FÁTOLI & HERS
When I was little, winter Sunday mornings were a glorious time. The smell of a slow-roasted dish in the oven, my bed messily done to demonstrate that this was a rest day, and the promise of a sunny afternoon to play with. My big sister used to arrive just before lunch, and I couldn't wait for the excitement of showing her my wardrobe.
My mother would choose the most beautiful coloured pantyhose to go with the tartans and tweeds that my father brought from England. She would also carefully select the most suitable hair hook, or the shoes or necklace that would mirror the colour of another part of the outfit.
My sister and I would passionately analyse this fashion, as if it carried the weight of a cinema premiere. I thought life couldn't get better than this, and at the time, colours were so vibrant and experiences so heightened.
Hugging my grandmother tightly, playing with my dog's little puppies, eating unplanned ice cream after school, it was all an eternal state of euphoria.
My name means light, and I can never forget the spirited irony of one of my first memories: my grandfather carrying me, swinging me up and down towards the ceiling lamp, telling me "Look, it's the light! See the light!".
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We do not remember days, we remember moments.”
Somewhere along the way, the feeling started to dissipate. At first, the little joys came greatly, then easily, and in the end, sporadically.
I felt, with a quiet resentment in the back, that maybe there are two completely different lives - one for the children and another for the adult. I continued my life, more mechanically than spontaneously, and would contemplate my younger years from a distance, as if approaching them could violate their serenity.
Due to a certain chain of events, the little surprises that give meaning to our days returned, and circumstances led to greater closeness with the people around me.
Roughly in the center: Alexandrino, with Rosa to his right, wearing what appears to be a Pucci-style dress.
At this moment, the visits to my grandparents became more frequent, and I grew more involved in their work. He, Alexandrino (LINK CRAFT), was a tailor, and she, Rosa (LINK CRAFT), was the tailoring specialist. The atelier had been founded in Porto in 1957, and by the time I entered their world, it had already shaped decades of stories and celebrations.
It was inspiring to see how much they impacted other people's lives. Not a day would pass without someone, recognising me as their granddaughter, telling me (with absolutely no rush and with great emotion) about the wedding suit made by them, or the tuxedo worn at the company's dinner.
My grandparents at a wedding, for which they tailored many of the suits worn by the guests.
In the 70s, entire lineages of men would have their suits made to measure in their atelier - the Fátoli atelier. The name spread to the neighbouring cities, featured in the grandest social affairs: a casino inauguration, a theatre premiere, a company's acquisition.
Even to this day, former clients share pictures of their creations, with a charged symbolism of a time when their lives felt full and expansive. They have become synonymous with celebration, a life's mark, something to remember.
Their atelier was where Portugal lived for me.
Rosa, on the left, attending yet another wedding of one of their clients.
It smelled like the smoke that came from chestnuts roasted in the streets, the taste of freshly baked biscuits when visiting a client's house, the green trees and narrow asphalt roads when driving to collect English fabrics.
What my grandparents gave their clients was a little magic felt in the chest, and that is what I wish to continue giving.
My grandparents dressed men. I design for women, from my own feeling.
What I wish to give them is not clothing. It is permission, to raise femininity as mythology, to imbue in every woman the same power present in Cleopatra, the same allure present in Marilyn, the same grace present in Kelly.
Our muse is the woman who enters the salon when she pleases. The room quiets and eyes follow. She is impossible to tame and impossible to look away from. And if she decides to leave halfway through, no one condemns her. No one could. There is a charm that sits above expectation, that disarms judgement before it forms.
We move by freedom and beauty in its purest form. A little magic in our chest… restless, asking for more. Our inner wonder must never die.
