Notes on Colour

Colour, done this way, stops being a seasonal decision and becomes a quiet constant. We would rather build a palette you stop noticing, because it simply always works.

Notes on Colour

Every season, the industry announces a colour. A shade of green, a particular red, whatever a handful of runway shows agreed on six months earlier. We have never followed one.

Our palette has stayed largely the same since the first collection: sand, ivory, charcoal, olive, with occasional black. These are not colours chosen for excitement. They are chosen because they sit well against skin, against each other, and against time. A sand trouser bought three years ago still pairs easily with anything we make today.

Trend colours age quickly, and not gracefully. A garment in this year’s shade looks distinctly of this year by the next one, which is precisely the intention — it is designed to be replaced. We are not interested in designing for replacement.

There is also a practical case for restraint. A muted palette mixes with itself. Nearly anything in the collection can be worn with anything else, which removes a great deal of the friction from getting dressed. This is not a small thing. Decision fatigue is a real cost of a wardrobe full of colours that do not talk to each other.

We source our dyes from suppliers who use low-impact, largely plant-derived processes where possible, which also happens to produce the slightly uneven, warm tones we prefer over anything close to synthetic brightness. A charcoal from us will never quite match a charcoal from elsewhere. We consider that a feature.

Colour, done this way, stops being a seasonal decision and becomes a quiet constant. We would rather build a palette you stop noticing, because it simply always works.