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The past few weeks, within my friend groups, not the “normie” friends, anyone in non-fashion, but creatives, photographers, stylists, writers, editors, we’ve been talking about the onset of AI and what it will do for our jobs. One friend shared that the number of lucrative styling gigs she was doing had significantly reduced ever since brands started creating shoots using AI. So that meant fewer jobs, smaller budgets, and a large part of her cash inflow simply exiting her pocket. That’s certainly not good news for anyone.

Add to that stumbling economies like that of the UK. I don’t know about you guys, but I have noticed a downshift in client budgets and this constant push and pull of using AI to do some of the work that a senior writer or resource could do.

Full disclosure, I have done jobs where I was being paid a very high sum just for writing a massive chunk of product descriptions about three years ago. Product descriptions, guys. Like 20 words describing the colour, shade, type of fabric, and other wonderfully mundane details of a garment worth £500. It was tedious, yes, but it paid. Now, I am almost certain that job does not even exist. It must be part of a process where the system, aka a machine, is writing it up for brands.

And honestly, I am not surprised. It only makes sense.

It begs the question then: am I losing my job?

The answer is yes. My job as I know it.

But what it’s doing for me is opening up ways in which I can create.

In conversations with my new friend, a software engineer turned full-time fashion content creator (why would you do that, I asked her, lol), I realised that if I could literally redo my life, I would be sitting pretty in a tech job right now making everyone, plot twist, learn how to be creative thinkers.

Oh wait. Is that what’s happening right now?

We’re all being forced into being creative, my new fashion-tech girlie friend argues.

According to her, AI is a second brain. It has mastered the neural pathways of the brain, and that’s how you should use it. As a second brain. You can teach it your taste, your lens, your preferences. You can share a lot of your work with it. You can use it for “metaprompting”, a new term I learned on a podcast where an AI girlie shares tips with her non-AI girlie on how to use Claude to literally build your business.

It is all so fascinating.

At an event recently, I was sat next to someone who works at Anthropic (JUST MY LUCK), and she told me I can build an app using Claude now. You don’t even need to know someone who codes. You can literally have Claude build code for you.

My mind immediately went to: So what happens to web designers?

People are publishing books using ChatGPT now. I read Substacks, a place where real writers go to write, filled with algorithmic language. Essays upon essays written using ChatGPT. And I wonder, when will I read an original sentence again?

Everyone sounds the same.

But this is what my friend argues. AI is only creating from what already exists. So there is no new thought that AI can produce. It is a regurgitation.

Another friend of mine, who leads the breaking news desk at a national newspaper, said the Gen Z in her team tries to write breaking news using AI. But you can’t. Because the news hasn’t been broken. It doesn’t exist. So it will be factually wrong.

AI, my friends, is limited to what it has learned.

For it to learn something new, the new thought will have to come from a human.

Phew. So we do have some power here.

Until we won’t.

According to my friend, and sorry that I now go to her for all my AI-related annoying questions, while that sort of “soul” or “identity” part of the human brain hasn’t been achieved by AI, it’s not long before perhaps we will. But that itself is human nature. To want to expand, to reach the unknown. It wasn’t enough that we knew there were other planets in the universe. We wanted to explore them. It wasn’t enough that we landed on the moon. We needed to surpass the farthest point.

It is human nature to expand, to reach, to unravel.

So where do I stand on the “is AI taking our fashion jobs” debacle?

I think yes, it is taking our jobs as we know them. But we’re just going to have to use it to level up. Quite literally.

So my stylist friend, for example, is now working on crafting her own brand. Take that, AI. All that knowledge and experience, she’s taking it and applying it to making her own product and brand. And I am almost certain it will be f*****g fantastic. Because she has taste. Because she has knowledge. She has touched more than a million garments. She knows a good pattern when she sees one. She knows body types. Because the truth is, she has had the physical experience of working with all body types in her career, and her mind knows what would look good on me.

So I trust her product when it enters the world.

OpenAI’s relationship with Condé Nast is another prickly subject for my friends who still remain in editor roles at magazines. They’re teaching AI their language and writing styles only to let those jobs be taken by AI?

Which brings me to what I use AI for.

To help me build business plans. To help me strategise growing Substack subscriptions. To help me build Excel sheets when numbers aren’t my strongest suit and yet I need to know how much I am investing and what my ROI on my Substack should be.

In a Vogue Business survey, the biggest concern people had about AI was loss of creativity. But the truth is, that is up to us. How do we want to continue to be creative?

The next was losing jobs. And let me tell you, that seems about right.

Because of AI, I’ve had to really, I mean really, tune into myself and ask: what do I actually love in fashion, luxury, culture? What do I want to keep sharing, making, creating? Whose stories do I want to keep telling? What really is my taste? What really is my expertise? What is my identity in the field that I occupy right now?

The layers upon layers of my experience as a human, my movements and migrations across countries and continents, my childhood yearnings and learnings, my missteps and failures and the concurrent learnings from them.

I’m making and creating from a deep place of self now.

That, AI does not have.

At least not for now.

And until then, much like what Vogue has said, I use AI invisibly. A behind-the-scenes functionality. A system that helps me stay sane, working on a global business that collaborates across borders.

As a pretty accurate Substack I recently read said: Picasso lived for a total of 33,403 days. With 26,075 published works, that means he averaged one new piece of artwork every day of his life from age 20 until his death at 91. He created something new every day for 71 years.

Mozart lived for 35 years. In that time, he composed over 800 works, from operas to symphonies to sacred choral music.

I love this.

I learn something new on Substack every day.

God bless and peace.

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EVOKE London is one of those addresses that you might miss if you walk by too fast. But once you know it exists, you’ll keep going back to it, wondering what treasure you might uncover next.

My story with the craft and interiors store nestled in Marylebone Village, near enough to a Gail’s hot chai, and close enough to Harley Street, for anyone passing through for a doctor’s appointment — is personal.

Sridhar Poddar, co-founder of the store, working remotely from Bengaluru, India, where he is based, went to Rishi Valley School in India. Now this detail matters because a) anyone who went that school knows how special it is (it was started by an Indian philosopher, Jiddu Krishnamurthi as a place for students to learn the ways of life, nature and the world, in as pure a way as possible — think watching sunsets in silence, learning crafts like batik, crochet, carpentry, reading poetry under trees — and yes unfortunately, we did have exams too, and b) those who come from the cluster of schools the philosopher founded, have a way of finding each other.

Sridhar and I were introduced through a story I wrote for Architectural Digest on Asami Nagashima Sarabhai’s clothing label at EVOKE London (my first memorable visit to the store) and we quickly recognised in one another, our kindred eclectic-school spirits.

And then I met the store’s third founder - a South African in London — Leonora Stathakis. Her inimitable understanding of the crafts of Africa, as well as India, are akin to absorbing oral histories of two continents in simple conversation.

Together, across India and London, the trio (which includes the OG founder, Vandana Poddar, Sridhar’s mother), the quaint double-storeyed store in the heart of London, is bridging continents together, crafts layered within its walls like a living archive of histories and stories.

On a perfect Spring morning, I steppedd into EVOKE London, and lost myself in its stories.

Below is my conversation with co-founder, Leo, lightly edited for flow and context:

Akanksha: How did EVOKE London come about?

Leonora: There was a series of events that happened. Sridhar was travelling in South Africa and he met a previous employer of mine. This person I used to work for, for about eight or nine years, collected African artefacts and architectural pieces all over the world. He was like my mentor and I used to travel with him.

It all started with the beaded Yoruba chair. Vandana fell in love with it when she saw it in Johannesburg. She really wanted to start a brand that showcases African and Indian heritage, craft and art, but in the correct manner. He then put Vandana in contact with me.

I was living in London at the time, working as an interior designer. We spoke back and forth for months and eventually met in Kensington. We just got on like a house on fire. She has impeccable taste and such a love for art and artefacts. We started working on a business plan, travelling between India and Africa, and then we opened in 2021.

Inside you find everything from sculptural furniture and textiles to ceramics and artefacts from Africa, India and beyond. Each piece is handcrafted by artisans and chosen for its history, texture, timeless design and all the stories that envelop every single piece.

Think beaded chairs from Nigeria, silver inlay Bidri vases, woven textiles and beautifully imperfect ceramics.

Our conversation quickly takes on a show and tell quality — me taking in each story with wide eyes and an open mind, and Leo, delivering encyclopaedic information in compact in-depth sentences that are so rare to come by these days.

We pause near a sculptural vessel—elongated, very human in silhouette.

Leonora: This is a Mangbetu pot from DR Congo. The Mangbetu people had an old custom where they used to wrap their baby’s heads so that they later develop these elongated forms, which in their culture was a sign of beauty.

So you’ll find pots that echo that form. Most people think she’s wearing a hat, but it’s actually referencing that tradition. Decorative pots were also a sign of wealth. When Europeans started travelling through Congo, they saw these and began trading for them. That’s when more decorative pieces were made.

Further in, the chairs are impossible to ignore. I’m also matching with one!

Leonora: This is the hand-beaded Yoruba chair from Nigeria. This is actually the object that started our whole story. In Yoruba culture, anything fully beaded is usually for royalty or people of status. You won’t find this in every home. It takes about six months to make one chair, and it’s the men who do all the beadwork.

Akanksha: I think people don’t realise until they get close.

Leonora: Exactly. They walk up and go, oh my goodness, this whole thing is beads.

What’s interesting is that this isn’t craft frozen in time. A lot of these practices have been passed down through generations, but now, as Leonora notes, a younger generation is stepping into view—using social media to build their own identities, while still rooted in where they come from.

As our conversation unravels, I realise what she meant earlier about crafts from these two being presented correctly. These are not objects stripped of context, but pieces held within their histories, makers, and meaning. Objects that inhabit people’s lives and cultures and understanding that is as important as appreciating their aesthetic.

There’s a rhythm to the store. You move from continent to continent without quite realising it.

Leonora: People always ask what sells more—Indian or African, artefacts or new pieces—but there’s no pattern. It depends on who walks in.

We move to a corner layered with jewellery—objects that are adornment but also an archive of histories and cultures.

Leonora: There are two incredible women, Angela Fisher and Carol Beckwith. I’ve known of their work since I was young. They are both world-renowned photographers who have devoted their lives to documenting the rapidly disappearing ceremonies and cultures of the indigenous people of Africa. Angela walked into my shop one day and I was mesmerised. They’ve gathered beads and amulets from all over Africa—old glass beads, charms from Ghana, Ethiopian crosses. This is actually a little Ethiopian ear pick on the necklace.

Akanksha: No way.

Leonora: Yes. They take these everyday objects and turn them into jewellery. They work with a lady named Maria who makes the jewellery from the pieces they’ve gathered from their travels.There’s also a charity aspect—money goes back into supporting these communities.

We circle back to India.

Leonora: We have quite a love with Bidri, and we work very closely with the artists.

Bidri is an art form from Bidar. It’s cast in a metal alloy of zinc and a little bit of copper. What makes it special is the soil they use from the fort in Bidar. They dip the object into a boiling mixture with this particular soil, and a chemical reaction turns the shiny metal into a matte black finish. Then they engrave it and do silver inlay.

We collaborated with Stephen Cox RA, who usually works in large stone sculptures. This was the first time he designed specifically for Bidri. He travelled, met the artists, and designed three pieces. The most famous one is the Bidri Bottle, inspired by Kansai Yamamoto’s outfit for David Bowie.

He connected the silver lines on the black outfit with the Bidri aesthetic—the shiny silver against the matte black—and translated that into the object.

As noted in an Architectural Digest article, the work sits within a lineage of Bidri where blackened alloy is intricately inlaid with silver wire, a technique rooted in Bidar and nowhere else.

“Kaash and Evoke work together. The genesis for Kaash was actually Evoke. There is this jugalbandhi, a back-and-forth conversation between Kaash and Evoke. Kaash acts as a support system, while Evoke becomes a retail platform for the works we create.” — Sridhar Poddar, co-founder, EVOKE London

A rug catches my eye—familiar.

Akanksha: I recognise this from the Bulgari Serpenti Infinito exhibition at NMACC.

Leonora: That’s correct. Sunita was inspired by the Serpenti and created this rug.

She comes from a long line of women artists from the Meena tribe in Rajasthan. Traditionally, they create these artworks on mud houses, using their fingers to draw animals, folklore, and nature.

Now she’s taken that language and applied it to different mediums. We collaborated with her through Kaash, our sister gallery in Bangalore, and created a limited series of rugs based on her work.

Akanksha: I love that it still feels like storytelling.

Leonora: It is. A lot of the imagery comes from nature—animals, trees, forests. That’s quite universal. So the tribe is just influenced by their surroundings, as you know a lot of artists are, so mainly nature and animals and a lot of folklore stories use animals as main characters.

Sunita does a lot of illustrations for a beautiful company called Tara Books and they bring out these incredible children’s literature and art books, showcasing Indian folk and tribal art. Most of the characters are animals or stories surrounding trees or forests, with meanings and messages in the stories, which I find quite beautiful. But I think that’s quite a universal thing—you know, we are inspired mainly by nature.

There’s a moment where the conversation shifts from objects to something larger—ecosystems, infrastructure, intent.

A voice note from Sridhar Poddar, co-founder:

“It was absolutely important to share the Indian craft story to the world through Evoke. As far as I’m aware, the Evoke space is quite unique and our offering is quite unique from an Indian craft perspective. We wanted to bring a specific point of view… a very strong focus on the handmade and textured, tactile works.”

He continues:

“I don’t think Indian craft hasn’t worked globally because of misconceptions. I think it’s because we haven’t gone and platformed ourselves.”

Akanksha: Why Marylebone?

Leonora: It’s central but still feels like a village. You have independent shops, little cafés, people who are curious and like discovering new things. That’s the kind of audience we wanted.

And the name?

“We’re really evoking something—a feeling of travel, of discovery, of being transported into a different environment from where you’ve just come, says Sridhar. And I couldn’t agree more.

If there’s one thing EVOKE London does, it is to lead you into a layered lived history, where past and present fold into one another. Cloth meets stories, rugs are tufted with folklore and ceramic pots travel between uses — holding grains one moment, and trinkets the next.

While all of this was familiar to me growing up in households filled with finds from Africa (I was born in Botswana and my mother lived in Lusaka before that), and of course, the crafts of India (where I was brought up) — I learned the deeper resonance of why hand, and craft, will always exist as our way to tell our stories.

And although, someone may not have an inherited proclivity for these crafts as say, I do, I wonder if you’ll still find yourself mesmerised. My guess? A solid yes.

Special thank you to Team EVOKE London, Sridhar and Leo Stathakis

Photography by Kiera Simpson

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Why choose that watch, that particular style of earring or ring, a particular candle holder or cup that you sip your coffee from each morning?

I don’t know about you, but I find myself being a lot more intentional about what I want to spend my money on. I want it to add to my surroundings, to my life. To be something utilitarian yet easy on the eyes. A diary I intentionally write into each morning — its leather binding holding steady and weighty in my hands as I draw my words on paper with presence and determination. Or the spiralling vase that my tulips bow into each morning, coming alive with the morning sun. I want to feel seen and held in my surroundings. A direct reflection of my inner world in the mise-en-scène of my day.

Welcome to my new monthly column that will explore the objects — paintings, watches, homewares, hand creams — anything that fills the backdrop of our lives with a little bit more artful beauty and luxury. Your eyes will thank me.

The Art of Soft Structure Journal

We’ve all heard of the new “junk journalling” craze everyone is talking about. But while that word — junk — lands clunky on the tongue, it’s actually a therapeutic process of collaging your day / life / hours and minutes onto the pages of a diary. I’m a sucker for collecting billets from train journeys, museum visits, art galleries around the world. Or napkins from a restaurant with the perfect lettering in their branding (you know the one). Or photos captured in the back of a photo booth with a best friend on a night out. I love to take these and collate them into a journal — a way to map out my life the way my camera roll does, but with more presence. It’s the most therapeutic thing to do. Time consuming, yes. But whoever said self-reflection is done in minutes? I’d pick these gorgeous leather coverings for my notebooks. Because while my interiors may be a mess, they can always look put together and calm on the outside, am I right? xx

The new Nike X Jacquemus Moon Shoe

I had been thinking about this shoe for a while before I finally gave in. I was drawn in by that soft, almost sugared pink and the way the silhouette feels closer to a ballet slipper than anything remotely athletic. What I love is that beneath all of that lightness sits something quite foundational, the “Moon Shoe” being one of Nike’s earliest designs from 1972, named after the imprint its waffle sole left on the track, said to resemble astronaut footprints. This version by Simon Porte Jacquemus feel like a nostalgic reworking of something technical into something instinctive and soft. I ordered mine, of course, in the wrong size, so now I wait (impatiently, but also not) for a 40 to come back into stock. I loved how it arrived — it came in a proper old-school Nike box replete with scuff marks and everything, and a small pin badge that made is feel more like an object than just a shoe. Also, Solange. Genius.

This whole vibe - Watch + Rings + 🚬

Obsessed. That’s a Cartier Tank and the 'Just en Clou’ ring. Not sure where that index finger signet ring is from - but damn - I want this whole vibe. Including that blue linen shirt + ‘80s inspired jeans and maybe I draw the line on the Birks.

Recollection Vintage Scalloped Bowls Set

Recollection run by Therese Bassler is the perfect home for vintage fashion and homewares (among other xtremely cool accessories). I bought a vintage Givenchy clutch from her recent Notting Hill pop-up. And I would buy SO much more. Her curation is so darn good. Rare pieces found through time, insider sources, and almost always, in pristine condition. I love a vintage / pre-loved buy. 30% of my wardrobe & home at this time is from Vestiaire Collective or other such wonderful shops. Please keep them coming 🌹

More next time!! Stay tuned xxx

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So for this week, I had to look back at my camera roll. Always a good place to start. I’m going to divvy these up as The person or people I’m into and why. The place that I’m thinking about or visited(!), something I found (exciting), an object I’m obsessed with (hopefully one I own or am in the process of acquiring, and a thoughts that I’m ruminating in my mind (because that’s what I do — a lot).

Here goes!

The Person: Keshia Hannam

In my suggested follows this morning on Instagram, Keshia Hannam came up, who was assigned Global Editor-in-Chief of Service 95 earlier this month. I went down a rabbit hole and super cool to see someone of mixed heritage and who has lived as an immigrant around the world including India, Australia, UK, Hong Kong, bring their lens to Dua Lipa’s platform that has always been a place to learn about culture and identity (for me). This is someone I’d love to get to know. Keshia’s life’s work appears to be in giving the voiceless and marginalised communities a platform — especially in her role as Editor-in-Chief at EST (Eastern Standard Times) Media. Also super cool to see her cover designers like Payal Khandwala on the platform. As I said — I went down a rabbit hole + I’m a journalist - we live in the rabbit holes (:

The Place: Ham House & Garden in Richmond

Guys, I am officially old. My dear husband has bought us a National Trust membership in the UK where we can visit these beautiful old, sometimes overpriced and often dilapidated buildings around the UK. So this weekend we headed to Ham House & Garden in Richmond (where parts of Bridgerton was shot — remember ‘My Cottage’ from this season? Yep, that’s the one). As we entered, the sweet old lady at check in scanned our membership passes and said wonderful, your passport to fame (LOL). Luke and I usually explore these on our own time, ever since we got a little Mini (Cooper) last year to whizz around London / England in, but frankly it turns out to be quite expensive. It’s approx £100 per year, but we’re hoping that with the weather turning and some sunshine we’ll be able to make up all cost by visiting multiple locations and their gorgeous garden in bloom through spring-summer and even a bit of fall. This is called age.

The Find: Jessica McCormack’s Townhouse in Mayfair

Obsessed. Went there for a book reading and author interview. Turns out, renting a townhouse in Mayfair is expensive, so the designer is leasing the space to those who want to host chic events in the ultra chic space (it has art, books, mantlepieces, objects — I could live there). The book in question: Lucien by JR Thornton, which sounds like a page turner. The blurb likens it to Saltburn. I am going to read it. Loved walking away from the townhouse, not with jewellery, but a book in hand. Who am I?!

The Object: My book is releasing next week so you’re only going to hear about BLUSH all through April. Jk.

So my book is out. Go order. Go read. I served on the nominator panel and I also interviewed some incredible makeup artists and got inside their brains to understand their creative process and some ICONIC imagery they’ve created along the way. This is seminal work. And did I mention it’s published by Phaidon (so it’s obviously a keeper — gorgeous pages, thick glossy paper). I live. Order it here: https://www.phaidon.com/en-gb/products/blush-contemporary-makeup-artists?srsltid=AfmBOopPHqos8HGR8nElQzUTwzg7sfEkCL6zbYa0V8clfP57uFFXFv1hWnw

The Thought: Has anyone else noticed the lack of traction on their Instagram posts?

I came across a post that debated exactly this thought. And it’s got me thinking — how do I use Instagram and is that reflecting in how EVERYONE is using Instagram these days? Aka, not liking things for fear of the algorithm spitting that for days after that. Instead sharing, saving and (sorry) but I’m a serial commentor! What does this mean for how we engage with Instagram now. Does it really matter? Thank god I have Substack. But also, what’s going on with Instagram. Someone shed some light!

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On Monday night, a perfect spring evening, I hosted the first LSS in-person gathering at Nipotina in Mayfair, London.

I’ve been thinking about what it means to gather today. What it means to come around a table, convene, and connect. With strangers or with loved ones. A table is where a date happens — two strangers commit to giving each other a chance over a meal or a drink. I met my life partner across a table at Dishoom for drinks :) A table is where ideas unravel — you come to a round table, sometimes in a daunting room, sometimes to negotiate, sometimes to share your expertise. A family punctuates its day at the table, to share a meal and to discuss the day’s good and bad. A hot home-cooked meal already comforting the deeper matters of your soul.

I’ve always loved bringing people together. It’s something I’ve done instinctively for years, across work, friendships, and the many overlapping worlds I find myself moving through. There is a particular kind of magic in a room when the right people meet each other at the right moment, when conversation unfolds naturally and something shifts.

Seen At The Table came from wanting to hold onto that feeling more intentionally. Through my newsletter, Like, Share, Subscribe, I’ve spent nearly a year writing about culture, creativity, and the people shaping it, but I began to feel increasingly that some of those conversations wanted to exist off the page/screen as well. Not everything translates online, and not everything should. Some things need a table, a shared meal, time, and being fully present.

So the launch gathering took place at Nipotina in Mayfair (the future home for all Seen At The Table events), in collaboration with Samyukta Nair and her wonderful teams at LSL Capital. Their approach to hospitality feels most aligned to mine. Generous, warm, yet casual and authentic. Sam and I have also, always intersected, orbiting each other’s worlds. As someone who is as multi-faceted (or ADHD) as I am — Sam has been a concept store owner where home decor circulated clothing and art met fashion fortuitously. She’s been a fashion brand founder (Dandelion), and now back to her family’s roots in hospitality, as a restaurateur. I’ve always loved telling her myriad stories and layers, so two years ago when I said to her “let’s do something together”, I’m sure it resonated for her, as much as it did for me.

For Edition One, we brought together a group of women across art, fashion, design, writing and entrepreneurship, some of whom knew each other, many who didn’t. And that mix was deliberate. I wanted the room to feel open, but also gently unfamiliar, so that new conversations could emerge without expectation.

The idea for this first one centred on women, and on softness. What it means to move through the world right now holding both ambition and sensitivity, clarity and uncertainty, and how those things can wildly and wonderfully, coexist.

I was also thinking a great deal about pace. It has felt, recently, as though we’re grappling with the speed of things happening around us. The sense that everything is accelerating, whether we are ready for it or not. And alongside that, there is a noticeable acceleration to everything else — ideas, work, relationships, a sense of constant movement.

So the evening was designed with that in mind. The programming was intentionally light, almost woven into the fabric of the night. I wanted it to feel instinctive. What am I most in need of right now? Intention card readings by Petra Blancas - a magician in fur, kohl lined eyes and rings on every finger, honestly.

And Karimah Hassan. A poet, painter and fellow Substacker, building The Gremlins on here), Karimah is someone whose work I’ve long admired. She opened the evening with her words. I had asked her to write something specifically for this gathering, as a way of grounding the room and giving us a shared language to begin from. She spoke about this idea of multiple beginnings, January, the Lunar New Year, the astrological new year, and how we find ourselves stepping into new cycles again and again, often before we’ve made sense of the last. It’s so true.

She also spoke about what she described as Fire Horse energy, a feeling of intensity and momentum, of things moving quickly around us. But what stayed with me was her reframing of that energy, that fire is not only force, but something creative and emotional, and that the horse is not only power, but instinct, sensitivity, something deeply intuitive. A feminine energy.

She asked what it means to be a woman inside that kind of movement, to remain soft and grounded while everything around you accelerates.

What followed was exactly what I had hoped for, though it’s difficult to describe without reducing it. Conversations that moved easily across the table, moments of recognition between people meeting for the first time, a sense of being present without needing to perform or position oneself.

That, for me, is what gathering can offer when it is approached with care. Not an outcome, but a feeling of connection that unfolds over time, often in ways you only fully register later.

There is a lot that goes into creating something like this, much of it invisible. The guest list, the balance of voices and energies, how people are seated, the pace of the evening, the small details that shape how comfortable people feel. None of it is accidental, even if it appears effortless.

This extended to the partners for the evening as well. Each one is someone I’ve worked with over time, where there is already a sense of trust and shared values. Jo Vodka, founded by Jo Malone CBE, whose approach to creating her spirits brand came by joining forces with her friends, an idea discussed over a table, a meal! Kama Ayurveda, whose products have been part of many conversations and collaborations I’ve hosted. Flower & Press, who had previously created something beautiful for a dinner I organised with Cox London. Rosie Dalia by Nikki Green who crafted the perfect linen napkins embroidered with the words “Seen”, “Heard”, “Loved”, “Believed” and “Cherished”. It felt important that everyone involved understood the spirit of the evening as instinctively and intuitively as I’d imagined it with Samyukta <3

Seen At The Table will evolve, as all good things should. This first gathering was centred on women, but the intention is broader, to bring together people shaping culture and creativity in different ways, and to create space for those worlds to intersect more meaningfully.

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At its core, it is about the table. Who sits at it, what is shared across it, and what remains with you after you leave.

To always being seen at the table.

Much love,
Akanksha xxx

Register your interest for the next event by emailing us on seenatthetable@nipotinaristorante.com OR filling out this short form

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If you follow me on Instagram, you know life has been a wild, chaotic ride of fashion weeks — I went on a Euro Trip this time — London, to Milan and then Paris, with a two day break back in London / home to catch some sanity.

But I make it sound like a chore. I don’t want to be that cliché — “oh look at my beautiful life how tiring and exhausting it it is jet-setting and going to Hermès and Schiaparelli shows”. It’s a privilege, even if one has to schlep a bit to make it work. And even if your feel each night feel like they’re about to fall off and re-grow. I am going to be dressing much like Jo Ellison at fashion week hereon (except I’m not near as tall and my hair could literally never be wrangled into a slick bun like that - but hey, we make it work).

My key takeaways from the shows as below. Bear with me, some of it may not be what you’d like to hear.

1. Everyone is THIN. And I mean everyone. The front row, the guests, the models, the celebrities. Like where are all the regular big people of the universe? Are they banned from attending shows? Probably.

   I started my fashion week journey at Prada (words I never thought I’d say!!!). I landed into Milan — I’d booked tickets well in advance of requesting any shows and had seen Prada on the calendar for a 2 pm show, so of course, naively I’d booked a dead-early flight, because, just in case — you never know. Lo and behold, my phone rings from a wonderful old colleague with whom I’ve had the privilege of working with every so often since I moved bases to London, and who was going to take me to the Prada re-see (sorry no tickets available), and the Tod’ re-see (overbooked, I’m afraid — a good problem to have, tbf). “Are you in Milan,”? she whispered through the phone. “Yes, yes I am - grabbing my rather large suitcase for a 5 day trip — but tell me?” And there it was — six beautiful words I’ve always wanted to hear. You’re going to the Prada show.

   Of course, I took a little gratitude breath, thanked my stars, moons, myself and Gauri (the caller) of course, and got ready to check in, change and go to the PRADA SHOW.

   Sorry, did you think I was chill? It’s all a veneer, my friends. I am a giddy, giddy child, who says woooooh every time I get an email I want to hug.

   Anyway, now here’s the thing — somehow I ended up at the back of the Fondazione Prada (I should know better, I’ve explored the premises before!), but among the gaggle of street-stylers being photographed by the photographers (I always walk past them hoping they’ll want a picture - but never, and I mean never has anyone snapped one of me lols), and guess who I see riding in sitting front passenger in a black car, watching with disdain all the chaos and (frankly, utter circus) that can surround a fashion how. HER fashion show. I saw her, someone else did too and tried to capture the moment (imagine ALL the memes that would’ve rolled through the internet waves if someone did get that!) and she covered her face, with even more disdain, and rode in and that was that. Gates closed.

   The show itself — the set, glorious — apparently the same as the men’s show in January (a wonderful Prada executive seat-mate told me this), and the clothes - very Prada. A little bit frazzled, to match the energy of the show, which felt frenetic. 15 models, some 70-odd looks, layers being peeled, walks more like stomps, racing ahead, the Prada woman getting on with her multiple roles and requirements in a day. Hair, honestly, exactly how mine looks each morning (if I bother to put it into a low pony like Bella — it’s probably turning as blonde as hers too atm, yikes). I enjoyed seeing Bella so many times. It was more an F1 circuit rather than a runway (try and catch a video on camera - it will not happen).

   Right, so this was supposed to be key take-aways, but this is turning into mini-essays. I will have to a Part 2 to this post.

2. At number 2 is the lack of thick people (momentarily mentioned in point number 1 that quickly became an ode to the chaos of fashion week + Prada). Honestly, as someone who would aspire to own and wear some of these designers (god willing, may the bank balance rise from the red), I do not feel represented. BHAVITHA MANDAVA, love you, but I don’t look like you. I have lumps and bumps, my stomach looks pregnant most days, when I’m not, obvs, but it’s fine if someone wants to offer me their seat on the London tube (that has not happened yet, thank the lord). Paloma Elsesser, our only big girl hope has now graduated to being on the front row rather than walking the shows - so once again we fuller bodies don’t see ourselves represented. Ashley Graham — someone bring her back to the runway. Like why couldn’t we have seen her as the closing walk in the GG thong dress instead of Kate Moss - love that they chose someone in their 50s, but honestly, Kate Moss is Kate Moss, she will always look like this - you know what I mean? I just feel like, yes it is good to to be fit and work out and eat wisely, but wellness and fitness can look different on each body. My ancestors were starved by colonisers and our bodies evolved to store fat in our bellies. So yes, I have my reasons for still having waving triceps, birthing hips and a belly that stores every French frites I ever ate. But I would still like to wear that Gucci chain mail mini with chic whisper-sheer black stockings, a lob, and light slitter on my eyes. And yes, I think I will look glorious in it. But what do I know — the runway didn’t show me so?

Me flying away at Fondazione Prada next day after the show at the re-see

3. I’m joining the Neelam Ahooja brigade on hating / calling out The Row for being extra gate-keeper-y. But I would like to invite a dialogue here. Because I didn’t particularly feel bad (I mean, if you’re in fashion, you know rejection — like multiple times over - I cannot take it personally because I would like to stay sane), but it’s kind of weirdly cool to see that the brand has evaded the circus and gaggle of street style influencers, photographers, Texan nouveau riche clientele (like the ones you see entering Schiaparelli - anyone else noticed the Lauren Sanchez lookalikes? But honestly, who am I to say anything, they have the money!). Instead you see thinking women, like Jo Ellison and Vanessa Friedman — women in slick buns and sensible ultra chic shoes slice and dice blazers and flowing crisp trousers. It’s a look guys — you really have to be committed to it. Anyway, so I wrote in to a customer care email ID with my ticket request (lol) - I couldn’t find a press ID anywhere, and amazingly I got a response. Really appreciate that. It was a standard - unfortunately we will not be able to accommodate an invitation - but no polite reason given - like the standard “smaller space this season etc) - again I appreciate - it’s clear, direct, does not get anyone’s hopes high.

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   But then I did my editor thing — as a journalist, I love nothing more than a re-see (which is basically a next-day up-close look at details of the garments, accessories with the ability to touch, feel, really dissect with your refined eye every seam and sequin in a collection). Apart from going to the show of course. So I requested to the go for a re-see, perhaps? See below:

Their response - for whatever reason I can’t get the whole message into the frame on my desktop so also copy pasting below the image:

Dear Akanksha,

Thank you for contacting us back.

As previously mentioned, we won’t be able to accommodate an invitation to our runway presentation.

The Row has already extended invitations to a carefully selected and limited group of guests, and that attendance, including staff and press, is strictly curated.

I truly appreciate your understanding and remain at your disposal.

Sincerely,

Of course, maybe it’s just a miscommunication - but girl, let me see the re-see! It was a snub x2. This line particularly cuts deep: The Row has already extended invitations to a carefully selected and limited group of guests, and that attendance, including staff and press, is strictly curated.

But as I said, if I were to take offence to all that I have lived through in fashion, I would be a hermit hiding out my days indoors and not emailing for tickets to shows because it’s my job to do so! You know what I mean. Anyway… It’s really what we tell ourselves that matters in the end. No?

More to come in next post. Husband ready. My turn to shower! Already delayed everyone. Bye!

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I got to know Kanika in the weeks leading up to her launch through introductions - and hearing her speak about her considered, carefully thought-through approach to launching her label had me rooting for her from day 1 <3

What I love about the brand is how foundational this first collection is. Some designers begin with references — Kanika begins with a woman — what she reads, what she notices, what she carries with her across cities, languages, and time. I love that clothes seem to arrive later, almost as a consequence of that interior life.

Her CV is certainly impressive: early years inside Anthony Vaccarello’s studio at Saint Laurent, working under the direction of Chemena Kamali, followed by contributions to Lanvin’s women’s collections — environments where discipline, proportion and restraint are working languages.

Agarwal speaks often about hybridity, though not in the way fashion typically understands it. Her label emerges from what she calls an Indo-European consciousness. What this means is that for her, Indian dress is more than seasonal. It’s situational — shaped by climate, ritual, and social rhythm, and where craft functions as infrastructure, embedded in everyday life. European modernism, with its architectural clarity and intellectual minimalism, becomes a frame through which these histories are rearticulated. The result is clothing that holds dualities at once: intuition and construction, softness and authority, emotion contained within line <3

Her silhouettes are intentionally restrained — clean tailoring, controlled volume, tactile fabrics carrying their own memory — designed for a woman who is culturally fluent and aesthetically self-possessed. The garments feel less styled than lived in, as though knowledge itself has settled into posture.

For her first campaign, Kanika chose Swati Eck, a French-Indian model, who appears alongside her mother, Sanguitta, photographed inside their Paris apartment and on the surrounding streets. The images unfold like fragments of a private archive: a daughter leaning into her mother’s shoulder, two silhouettes walking in step, coats exchanged instinctively, like a warm hug. What emerges is less a lookbook than an intergenerational dialogue — about migration, belonging, and the quiet ways clothing moves through families.

I am SO pleased that Kanika saw merit in my medium and allowed to me to speak to the mother-daughter duo ahead of launch day. What transpired was a phone call that moved easily between fashion, memory, and a relationship understood as mother-daughter, but really it goes so much deeper. Here are snippets of that conversation weeks ahead of Kanika’s glorious launch in Paris 🌹

On shooting together for the first time

Me: Kanika told me this was the first time you’d ever done something like this together.

Swati: Yes, never before. I’ve been modelling for almost six years now, but shooting at home with my mum — and with people I already knew — felt very special. It was really fun, actually.

Sanguitta: For me it was completely new. Swati is a professional, so entering her world was something I truly enjoyed. I finally understood what she experiences each time she works.

She pauses, laughing softly.

Sanguitta: I realised how fast everything moves. People dress you, prepare you, and suddenly it’s finished. You are there to reveal the beauty of the garments — that is all. Before, when she told me sometimes she felt alone, I couldn’t understand it. I thought, how can you feel alone surrounded by so many people? But when I experienced it myself, I understood. You arrive inside a team that already exists, and you must find your place very quickly.

Swati: When I spoke about loneliness, it wasn’t really about the shoot itself. It’s more the travelling — meeting people once and maybe not seeing them again for years. On set you are part of the process, but you also have to adapt. Everyone already knows each other; they’ve had meetings before. You learn when to speak, when to step back, how to read the energy. That adaptability is part of modelling.

A Paris home shaped by India

The campaign unfolds largely inside their apartment — an Haussmannian flat layered with Indian objects gathered slowly over decades.

Sanguitta: I wanted something modern but with Indian touches. At the entrance we have a large Indian horse, and a South Indian temple door that actually opens into a powder room. I like objects for what they are used for, not only as decoration.

The door was shipped from India more than twenty years ago.

Sanguitta: We waited four months. It didn’t matter. Some things are worth waiting for.

India remains central to their lives. The family travels often and is currently building a home near Auroville, seeking nature after years of urban life.

Swati: We spent every summer in India growing up — months together with family. Paris was home, but India always felt like another version of home.

Growing up between cultures

Sanguitta’s story stretches further still. Raised by diplomat parents, she grew up across Nigeria, Djibouti, Togo, Mauritania and French Polynesia before settling in France to study law, later building her own career in finance as an entrepreneur.

Sanguitta: I always had a lot of energy. When I arrived in France people were less open then. In law school no one spoke to me at first — they literally showed me their backs — but I kept going. Later I realised most of my friends were foreigners too. When I moved to Paris, everything changed. The diversity gave me freedom.

Swati inherited a different version of hybridity.

Swati: Family life was very Indian — weddings, food, summers in Pondicherry — but education and daily life were French. I didn’t speak the language when I went to India, and people immediately knew I was mixed. It was never an identity crisis, just… interesting. Later I realised how lucky I was. Knowing two cultures teaches you adaptability — how to understand people quickly.

Travel, she adds, became almost instinctive within the family.

Swati: We always grew up moving, discovering new places. I think none of us feels completely settled in one place, and maybe that comes from my mum’s childhood.

On style, inheritance, and what mothers pass down

When I ask what they admire about each other, the conversation shifts immediately.

Sanguitta: She is love. Not only empathy — generosity. I feel grateful she chose our family.

Swati laughs before answering.

Swati: She was everything at once — mother, friend, emotional support. We were allowed to cry, to feel things. She showed me you can be a strong businesswoman and still have emotions. I always felt safe.

Style, too, becomes inheritance.

Swati: She never followed trends. She hated logos. Everything was chic but effortless. Even now I ask her advice before dressing.

Sanguitta: My style is eclectic. I see things first in my mind. I love materials — touching fabrics, mixing prints — but comfort is essential. If I don’t feel comfortable, I cannot wear it.

Wearing Kanika Agarwal

Both women return repeatedly to the same word: natural.

Swati: When you put the coat on, it’s even more beautiful than you expect. The tailoring is incredible — elegant but not forced. It makes you feel confident. It’s the kind of piece you keep for decades and pass on. We have different bodies, but we felt the same wearing it.

Sanguitta: For me, success is when clothing feels like a second skin. With Kanika’s pieces, it disappears — you simply feel yourself.

The image that stayed

Both choose the same photograph from the shoot — standing together on a staircase, facing the camera.

Swati: We look similar, but you can still see our personalities. It’s strong but soft at the same time.

Sanguitta: When I saw the images, I felt tenderness. It will remain a memory for a long time.

The campaign ultimately becomes less about debuting a designer and more about continuity: clothes moving between generations, identities shaped across continents, and the quiet intimacy of recognising yourself — not only in a mirror, but in another woman standing beside you.

In Kanika’s world, fashion does not begin with trends. It begins with women looking at one another, and recognising something familiar.

Credits:

Photographs by Julien T. Hamon

With Justina Ageitos, Swati Eck, Sanguitta Samy

Styling by Manvi Bhatnagar

Casting by Barbara Nicoli & Leila Ananna

Hair by Katrin Sachenko

Make-up by Isis Moenne-Loccoz

Assisted by Florene Lorente, Yiouli Itskou, Nicolas Guichard, Gaïl Marimoutou

Produced by Some Production

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