Mine is silver
At eight, I wanted silver leather Kickers. Moon-warrior shoes with fat eyelets and red-green dots on the heels. Tomboy boots, but metallic. The idea felt precious, like a secret that glowed. I spent my days in dunes, trees, mud. I wanted my feet to shine like satellites.
At thirteen, I decided my bedroom should shine too. Every week I’d bring home a roll of aluminum foil from the supermarket. When my father left town for a few days, I moved fast: one entire wall became a crumpled mirror. A blue spotlight like an aquarium. I was obsessed. No one else got it. I didn’t care.
Silver stayed. Shiny leather jeans, an Indian coat heavy with sequins, boots, brogues, a cashmere shawl stitched in real silver thread. There’s always something silver in my closet. My small glittering anchor.
It crept into my work. Embroidered linens, cotton voile kurtas, cushions finished in silver leaf. Indian ledgers I covered in crackled silver. A monochrome boutique in Ibiza: floor, walls, ceiling, furniture, everything. Insane. And somehow, it felt SO normal.
In India, I learned that drinking from silver keeps you healthy. Babies get a solid silver cup at birth. For life. I love that, half ritual, half practical. Then there are sweets: almond paste, spiced treats, wrapped in edible silver. It made me want to make jewellery. Still might. The idea lives in a notebook.
Every woman has a shine. Mine is silver. Understated, stubborn, mine.
Silver brilliant...
Let it all shine for YOU! ☀️
Greetings Jasmin