There’s always something a little different about the weeks following runway season. For a while, everything moves fast. The days are long, the nights are short, ideas are constantly flowing, projects are taking shape, and we move from one thing to another without really having the time to stop. The preparations, the stress, the last-minute changes, the encounters, the adrenaline, and that kind of euphoria that makes us feel like anything is possible. Then, almost overnight, it all settles down. The shows are over, and life returns to its usual rhythm. We go back to orders, emails, running our businesses, and all those little things that never really stop. And somewhere in the middle of all that, with the changing seasons, shorter days, and the sun becoming less and less present, everything starts to feel a little heavier to carry.

I think this is a reality we don’t talk about enough, especially when you’re an entrepreneur working in a creative field. We see the good moments, the projects coming to life, the runway shows, the photos, the collections, and everything that comes with them. But we see much less of what happens in between those moments. The quieter periods, the weeks when orders are few and far between, the financial worries, the questions we ask ourselves about what comes next, and that constant pressure to keep moving forward, even when we’re not entirely sure which direction to take. When your work is so deeply connected to who you are, it can sometimes be difficult to separate the highs and lows of your business from the highs and lows of your own life. Some days, everything seems to be working out, and other days, you simply find yourself wondering whether you’re doing things right.

Lately, I’ve been feeling particularly nostalgic. Rainy days like today bring back so many memories, different periods of my life, everything I’ve built with Guillaum Chaigne, and everything I’ve been through to get where I am today. Looking back, I realize just how much has happened since I started my brand. The collections, the runway shows, the encounters, the projects that sometimes felt completely unrealistic but eventually became part of my story. There’s a lot of pride in all of that, of course, but there’s also a certain melancholy. Time passes, things change, and there are versions of ourselves we’ll never quite be able to return to. I believe we can be deeply grateful for what we’ve accomplished while still feeling a certain sadness when looking back on the journey. One doesn’t necessarily exist without the other.

And then there’s seasonal depression. I find that the changing seasons can sometimes amplify emotions that were already there. The fatigue, the lack of motivation, the nostalgia, the worries, and that strange feeling of moving in slow motion while everything around us keeps going. For me, this time of year also comes with a particular kind of contrast: I’m coming out of intense weeks when my brain is constantly working, when I have a thousand things to think about at once. Then, suddenly, there’s silence. I have to return to everyday life, accept that things won’t always be as exciting, and keep running a business that demands so much, even when things slow down. And when you’re self-employed, a quiet period doesn’t necessarily mean you get to rest. Sometimes, it simply brings a whole new set of questions and worries.

I’m not going to pretend I’ve found a magic formula for getting through all of this. There are days when I feel good, when ideas are flowing and I want to change the world from my studio. Then there are other days when everything feels heavier, when I have to push myself a little harder just to get my day started, and when I simply wish things were a little less complicated. I’m slowly learning to accept that my energy won’t always be consistent and that I don’t need to be in a period of constant productivity to feel like I’m moving forward. That’s probably one of the hardest things to understand when you’ve spent so much time building something: realizing that your worth isn’t defined solely by what you produce, what you sell, or what you manage to accomplish in a day.

Thankfully, there’s always creation. And right now, I think I need it more than ever. I’m deeply immersed in prototyping, experimenting, exploring new ideas, and doing all those little things I love making with my own hands. I spend time in my studio tinkering, trying things out, transforming materials, figuring things out, and bringing ideas to life that don’t necessarily need to become products or collections right away. I put on some good music, I dance, I create, I start over, I make mistakes, and sometimes I end up making something that brings a smile to my face without ever having planned it that way. And honestly, it feels incredibly good.

I think I needed to reconnect with that relationship I have with creation. Not necessarily the side that comes with deadlines, launches, sales, or the expectations I place on myself, but the side that exists simply because I love making things. The side that brings me back to why I started creating in the first place. Before the collections, before the runway shows, before everything that comes with running a brand day to day, there was simply this desire to make things, transform things, imagine possibilities, and see how far I could go. That part of me has never really disappeared, but I think it can sometimes get buried beneath all the responsibilities that come with turning your passion into your livelihood.

So lately, I’ve been trying to make a little more room for it. I’m allowing myself to explore ideas without knowing exactly where they’ll lead. I’m taking the time to do things I enjoy, even if they’re not immediately profitable or don’t fit into a specific plan. I’m less focused on making something perfect and more interested in rediscovering the pleasure of spending time creating. It might sound simple, but when you’re constantly working to grow a business, it becomes easy to turn every idea into a project, every project into a goal, and every goal into another source of pressure. Sometimes, I just want to make something because it makes me happy. And I think that’s reason enough.

That doesn’t mean the nostalgia disappears, the financial worries go away, or the grey days suddenly become easier. I still have to get up, answer emails, prepare orders, think about what comes next, and deal with the realities of being an entrepreneur. There are still moments when I feel caught in that seasonal fog and have to make a conscious effort to find my momentum again. But I’m trying to understand that taking care of myself is also part of the work. That slowing down doesn’t necessarily mean moving backward, and that quieter periods can also become spaces where something new begins to take shape, even if I’m not yet able to put it into words.

Ultimately, I think this is what I wanted to share today. Behind the projects, the clothes, the runway shows, and everything we get to see from the outside, there’s simply a human being trying to find his balance, just like everyone else. Someone who deeply loves what he does but is also learning to live with the harder periods that come with that passion. Right now, I’m not necessarily trying to get back to the euphoria of the past few years. Instead, I’m trying to find happiness in the little things: in my studio, in the ideas taking shape, in the music playing a little too loud, and in those moments when I’m so absorbed in what I’m doing that I forget, even if only for a few hours, about everything that’s weighing on me.

The runway lights have gone out for the season, but that doesn’t mean everything has come to a stop. There are still things to discover, ideas to explore, and parts of myself I want to let express themselves in new ways. For now, I’ll keep creating, experimenting, dancing around my studio, and trying to bring a little light into the grey days. Not because it fixes everything, but because it makes me feel good. And right now, I think that’s already a lot.