My love story with fashion started at the age of four, when I cut out the clothes in my mother’s Vogue magazines, carefully sticking them on pieces of paper and drawing women to wear each outfit.
The wolf calls to me, asking to be free.
Hungry, she paces up and down her enclosure, longing for the days where she ran, wind whipping through her fur and the taste of blood fresh on her tongue.
Described as the gateway drug to Asia, Hong Kong got under my skin, removing the veil to the East, leaving me wanting more. In five thrilling but emotional days, this city pushed me to my extremes, lost in a daze of jet lag, the days flew by, yet five months later, I still feel its aftershocks pulsating within me.
After thirteen years, who knew that a spark between two hearts, could so easily be reignited. Perhaps it never disappeared, but rather lay dormant, waiting for that serendipitous moment in time when you and I collided, and our love story was born.