Bähdi

The Bähdi is inspired by the delicate drape of mosquito nets over beds. I was captivated by the natural tucks and pulls of the fabric, finding beauty in the way it gathered and flowed. This organic movement reminded me of the makeshift garments-tied scarves and improvised wraps-worn by the women around me when they sought comfort from the heat while working in the privacy of their homes. Their spontaneous approach to dressing, effortlessly functional yet elegant, became a key influence in shaping the design of Bähdi and other designs.

Malla is the Spanish word for "mesh," and in this context, it refers to an overlay piece worn over dresses or tops. The design is also inspired by mosquito netting—the way it delicately drapes, protects, and interacts with movement. I vividly remember tying the net when it tore, carefully knotting it back together. That act of mending, of preserving something functional yet fragile, became a key influence in the creation of Malla. It embodies both practicality and elegance, capturing the beauty in improvisation and resilience.

I grew up immersed in needlework, constantly creating and stitching things by hand. My aunts were still teenagers when I was a child, and I was fascinated by the way they carried themselves. They would fill their baskets with makeup—piles of lip liners and lipsticks that seemed almost like treasures to me. Their bold lip colors stood out, becoming an essential part of the ’90s Latina aesthetic, deeply influenced by the iconic Chicana style. This signature look—darkly lined lips, matte finishes, and sharply defined features—was more than just a trend; it became a cultural statement that resonated throughout Latin America, shaping beauty ideals for generations.

Doxa envelops the body much like a mosquito net—delicate yet protective, sheer yet defining. The design features a sleek pencil skirt, structured with back yokes for a contoured fit, and ¼ front slits that add a subtle hint of movement and allure. What sets Doxa apart is its interplay with transparency—draped mesh elegantly cascades from the gloves and seamlessly integrates into the skirt’s side seams, creating a continuous, flowing silhouette. The result is both playful and provocative, as the eye is drawn to the soft folds of fabric, tracing the lines of the body in a way that feels both ethereal and intentional.

As a child, I wasn’t allowed to wear skirts, even though they were the mandatory uniform for girls. I was a bit of a tomboy—what the women in my family mockingly called a "Mari Macho." They used the term to spite me, a reminder that my rough edges didn’t align with their expectations of femininity. Because I wasn’t as delicate or poised as they believed a girl should be, they doubted my ability to carry myself with so-called "lady manners."

This experience shaped my design of Faldita, which translates to “little skirt”—an overlay piece worn over pants. It honors that pivotal moment in my childhood when I was the only girl in my school wearing pants like the boys—a silent rebellion that wasn’t truly my choice but rather an act of public punishment, enforced by both my family and the school. My feisty, untamed nature was something they sought to correct, yet it became the very foundation of my creative identity.

I grew up as a bit of a rough girl—tough and rebellious, yet still drawn to girly interests. My favorite genre of manga is delinquency, where strength, loyalty, and defiance take center stage. But in the world of anime and manga, everything is a battle—whether physical or emotional—and every fight fuels character growth. That ethos resonated deeply with me.

The women around me were fighters, not just in spirit but often out of necessity. They carried themselves with a raw, undeniable strength—unyielding, resilient, and powerful. They didn’t just endure; they commanded space. Inspired by them, I wanted this jacket to embody that presence.

I designed it to be oversized, with giant shoulder pads, deliberately masculine in its structure. I wanted it to feel like a cloak of power, a second skin that gives the wearer an illusion of strength—the same way animals puff out their chests to appear larger and more formidable.

Suel embodies a refined balance—cargo lux without excess. It embraces the utilitarian heaviness of cargo wear while maintaining an elevated, intentional design. The defining feature is a structured, attached bag at the back, spelling out the word “Motete.”

In the Dominican Republic, Motete is a slang term that loosely translates to “a bunch of things”—a catchall for an assortment of items, often carried in a single bundle. It reflects the everyday practicality and resourcefulness ingrained in Dominican culture. I wanted to capture that essence—the idea of carrying one’s world on their back, of movement, adaptability, and the effortless blending of function and style.