Luxury magazine: December 2022

How Robbie Williams found solace in art. By Selina Denman

In Ed Godrich, music star Robbie Williams has found his creative doppelganger.

The duo met when Godrich, in his former guise as an interior designer, was enlisted to decorate Williams’s London home more than a decade ago. Once the project was completed, they remained close friends and, united by a shared love of art, music and all things 1980s, eventually joined creative forces.

Williams talks of their shared sensibilities and similar experiences as young men in their early twenties, but also about their mutual appreciation for “the overpowering nature of what music means to you and what images mean to you, and the indelible, beautiful stain they leave on your soul”.

The fruits of this partnership were unveiled in May, when Williams and Goodrich presented their first collection of artworks in London, in a solo exhibition organised by Sotheby’s. Their second body of work made its debut at Sotheby’s Dubai on November 30, in an exhibition titled Black and White Paintings II, which is on until December 16 and features 15 new works in the duo’s distinct style.

They are abstract, multilayered and monochromatic, dominated by white swirls that evolve into animal-like faces before tapering off into more ambiguous shapes and forms. Every time you look, there is something new to see.

“They are childlike paintings for naughty grown-ups,” Williams quips. “I think you can feel where we’ve been and you can feel what it’s meant to us and you can feel that there is a humour in the darkness. If you can relate to these paintings, you can relate to us.”

While the 14 works unveiled in London all had female names that were particularly common in the UK in the 1980s, this second collection has been granted with male monikers from the same era. There’s Alan, Brian, Clive, Mike, Simon, Steve, and even Trevor. Collectively, they are an expression of nostalgia – singularly spontaneous yet deeply rooted in a very specific time.

“The one thing you absolutely cannot deny is it is a super authentic process for them,” says Hugo Cobb, contemporary art specialist at Sotheby’s. “It’s a very real thing, something that is hugely personal and important to these artists.

“These are not carefully planned art works. The traditional way to make a painting would be to create a sketch or a study and build it up from there. This is coming from a completely different direction. They work listening to music; it is very fluid and very instinctive, and the canvases are built up like that.”

For Williams, it was Exit through the Gift Shop, a 2010 documentary directed by Banksy, that first planted the idea that perhaps art wasn’t the exclusive reserve of a gifted few. It was an alternative medium that offered an opportunity for him to flex new creative muscles. But even in this parallel realm – far from recording studios, record-breaking albums and world tours – music remains the driving force.

His own early interest in art was fuelled by the images he saw on album covers, from the graphics on electro albums and the image of a plane on the Beastie Boys’s Licensed to Ill, to Guns & Roses’ Appetite for Destruction and Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by The Beatles. Rave culture, acid house and early hip-hop are among the many things that Williams and Godrich have bonded over, and music is integral to their creative process.

“Music is being listened to very very loudly when the work is happening,” Godrich says. “The paintings reflect the music we listen to – normally electronic dance music, which is why they have a lot of movement in them. I think if we listened to something quieter and slower, the paintings would be very different, so it’s a very important part of the process.”

It sounds like quite an intense set-up, but both agree there is something deeply meditative about the process. “You don’t struggle with intrusive thoughts,” Williams says. “You don’t struggle with your own lack of self-worth. You are just in the moment.

“So it is meditative. There are these primal beats that are being created by modern technology, but while that is happening around us, it facilitates something very human.”

Williams is apparently in charge of “the stop moment” – of deciding when the painting is done. Their mutual trust is implicit, they say. That they are in sync is obvious even as they talk. Williams is in a hotel room in Germany and Godrich is in his studio in the UK, but neither distance nor the technological barriers of Zoom stop them from finishing each others’ sentences or looking to each other for confirmation as they make a particular point.

More than two and a half decades since he embarked on his solo career, Williams has come to the realisation that there is value in being part of a team. “It’s more fun being in Take That because it’s a shared experience,” he says with a wry grin.

“But there is also the ego that wants to take charge of every single option available to you, which is why I sit in my solo career. Nobody truly knows what it is to be a Robbie Williams. I don’t get to turn to anybody, apart from the mirror, and say this is [messed] up or this is exciting.

“But I get to share this. With this, we do get to look at each other when we think something we’ve created is exciting and to share that.

“It’s like when you write a song and you get excited because it’s something that the 14-year-old you would love. It’s the same with paintings. When you’ve done something or created something that you would buy, or put up in your own house, there is something very satisfying about that moment.”

The work shown so far “is just the first album”, Williams maintains. He’s hoping for many more, perhaps even a greatest hits compilation or two. “I see us building hotels and doing the interiors of those hotels. I’ve got big plans for this.

“My feeling for this is not monetary, although I will welcome anything we make from it. My feeling for this is: Where can we take it? How big can it be? It’s the satisfaction of doing something creative in the name of creativity. It’s unleashing the mind and seeing what is up there and what we, and I, are capable of.”

Williams says he has avoided reading any reviews of the works, but is clearly conscious that judgment of his artistic capabilities may be coloured by his not inconsiderable celebrity. “I was scared about metaphorically having my head kicked in,” he says of the duo’s London debut. “That jump from music into the art world isn’t necessarily one that is encouraged by the people that view it.

“We had to be very careful about what the first glimpse of this partnership was. Because one bad stone could sink the ship. But the things that have been seen now are a small arm of what we are going to achieve,” he adds.

It has taken Williams and Godrich five years to reach this point, from their first attempt in the garage of Williams’s Los Angeles home, where, having acquired “more paint than you’ve ever seen before”, the pair began the laborious process of developing a style that felt authentic.

“We were stood there, in the garage, looking at the paints and looking at our backboards and going: ‘Okay, now what?” Williams recalls. “And then, through a series of happy mistakes and relentless beard scratching and puzzlement and confusion and self hatred, but mainly through the endeavour of not giving up, we have reached a process.

“It’s sort of like ‘Carry on Painting’.”

Tales of the Nile

Bold colours and majestic sequins play out against Aswan’s Nubian buildings and ancient temples

Fashion director: Sarah Maisey
Photographer: Noemi Otillia Szabo
Hair and make-up: Carolyn Gallyer at Stella Creatives
Model: Mei at Uno Models
Shot on location in Aswan, Egypt

Sarah Maisey rounds up a selection of emerging regional brands across fashion, jewellery and accessories

Sentire Studio
Sentire Studio was launched 18 months ago by Saleh Kelarge, a Syrian living in Spain. “The word sentire means to express, a form of self-expression, in Spanish,” he explains.

“I am from Aleppo in Syria and came to Europe when I was 13 or 14, when the civil war started. It’s been very hard for me to fit in and express myself.”

Despite more than a decade spent living in various countries across Europe, Kelarge has struggled to escape the prejudices that surround him. “There are always such misconceptions about Arabs and Arabic brands. Since I am from Syria, people pity me and put a label on me, because of the war. That’s why I have separated my personal life from the brand, so people just see my designs.”

With a clean, minimalist aesthetic, Kelarge’s style is closer to that of German designer Jil Sander, or old Celine, than, say, Elie Saab. And while battling preconceptions has been difficult, they have ultimately forced him to do things his own way. “It led to me creating my own path, to show the world this is what I can do,” he says.

When he initially launched his brand, people weren’t sure how to react to his sophisticated, understated creations. Now, three seasons later, he is pleased to see that attitudes are “starting to change, when they see the design, the craftsmanship”.

Uprooted by the war, Kelarge never had the opportunity to finish his education, so he is a largely self-taught designer. “Every time I applied to finish my education, I got rejected because I don’t have sufficient documents, so I had to learn everything about design, creating garments and craftsmanship from scratch,” he says.

“Everyone I work with is highly skilled. In the knitwear factory, for example, there are 60-year-old women making my pieces by hand. They have the skills to make it perfectly, inside and out. The whole point of my brand is high-end design and high-end craftsmanship.”

For Kelarge, design is not only about creating beautiful garments, but “about trying to find beauty in the everyday. That’s why I play around with details; each season I try to find a new collar or new buttons. It’s for people who see the beauty in simplicity.”

Despite everything he has been through and the racism he has endured, he is confident about the future. His greatest hope is to no longer be pigeonholed. “My label is for everyone and I think there is a small niche space for me to operate in. Working from both sides to form a bridge.”

Ellevens
At the age of 33, Saada Domloge already has two brands under her belt.

Born in Syria and raised in Abu Dhabi, Domloge launched her first venture, a jewellery line called Fabula, in 2015, with Darine Abu Salim, before venturing in a very different direction this year with a range of sunglasses called Ellevens.

For Domloge, the link between the two is entirely natural. “My obsession with jewellery and sunglasses started at a very young age. I used to dress up in my mother’s jewels and accessories, head to toe,” she says. Playing with handfuls of jewellery and piling on the sunglasses in her mother’s wardrobe triggered a fascination for both that she has never grown out of.

However, it was a search for the perfect pair of sunglasses that eventually led to her bringing out her own line. “I always looked for unique designs,” she says. Frustrated at not being able to find anything interesting and unusual, it dawned on her that perhaps she needed to do it herself.

She now offers unique styles named after celebrities such as Cher, Freddie, Madonna, Hadid and Lennon, which shift in style from edgy triangles with cut-outs, to lozenge shapes and diamante-encrusted cat-eyes.

What they all have in common is the four thin white stripes adorning the tip of the arm – which is the Ellevens signature.

Termeh
With its handmade, hand-painted Afghan shoes, Termeh is the very definition of an ambitious start-up. The brand launched only eight months ago, even though the concept was conceived earlier. “We had been meaning to do this for a while, but sorting out the supply chain and logistics, both within Afghanistan and from there to the UAE, took time,” says co-founder Neelum Nazir.

The concept of Termeh is simple: it sells espadrilles that are hand-painted, combining two distinct, artisanal skills. “A travel blogger friend came across a group of amazingly talented ladies on a visit to Afghanistan. They weave espadrilles and paint on clay pottery,” she says.

“The friend connected us to them and we shared a few designs to see if they could replicate the painting on shoe fabric. We were amazed. Not only did they paint with precision, they added their own artistic touches, and Termeh was formed that day. We wanted to do whatever it took to bring their creativity to the UAE,” Nazir adds.

Both co-founders – Nazir and Nessa Mohammad – are aware of the importance of supporting small communities. “Growing up in Karachi, I saw groups of Afghan refugees who fled war, leaving behind everything, just trying to make ends meet in a new country. Their stories stayed with me and I always had a soft spot for these people, for what they had endured. It was just our luck that we discovered these craftswomen, whose skill set deserves an international platform,” Nazir says.

“We are able to support them by financing the bulk purchase of raw material, enabling better rates, giving them access to better tools and supplies, providing better wages and giving their product access to international markets.”

Not only does every purchase help these women, clients can also customise. The shoes are available in three hues, but designs are varied. “People loved the idea of being able to create a bespoke pair of shoes. We get requests to customise shoes with personal messages or for special occasions.”

Rasha Mansour
Rasha Mansour started her eponymous jewellery line during the pandemic, almost by accident. “I started this brand without knowing I was starting it,” the Dubai resident says.

“I was in a corporate job, and a friend and I went to a store and saw a piece of jewellery we liked, but it was insanely overpriced. We have a family jeweller who has been making our accessories for 20 years, so I said to my friend: ‘Let him make it for you.’ When she wore it, other friends all wanted one too.”

The piece in question was a map of Egypt, a nation that has fascinated Mansour for years. “I studied Egyptian mythology for 15 years, including the Book of the Dead and hieroglyphics,” she explains.

It sparked a desire to share her knowledge through jewellery. “I started creating, and then I couldn’t stop. In seven months I created 77 pieces.” These include rings, bangles, pendants and earrings, all made in precious stones and 18 carat gold because, as she notes: “Ancient Egypt shouldn’t be depicted in 6 carat gold.”

Symbols such as the Ankh and the lotus, which all carry rich meanings, feature in the pieces. The lotus, for example, represents rebirth and new beginnings, something Mansour fully relates to.

“For me, this has been something of a rebirth because with Covid, we all lost three years of our lives. The Ancient Egyptians spent their whole life preparing for death; this world meant nothing to them.”

While everyone knows about the riches of the ancient civilisation, Mansour also sees a lot of misunderstandings, such as with the dog-headed god Anubis. “People think he is evil, but he just guides spirits to the next life,” she says. Same, too, with the Book of the Dead. “I know it sounds sombre, but it’s not, it’s almost a guide to life. It’s beautiful.

“The Ancient Egyptians believed that when you died, your heart had to be lighter than a feather – this was one of the 12 rules of Ma’at, the goddess of the afterlife. What’s interesting is these rules are also in the Quran and the Bible. It’s amazing.”

With symbols such as a serpent head, Bastet the cat and the Eye of Horus, the brand is already attracting fans, including Egyptian actress Mona Zaki.

“She found me four months after I started. I gave her the ring I called Golden Parade, and she said: ‘How did you know?’”

Unbeknownst to most, Zaki was about to take part in last year’s Pharaohs’ Golden Parade, when Egyptian mummies were relocated from Cairo’s Egyptian Museum to their new home at the National Egyptian Museum of Civilisation. “It was a pure coincidence. And then she said: ‘What are we going to do for the Cairo Film Festival?’”

Second Summer
As the brainchild of Carmel Harrison, ex-editor of Emirates Woman and Elle Arabia in Dubai, it’s perhaps no surprise that clothing brand Second Summer is all about looking effortlessly bohemian.

Taking its cues from the summer vibes of Ibiza, the brand, like many others, was born during Covid. “I had had enough of magazines,” Harrison explains.

“I did fashion buying and product development at university and said to my sister: ‘I want to launch a summerwear range, will you do it with me?’ She is really good at logistics and finance – the opposite of me – and then my friend Amy, who has designed swimwear for 10 years, said she would love to be involved. It was perfect.”

Launching in 2020 with a tiny range, the fledgling label was an instant success. “We started with six beige linen pieces, and on the first day we made £10,000 ($11,880).”

The brand, which has recently introduced swimwear, is centred around season-less slow fashion inspired by the Balearic Islands. “We have been going to Ibiza for 15 years and have grown up with it. We used to go with friends and now we go with husbands and kids. It’s our place to escape. You are barefoot, in a sarong and carefree. I wanted the brand to capture that spirit – carefree and loose.”

Using only 100 per cent pure linen, and swimwear made with Oeko-Tex® certified nylon that completely biodegrades in three years, this is conscious fashion at its best. Even the dyes used are eco-friendly.

Leaning into Harrison’s experience as a stylist, the collections are deliberately designed to be mixed and matched. “We do two capsule collections a year, and everything can be worn about ten different ways.

“Even when we shoot campaigns, we use pieces from previous summers, to help teach customers how to style it themselves. We call it the building blocks of a complete holiday summer wardrobe. You can take eight pieces of Second Summer on holiday and you have about 20 outfits. Even the swimwear can be worn as a top in the evening. That’s the ethos of the brand.”

With laid-back cuts and unfussy silhouettes, this is about minimal dressing for hot weather. With the women behind it all juggling full-time jobs, children and the label, Second Summer aims to keep things uncomplicated. And with stock about to be warehoused in Dubai for the first time, shoppers in the UAE can soon enjoy next-day delivery.

Suzy Tamimi
Suzy Tamimi is an American designer who is immensely proud of her Arab heritage.

“I am the daughter of two Palestinian immigrants who came to America in the 1970s. I have always been really passionate about my culture, but never felt Palestinians were represented anywhere. It was kind of lonely.

“I was 10 years old the first time I went to Palestine and I was heart-broken with what I saw. Even at that age, I could feel that something was seriously wrong. But why wasn’t anyone paying attention to it? Why was no one standing up for my people?”

Inspired by a dress her mother had made for her in Bethlehem, with traditional Palestinian embroidery on velvet (“I still have it,” she says), Tamimi immersed herself in the world of fashion and design, eventually landing in New York, working for the label threeASFOUR. “They are very avant garde, but what made me gravitate to them was that one designer is Palestinian and one is Israeli Jewish.”

Inspired to begin designing under her own name, a chance introduction paved the way for what her brand would become: American streetwear fused with traditional Palestinian embroidery.

“A friend introduced me to Hanan Munayyer, collector, curator and author of my favourite book, Traditional Palestinian Costume. She has a collection dating back more than 100 years. I went to her house and she asked if we would be interested in buying some embroidery remnants. I got to pick out what I wanted, and still have some chest panels I will not touch. I hold them like treasures – it’s not just fabric, it’s history and resilience. It says: ‘I am still here’.”

Moved by the connection to her heritage, Tamimi saw an opportunity to bring it to a wider audience. “I thought, why don’t I give new life to this fabric, so it doesn’t just sit in a bag? These are stories that need to be kept alive. That was the beginning.”

Now Tamimi has carved a name for herself, adorning streetwear with Palestinian embroidery, using motifs that stretch back decades and are often unique to one specific village. In a deliberate move, the collections are genderless. “Why can’t men wear Palestinian hand embroidery? I think everyone should be able to wear it, and it’s beautiful that people want to learn about Palestine, and who Palestinians are.

“My whole point is I can sit and cry about what is happening, but that’s not getting any attention, or create something beautiful, so people become curious and want to know the history behind it.”

Tamimi has even added the embroidery to trainers, creating one-of-a-kind footwear. “I had the idea for about seven years. I made my first pair of sneakers – the We Will Return shoes. They were multicoloured, and I couldn’t believe it when I saw them. I thought to myself: ‘How can anyone not love these shoes?’

“It’s a one of one, so we aren’t just throwing embroidery on top. We are deconstructing the entire shoe, and cutting all the patterns from scratch. The embroidery is glued on to vegan leather and then sewn on by machine and then by hand.”

Seemingly tireless, Tamimi is always trying to find new ways to support the women in Palestine who are still making this embroidery. “I work with refugee women in Jenin in Palestine, who are taking custom orders for people, that I initiated. It’s always been my dream to work with these women and empower them. It’s such a joyful thing to be able to create a financial future for them.”

Atelier Bamboo
Atelier Bamboo is another small label with an unorthodox start. It was founded by Alexandra Tebay, a lawyer who divides her time between Abu Dhabi and Vienna, whose moment of epiphany came when she was looking for new curtains.

“I was renovating my apartment and looking for curtains, and was struck by this fabric of monkeys holding exotic umbrellas. I thought: ‘I can’t put that in a Vienna apartment, but I want it on a bag’.

“I knew exactly what it was going to look like, and that it had to have bamboo handles. Funnily, just next door was a shop selling bamboo handles. I called the tailor who was going to make my curtains and asked her to do a bag instead. She said: ‘Are you mad?’

“It was during Covid, so I had to ship everything to her and two weeks later, she sent the bag back. I had friends staying with me and they loved it and asked where I bought it. I called my tailor and told her she had two more clients. She said: ‘I swore to myself I would never do that again because it is so elaborate.’ It takes such a long time – 12 hours.”

It did not initially occur to Tebay that this could be a business opportunity. “I live in Abu Dhabi, where there is a certain resort lifestyle,” she says. It eventually dawned on her that she could contribute to that. The result is high-end, colourful bags in jaunty prints that are beautifully finished, and big enough to fit everything needed for the beach or a boat.

As someone who travels extensively and loves fashion (she also has a doctorate degree in sociology and fashion), Tebay knows her pieces are aimed at those who crave a story.

“My clients are art lovers who embrace uniqueness, not the mainstream. These are handcrafted, and you cannot buy them just anywhere.”

Despite being such a new brand, Atelier Bamboo is already sold in four countries – in the UAE, at Villa Yasmine, S*uce and O’de Rose, but also in the Seychelles, Cyprus and Lebanon.

Made to be practical, the sizes are generous. “One is really for resort and is 43 centimetres by 35cm, so you can easily fit all your beach things inside, or even a laptop. I made the small version because some women are more petite and wanted something less bulky. And then I have the pochette, in patterns like kimono flowers, that you can put a tablet in.”

While inspiration for each bag comes from the fabric itself, Tebay is open to requests. “People are asking me to look for exclusive fabrics that embody their own fauna and flora. I do my research and buy things in collections or stumble across things at auctions online,” she says.

The bags are grouped into “voyages”, based on the fabrics. These include Aquatic Voyages, Botanic Voyages, Chinoiserie Voyages, Monkey Business, Exotic Voyage and Voyage Extraordinaire, inspired by the works of Jules Vernes. “When you create for women who dare to travel, to explore, you don’t want an ordinary day. When you travel you want something extraordinary to happen to you.”

What sets her pieces apart is the level of detail. While the final bags are stitched in Abu Dhabi, each element has been painstakingly sourced. The piping, for example, is from France, while the metal clasp connecting the strap to the bag is made in Italy.

“I am very particular,” Tebay says. “The strap is cotton from Germany and assembled in Portugal, and then shipped to me. I sit with my tailor and we cut the fabric for each bag together, which is why it takes 12 hours to make each one. It’s artisanal.”

Lebanon looms large in the Nada Debs story. It is a muse, a catalyst for creativity and part of her quest to discover her identity – but is also a source of setbacks, frustration, heartbreak and trauma.

The designer tears up as she talks about everything the country has meant to her. It was where she was born, and where she returned to in 2000 after 40 years as an expat. She spent her childhood in Japan, studied at the Rhode Island School of Design in the US and then lived and worked in the UK, before coming full circle back to Lebanon.

“Lebanon opened so many doors for me,” the designer says. “I was in the right place at the right time. The civil war was over. A lot of people had moved abroad, studied and worked there, and wanted to come back to their roots. It wasn’t only me. There was a whole generation.”

To explore her own roots, Debs turned to design, becoming a pioneer in what she has dubbed a “neo-Arabian” aesthetic. She artfully combined the pure lines and simplified silhouettes that she had imbibed while living in Japan, with the geometric patterning and traditional crafts of the Middle East. In the process, she invented a whole new design vernacular. “I had to create my own path,” she says. “There was no one I could really look up to.”

Her creations struck a chord. As members of the Lebanese diaspora returned to the country, looking to reconnect with their heritage, Debs provided them with a physical manifestation of that journey. “It was also a self-journey. I needed to know,” she says.

At the time, traditional crafts in Lebanon were largely confined to backgammon sets and other cheap souvenirs. Debs elevated them and gave them a new guise. But there was no grand strategy in place.

She started designing at home, working with craftsmen who were largely resistant to her newfangled ideas. She had no sense of how to “position” her brand and no real interest in the business side of things. The realities of elements such as profit margins and KPIs only really came to the fore about a decade later, when Debs partnered with an NGO called Endeavour, which provides support and advice to medium-sized entrepreneurs.

“They were like: ‘What’s your profit margin?’ What? ‘Your KPIs?’ What? I had to go through this huge lesson. But it completely stalled my creativity. For several years, every time I wanted to design something, I’d think: ‘Oh no, the profit margins aren’t there.’ It stopped me. But over time, I found a balance,” she explains.

One gets the sense that Debs’s journey has been peppered with introspection and self-doubt. The path paved by a trailblazer can be lonely and riddled with insecurity. There’s infinite charm in her transparency, humility and vulnerability – rare in an age of stringent media training and social media-driven image control. But she admits to being her own worst critic.

“I have a no-nonsense approach. I always think, what can people criticise about this? I try to figure out all the potential loopholes and comments people might have and work around them, so the end product is filtered from all angles – in terms of functionality, quality and aesthetics.”

Along with her 20-year anniversary has come a renewed sense of freedom – a feeling that perhaps she has finally proved herself. “In the beginning, because I was an Arab designer, people weren’t that confident in what I was creating. I couldn’t sell expensive product or very high-end product, because why would they buy a local design? They would rather buy an Italian brand. It took all these years to build trust. And I feel, today, people are coming to me like they would come to a European designer.

“I feel that today, after 20 years, I can push. I’m free to be creative. I’ve always been so safe. I’ve always thought, I can’t push too far, I have to keep that ‘crafts’ look. I have to worry about pricing. Now maybe, I can worry a little less.”

In her most recent collection, presented at Dubai Design Week last month, this manifests in pieces such as a cane embroidery buffet table, hand-stitched by Palestinian craftswomen from the Inaash social enterprise. Using cane as a backdrop, instead of fabric, represents a novel approach for Debs, but the piece’s sculptural lines, stone top and brass detailing are all hallmarks of the designer’s signature style. For the Organic Console, she combines natural wood with mother-of-pearl legs, another classic Debs pairing. Gentle hues of green and blush dominate, while old favourites such as the Pebble table make a comeback. The Carved Lamp combines a bulbous wooden base with intricately carved geometric patterns and a red mashrabiya-effect shade, while the Funquetry Criss Cross unit features slimline shelves with barely-there patterning along the edges.

There’s talk of creating more limited-edition, collectible pieces, as well as a hospitality line and perhaps even a Nada Debs boutique hotel. This sense of new beginnings can also be attributed to the fact that Debs’s son, Tamer Khatib, recently joined the company. “He worked at Majid Al Futtaim, in finance, and he wanted to join my business. I was like, really? You want to join Nada Debs? And he said: ‘I want to see if I can take it to the next level’.

“So that changed my perspective. Maybe it’s not my personal journey anymore. It’s a brand and a family business and maybe it’s about leaving a legacy. So now it’s his turn.”

To mark her 20th anniversary, Debs worked with director Elie Fahed to create a short film that captures the ethos of the brand. “He took every single pattern that I’ve done and he presented it chronologically over 20 years. You know when people have a near-death experience and have a flashback of their lives? It was like that, in two and a half minutes. Every single pattern reminds me of a moment or an emotion and of all the hard work and perseverance.”

And still, two decades on, Lebanon looms large. The heady, hopeful days of the early 2000s may be gone, but in these darker times, in the wake of the port explosion and continued political and economic instability, Debs’s physical expressions of a neo-Lebanese and neo-Arabian identity are more important than ever.

“There is collective trauma and this sense of doom, like the end is coming,” she says. “So many people have left Lebanon, but we are still persevering. The explosion made us stronger because we have to keep that identity. They are erasing everything. The craftsmen – these are the people who are preserving our identity. They are representing us.”