Dear friends,
If you’re reading these words, it means you’ve chosen to be part of this more intimate circle. I want to use this space to share something deeply important with you: my creative process. Not the short version I give in interviews or on a website, but the one I live every day — in my studio, in my doubts, in my emotions.
I discovered sewing very young. I was ten years old when I first touched my mother’s old sewing machine. I still remember the sound, the rhythm, the feeling of turning a piece of fabric into something new. It felt almost magical. But over time, I drifted away from it. I didn’t know where I belonged, and society made me feel like this wasn’t the “normal” path for a boy. So I turned to other outlets — the guitar, skateboarding, other ways to express myself and figure out who I was. Yet sewing never disappeared. It was always there, waiting for me.
When I came back to it, it was in the most instinctive way. I started by deconstructing thrifted clothes, tearing them apart, reshaping them, bringing them back to life. I was learning on my own, without rules, without teachers, guided only by intuition. It wasn’t perfect, but it was liberating. And in truth, that’s still what drives me today: the freedom to create without censoring myself.
Creating through emotions
My studio is a living space. When I create, I go through a whole spectrum of emotions. I can cry, sing, laugh, or dance in the middle of fabric and patterns. It’s never a neutral act — it’s a total, physical, sometimes cathartic experience. All of it ends up in my clothes. Every stitch, every form, carries a trace of those emotions.
I’ve also learned to cultivate a kind of deliberate naivety. It’s what allows me to stay honest, to keep going without being swallowed by expectations or trends. That naivety keeps my work alive. It protects me from cynicism, from repetition, from becoming just another brand.
Human inspirations
I never really create alone. Even though the garments are made with my own hands, the presence of people around me is always there. I call my friends and my models my “kittens.” It might sound playful, but in reality, it describes a deep complicity. They inspire me, encourage me, and reflect back what I try to express. Without them, the process would feel dry. With them, it becomes a dialogue, a dance, a game.
My aesthetic
Visually, my universe is about simplicity. I’m drawn to clean lines, structured silhouettes, sober colors. Black has always had a strong place in my collections because it forces me to focus on form and texture rather than decoration or excess.
People often describe my work as minimalist, and I think that’s true. But for me, minimalism isn’t about absence — it’s a language. It’s about stripping away the unnecessary so the essence can speak. I want my pieces to be timeless, to outlive trends and still carry their strength years later.
Streetwear has shaped me too. The oversized fits, the comfort of everyday clothes, that raw cultural energy — it’s all part of my DNA. But what interests me most is to reshape it into something more personal, more emotional.
My values
Creating isn’t only about making beautiful clothes. For me, it’s also about responsibility. Every fabric I choose has a story. I try to source materials with care: cotton woven and dyed locally, linen cultivated in respectful conditions, transport planned to reduce the carbon footprint.
I make sure that the people behind the process are respected, that their working conditions and their wages honor their contribution. Because I don’t believe a garment has true value unless every hand that touched it is valued too.
And I believe in something simple: we don’t need to keep buying more. I like to encourage outfit repeating, garment transformation, and slower consumption. Fashion can still be a way to express who we are — without feeding into endless overconsumption.
What I want to share
Through every collection, I tell stories. They’re often personal ones, tied to my adolescence, my doubts, my dreams. But I hope they resonate with you as well. Because what I want isn’t just to show clothes — it’s to create a space of sharing, a conversation.
I don’t see myself as a “brand” in the traditional sense. I see myself as a human being using clothing as a language. Each garment is a letter, each collection a chapter.
By sharing this process with you, I feel like I’m opening the door to my studio. I hope these words help you see my creations in a new way: not simply as clothes, but as fragments of a path, reflections of emotions, pieces of a story that we’re writing together.
Thank you for being here, for supporting me, for reading these words. Your presence gives meaning to everything I do.
With affection,
Guillaum
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