Collection 1 — Look 2

This dress began as a tablecloth.

Not a pristine one—one that had lived.
One that had been folded and unfolded, washed and stained, pulled from drawers for holidays and ordinary Sundays alike. A tablecloth that knew hands, heat, crumbs, and time.

When I reinterpreted it into a maxi dress with a turtleneck, I wanted to keep all of that history intact. The marks stayed. The wear stayed. The fabric wasn’t cleaned of its past—it was elevated by it.

As I steamed the dress for the first time, something unexpected happened.
The smell came back.

Steam mixed with almond paste, flour, powdered sugar. That unmistakable scent of Italian cookies—especially the S cookies—cooling on the table, fresh from the oven. Clean fabric and warm sugar layered together. It stopped me in my tracks.

Suddenly I was a child again, watching my family make hundreds and hundreds of cookies for special occasions. Every surface of the house covered—tables, counters, chairs—lined with trays cooling before being packed into tins. Cookie tins collected over decades. Tins passed from hand to hand. Picked up by family. Dropped off at gatherings. Always meant to be shared.

What stayed with me most wasn’t just the smell, but the process.
The repetition.
The patience.
The quiet perfection of doing something the exact same way generation after generation.

The recipes were written on distressed, handwritten note cards—soft at the corners from years of use. The proportions were never small. No recipe ever made just a dozen cookies. Everything was measured for abundance. Enough for everyone. Enough so you could still sneak a few straight off the tray while they were cooling.

That’s what this dress represents to me.

Generations of shared knowledge.
Love passed through hands.
Practice, patience, and care repeated until it becomes instinct.

I attached my collection of buttons—ones I’ve been gathering for nearly fifteen years—like a timeline running down the back. Each button different. Each one chosen. Each one holding its own quiet history.

This garment was hand sewn slowly, deliberately, with the same kind of attention I watched growing up in kitchens filled with heat and laughter and flour-dusted hands.

Even without an abundance of material things, there is always an abundance of love.
And when love is practiced—over and over again—it becomes something you can feel, wear, and share.

This is Collection 1, Look 2.
A dress made from memory.
A dress made to hold generations.