ACIDSIIIA

Emotional craftsmanship. Cultural preservation. Contemporary nostalgia.

In my family, garments  were treated with deep care — they carried stories, not because we made them  ourselves, but because they travelled through time. Some pieces were passed from  parent to child, holding the memory of those who wore them before. I grew up seeing  how clothing could carry warmth, scent, and emotion, becoming a quiet archive of our  lives. Later, when words felt too fragile, I turned to making as a way to continue that  dialogue — to translate memory into form and texture.

When you live somewhere, you don’t always realise how much it means  to you — you think there are better places, different lives waiting elsewhere. But once  you lose that closeness, you start to see it differently. Distance made me listen more  carefully and appreciate the small things I once overlooked. It also made me think about  how to preserve what feels like it’s disappearing. My work has become a way to hold  onto those memories — the textures, colours, and moments that shaped me — and to  find a sense of home within them again.

Yes, many of these details are hidden — hand-finished seams, uneven edges, or textures  that reference folk garments. I often integrate felted or crocheted elements made by Ukrainian artisans, embedding small imperfections that feel human. These quiet  gestures are my way of honouring the past without making it overly visible — they exist  almost like whispers inside the garment.

They’ve taught me that craft is an act of resistance. Continuing  to create — to felt, to weave, to crochet — in times of instability is profoundly powerful.  It connects people across distance and keeps a cultural heartbeat alive. What moves me  most is that we are united by the same emotions — by fear, uncertainty, and also by  hope. Even when everything feels fragile, there’s something almost magical in the process of making it together. It gives a sense of light, of purpose, and a belief that beauty  can still exist in the middle of chaos.

For me, elegance is about presence — being slow and intentional in  how you move through the day and what you choose to wear. I see dressing as a quiet  moment of connection with yourself, a way to return to your body and to notice how  something feels against the skin. It’s not about appearance or perfection, but about care and awareness. To wear ACIDSIIIA is to take time — to appreciate texture, balance, and  silence. It’s a reminder that clothing can ground you, slow you down, and help you feel  present in your own rhythm.

I believe every garment can be a form of healing. Each piece carries traces of  the hands that made it and the energy of the moment it was created. There’s something  deeply comforting in clothing that wraps and protects the body — it creates a sense of  safety and closeness. When you feel the material against your skin, it becomes more than just fabric; it becomes a quiet reminder that you’re held, seen, and connected.