Meet the Makers

When Rob and I started this, we made a decision that shaped everything after it. We would not open a factory. We would not rent one either.

Instead, we brought the work to where life was already happening. Sewing machines in family compounds. Dye pots in courtyards. A mostly female team, working from their own homes, on their own rhythm, with their children close by. The garment gets made inside a life, not instead of one.

People sometimes ask why we chose the harder way. The honest answer is that it never felt like a choice. How something is made lives inside the thing itself. You can feel it when you put it on. I wanted every piece we send out into the world to carry the feeling of a home.

The turning point

Before the world changed, we had factories. One in India, one in the United States. When we moved to Bali, we began building something quieter alongside them, a network of artisans making our pieces from their homes. It started on intuition. It grew on trust.

Then 2020 arrived, and both factories closed. The industry around us collapsed. But the home network was already alive, already working, already whole. So instead of shrinking, we grew it. Family by family, through the hardest years this industry has seen.

Today, more than thirty Balinese families make everything we sell. Every one of them is paid a real living wage. That has been true from the beginning and it is not negotiable.

What a living wage means here

We use the words living wage carefully, because the industry does not.

It means the people who make your clothing are paid enough to live well where they live. Enough for their homes, their children's schooling, their ceremonies, their days off. It means no one is racing a quota. A piece takes the time it takes. Our botanical dyes alone can hold a garment for days before a single seam is sewn.

This is why we make in small batches and to order. It is why some pieces ask you to wait two or three weeks. The wait is not a flaw in the system. The wait is the system, and it is the reason a family in Bali gets to build a life around this work.

We are gathering names, portraits and words from the families who make our pieces, with their consent, family by family. Some prefer not to be photographed, and we honor that fully. This page will hold their faces as they are ready to share them, not before.

The standard they hold

The women and men who make our pieces are not producing fashion. They are practicing a craft, and it shows in the standard we ask every garment to meet.

Before a design earns its place in the collection, it has to survive being worn. Thirty times at minimum. One hundred and eight times for the pieces we intend to be passed down. Natural fabric, botanical dye, seams sewn by someone whose name we know. These are clothes made to outlast the year you bought them, and then some.

No two dye batches are exactly alike. That is not a caveat. That is the point.

What you're wearing

When you wear one of our pieces, you are wearing hours from someone's home. Morning light in a courtyard in Bali. A dye pot tended for days. A seam sewn while a child slept in the next room.

I think you can feel that. I think it is part of why you are here.

With love from Bali,
Myrah