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autumn winter collection 2013


The foliage a prism, projecting its colours on to the ground, on to her skin. She breathes slowly, shutting the noises out.


She could feel someone watching. Goosebumps creep up her arms. There is a densification of the autumn air and the grass is coated in a fresh, velvet dew. Turning around, she is facing her voyeur, the headless marble statue, once covered in colour, now the ivy riddled ruins’ pale guardian. The adjacent buildings witness her in silence as she moves towards the statue. - I feel sorry for you, missing your head, she whispers, carefully resting her cheek against the statue’s marble hip. But I do envy your curves. I wish they were mine. Or I wish I could wish they were mine. I bet you had so many children. Grabbing the plinth, she climbs up behind the naked woman and embraces her. The jagged edges of the neck scratch her cheek. The boundaries between the eternal stone and her flesh suddenly cease to exist. - Baby! Baby, come here and take a picture of us! He doesn’t react; too busy tinkering with his camera. Even from a distance, she recognises the body language. - Jesus Christ, what are you doing? He quickly glances around but they are alone. Get down from there! - Why? Just take my picture! - This place is hundred of years old - and you’re climbing all over it! That’s really disrespectful. - I wasn’t, I just… His lecture continues as they walk back to the train station. There is no memory of her and the statue and their momentary symbiosis. She looks over her shoulder. Her headless friend seems transparent under the pine trees, disappearing from her sight. Her mind drifts as he continues about the significance of the ruins. They are waiting for the train and she tries to ignore his looking through the pictures he took of himself.


pu peerc spmubesooG .gnihctaw enoemos leef dluoc ehS ria nmutua eht fo noitacfiisned a si erehT .smra reh gninruT .wed tevlev ,hserf a ni detaoc si ssarg eht dna elbram sseldaeh eht ,rueyov reh gnicaf si ehs ,dnuora delddir yvi eht won ,ruoloc ni derevoc ecno ,eutats ssentiw sgnidliub tnecajda ehT .naidraug elap ’sniur .eutats eht sdrawot sevom ehs sa ecnelis ni reh ,srepsihw ehs ,daeh ruoy gnissim ,uoy rof yrros leef I elbram s’eutats eht tsniaga keehc reh gnitser ylluferac .enim erew yeht hsiw I .sevruc ruoy yvne od I tuB .pih dah uoy teb I .enim erew yeht hsiw dluoc I hsiw I rO .nerdlihc ynam os


Grabbing the plinth, she climbs up behind the naked woman and embraces her. The jagged edges of the neck scratch her cheek. The boundaries between the eternal stone and her flesh suddenly cease to exist. - Baby! Baby, come here and take a picture of us! He doesn’t react; too busy tinkering with his camera. Even from a distance, she recognises the body language. - Jesus Christ, what are you doing? He quickly glances around but they are alone. Get down from there! - Why? Just take my picture! - This place is hundred of years old - and you’re climbing all over it! That’s really disrespectful. - I wasn’t, I just… His lecture continues as they walk back to the train station. There is no memory of her and the statue and their momentary symbiosis. She looks over her shoulder. Her headless friend seems transparent under the pine trees, disappearing from her sight. Her mind drifts as he continues about the significance of the ruins. They are waiting for the train and she tries to ignore his looking through the pictures he took of himself.


pu peerc spmubesooG .gnihctaw enoemos leef dluoc ehS ria nmutua eht fo noitacfiisned a si erehT .smra reh gninruT .wed tevlev ,hserf a ni detaoc si ssarg eht dna elbram sseldaeh eht ,rueyov reh gnicaf si ehs ,dnuora delddir yvi eht won ,ruoloc ni derevoc ecno ,eutats ssentiw sgnidliub tnecajda ehT .naidraug elap ’sniur .eutats eht sdrawot sevom ehs sa ecnelis ni reh ,srepsihw ehs ,daeh ruoy gnissim ,uoy rof yrros leef I elbram s’eutats eht tsniaga keehc reh gnitser ylluferac .enim erew yeht hsiw I .sevruc ruoy yvne od I tuB .pih dah uoy teb I .enim erew yeht hsiw dluoc I hsiw I rO .nerdlihc ynam os dekan eht dniheb pu sbmilc ehs ,htnilp eht gnibbarG kcen eht fo segde deggaj ehT .reh secarbme dna namow lanrete eht neewteb seiradnuob ehT .keehc reh hctarcs .tsixe ot esaec ylneddus hsefl reh dna enots !su fo erutcip a ekat dna ereh emoc ,ybaB !ybaB .aremac sih htiw gnireknit ysub oot ;tcaer t’nseod eH .egaugnal ydob eht sesingocer ehs ,ecnatsid a morf nevE secnalg ylkciuq eH ?gniod uoy era tahw ,tsirhC suseJ !ereht morf nwod teG .enola era yeht tub dnuora !erutcip ym ekat tsuJ ?yhW er’uoy dna - dlo sraey fo derdnuh si ecalp sihT .luftcepsersid yllaer s’tahT !ti revo lla gnibmilc …tsuj I ,t’nsaw I -


His lecture continues as they walk back to the train station. There is no memory of her and the statue and their momentary symbiosis. She looks over her shoulder. Her headless friend seems transparent under the pine trees, disappearing from her sight. Her mind drifts as he continues about the significance of the ruins. They are waiting for the train and she tries to ignore his looking through the pictures he took of himself.


pu peerc spmubesooG .gnihctaw enoemos leef dluoc ehS ria nmutua eht fo noitacfiisned a si erehT .smra reh gninruT .wed tevlev ,hserf a ni detaoc si ssarg eht dna elbram sseldaeh eht ,rueyov reh gnicaf si ehs ,dnuora delddir yvi eht won ,ruoloc ni derevoc ecno ,eutats ssentiw sgnidliub tnecajda ehT .naidraug elap ’sniur .eutats eht sdrawot sevom ehs sa ecnelis ni reh ,srepsihw ehs ,daeh ruoy gnissim ,uoy rof yrros leef I elbram s’eutats eht tsniaga keehc reh gnitser ylluferac .enim erew yeht hsiw I .sevruc ruoy yvne od I tuB .pih dah uoy teb I .enim erew yeht hsiw dluoc I hsiw I rO .nerdlihc ynam os dekan eht dniheb pu sbmilc ehs ,htnilp eht gnibbarG kcen eht fo segde deggaj ehT .reh secarbme dna namow lanrete eht neewteb seiradnuob ehT .keehc reh hctarcs .tsixe ot esaec ylneddus hsefl reh dna enots !su fo erutcip a ekat dna ereh emoc ,ybaB !ybaB .aremac sih htiw gnireknit ysub oot ;tcaer t’nseod eH .egaugnal ydob eht sesingocer ehs ,ecnatsid a morf nevE secnalg ylkciuq eH ?gniod uoy era tahw ,tsirhC suseJ !ereht morf nwod teG .enola era yeht tub dnuora !erutcip ym ekat tsuJ ?yhW er’uoy dna - dlo sraey fo derdnuh si ecalp sihT .luftcepsersid yllaer s’tahT !ti revo lla gnibmilc …tsuj I ,t’nsaw I niart eht ot kcab klaw yeht sa seunitnoc erutcel siH dna eutats eht dna reh fo yromem on si erehT .noitats .redluohs reh revo skool ehS .sisoibmys yratnemom rieht enip eht rednu tnerapsnart smees dneirf sseldaeh reH .thgis reh morf gniraeppasid ,seert ecnacfiingis eht tuoba seunitnoc eh sa stfird dnim reH ehs dna niart eht rof gnitiaw era yehT .sniur eht fo eh serutcip eht hguorht gnikool sih erongi ot seirt .flesmih fo koot


-You know you shouldn’t drink cappuccinos after breakfast? - Why? - That’s not how they drink it here. - Yes, I know that but it doesn’t mean I can’t. - It’s just not how they do it. She takes a sip. Brown sugar sticks on her lips, the taste of coffee blended with milk swirls around her mouth. She tilts the cup and dips the tip of her tongue into the remaining froth, a little pink animal, blackened with tar. The restaurant is almost invisible from the street, a modest door and a handwritten menu on a chalkboard. Fiori di Zucca. Fried zucchini flowers. The name that makes her smile. She leans back, admiring the pictures on the opposite wall. Outside the window, the street is breathing heavily. Breathing in and out, in and out, in and out. Breathing in tourists, breathing out Romans. A constant exchange of thoughts, of smells, of pulsating hearts. - So what in the Italian culture says you shouldn’t drink coffee with milk after breakfast? - What? Are you saying they’re wrong? - No, I’m just curious. I always thought it was because strong coffee is supposed to help digestion. - It’s not scientific. It’s tradition. - What part of what I just said excluded tradition? He opens his mouth to answer but is disturbed by an older man turning towards them from the large table that gives guests who are dining alone an opportunity to meet new people. He smiles at her. - Scusi. If you don’t mind, to answer your...debate, you are right, Miss. In Italy, we drink espresso because it helps digestion. But I’m like you, I still prefer a cappuccino. - Ha! She turns to look at him‚ I was right! - It’s not a competition!


retfa soniccuppac knird t’ndluohs uoy wonk uoY?tsafkaerb ?yhW .ereh ti knird yeht woh ton s’tahT .t’nac I naem t’nseod ti tub taht wonk I ,seY .ti od yeht woh ton tsuj s’tI -


She takes a sip. Brown sugar sticks on her lips, the taste of coffee blended with milk swirls around her mouth. She tilts the cup and dips the tip of her tongue into the remaining froth, a little pink animal, blackened with tar. The restaurant is almost invisible from the street, a modest door and a handwritten menu on a chalkboard. Fiori di Zucca. Fried zucchini flowers. The name that makes her smile. She leans back, admiring the pictures on the opposite wall. Outside the window, the street is breathing heavily. Breathing in and out, in and out, in and out. Breathing in tourists, breathing out Romans. A constant exchange of thoughts, of smells, of pulsating hearts. - So what in the Italian culture says you shouldn’t drink coffee with milk after breakfast? - What? Are you saying they’re wrong? - No, I’m just curious. I always thought it was because strong coffee is supposed to help digestion. - It’s not scientific. It’s tradition. - What part of what I just said excluded tradition? He opens his mouth to answer but is disturbed by an older man turning towards them from the large table that gives guests who are dining alone an opportunity to meet new people. He smiles at her. - Scusi. If you don’t mind, to answer your...debate, you are right, Miss. In Italy, we drink espresso because it helps digestion. But I’m like you, I still prefer a cappuccino. - Ha! She turns to look at him‚ I was right! - It’s not a competition!


retfa soniccuppac knird t’ndluohs uoy wonk uoY?tsafkaerb ?yhW .ereh ti knird yeht woh ton s’tahT .t’nac I naem t’nseod ti tub taht wonk I ,seY .ti od yeht woh ton tsuj s’tI eht ,spil reh no skcits ragus nworB .pis a sekat ehS reh dnuora slriws klim htiw dednelb eeffoc fo etsat eugnot reh fo pit eht spid dna puc eht stlit ehS .htuom denekcalb ,lamina knip elttil a ,htorf gniniamer eht otni eht morf elbisivni tsomla si tnaruatser ehT .rat htiw a no unem nettirwdnah a dna rood tsedom a ,teerts ehT .srewofl inihccuz deirF .accuZ id iroiF .draobklahc eht gnirimda ,kcab snael ehS .elims reh sekam taht eman eht ,wodniw eht edistuO .llaw etisoppo eht no serutcip ,tuo dna ni gnihtaerB .ylivaeh gnihtaerb si teerts gnihtaerb ,stsiruot ni gnihtaerB .tuo dna ni ,tuo dna ni ,sllems fo ,sthguoht fo egnahcxe tnatsnoc A .snamoR tuo .straeh gnitaslup fo


- So what in the Italian culture says you shouldn’t drink coffee with milk after breakfast? - What? Are you saying they’re wrong? - No, I’m just curious. I always thought it was because strong coffee is supposed to help digestion. - It’s not scientific. It’s tradition. - What part of what I just said excluded tradition? He opens his mouth to answer but is disturbed by an older man turning towards them from the large table that gives guests who are dining alone an opportunity to meet new people. He smiles at her. - Scusi. If you don’t mind, to answer your...debate, you are right, Miss. In Italy, we drink espresso because it helps digestion. But I’m like you, I still prefer a cappuccino. - Ha! She turns to look at him‚ I was right! - It’s not a competition!


retfa soniccuppac knird t’ndluohs uoy wonk uoY?tsafkaerb ?yhW .ereh ti knird yeht woh ton s’tahT .t’nac I naem t’nseod ti tub taht wonk I ,seY .ti od yeht woh ton tsuj s’tI eht ,spil reh no skcits ragus nworB .pis a sekat ehS reh dnuora slriws klim htiw dednelb eeffoc fo etsat eugnot reh fo pit eht spid dna puc eht stlit ehS .htuom denekcalb ,lamina knip elttil a ,htorf gniniamer eht otni eht morf elbisivni tsomla si tnaruatser ehT .rat htiw a no unem nettirwdnah a dna rood tsedom a ,teerts ehT .srewofl inihccuz deirF .accuZ id iroiF .draobklahc eht gnirimda ,kcab snael ehS .elims reh sekam taht eman eht ,wodniw eht edistuO .llaw etisoppo eht no serutcip ,tuo dna ni gnihtaerB .ylivaeh gnihtaerb si teerts gnihtaerb ,stsiruot ni gnihtaerB .tuo dna ni ,tuo dna ni ,sllems fo ,sthguoht fo egnahcxe tnatsnoc A .snamoR tuo .straeh gnitaslup fo t’ndluohs uoy syas erutluc nailatI eht ni tahw oS ?tsafkaerb retfa klim htiw eeffoc knird ?gnorw er’yeht gniyas uoy erA ?tahW esuaceb saw ti thguoht syawla I .suoiruc tsuj m’I ,oN .noitsegid pleh ot desoppus si eeffoc gnorts .noitidart s’tI .cfiitneics ton s’tI ?noitidart dedulcxe dias tsuj I tahw fo trap tahW na yb debrutsid si tub rewsna ot htuom sih snepo eH elbat egral eht morf meht sdrawot gninrut nam redlo ytinutroppo na enola gninid era ohw stseug sevig taht .reh ta selims eH .elpoep wen teem ot ,etabed...ruoy rewsna ot ,dnim t’nod uoy fI .isucS osserpse knird ew ,ylatI nI .ssiM ,thgir era uoy llits I ,uoy ekil m’I tuB .noitsegid spleh ti esuaceb .oniccuppac a referp !thgir saw I ‚mih ta kool ot snrut ehS !aH !noititepmoc a ton s’tI -


A myriad of miniature soldiers, carriages colliding, collateral damage. The sandstone façade is a totem to the triumph over the already defeated. She can feel her neck stiffening with the exertion of staring up at the carvings but she can’t stop looking. The cataclysm has that magnetic power. He is way ahead of her, eager to reach the top of the hill before the hoards of tourists. From the top, the city rests in the late afternoon light, the same saturated white as the many marble buildings. It is the light, the way it invades her eyes and body, the way it takes her hand that she will remember the most. - Isn’t it terrible, that they built monuments to celebrate the death and humiliation of so many people? - That’s a nonsense, postcolonial way of looking at it. - What? - Never mind. It’s... it’s complicated. - So you would build a monument to celebrate the death of thousands of people? He hesitates. - No, of course not.


,gnidilloc segairrac ,sreidlos erutainim fo dairym A ot metot a si edaçaf enotsdnas ehT .egamad laretalloc leef nac ehS .detaefed ydaerla eht revo hpmuirt eht ta pu gnirats fo noitrexe eht htiw gnineffits kcen reh msylcatac ehT .gnikool pots t’nac ehs tub sgnivrac eht regae ,reh fo daeha yaw si eH .rewop citengam taht sah fo sdraoh eht erofeb llih eht fo pot eht hcaer ot etal eht ni stser ytic eht ,pot eht morF .stsiruot ynam eht sa etihw detarutas emas eht ,thgil noonretfa sedavni ti yaw eht ,thgil eht si tI .sgnidliub elbram ehs taht dnah reh sekat ti yaw eht ,ydob dna seye reh .tsom eht rebmemer lliw


- Isn’t it terrible, that they built monuments to celebrate the death and humiliation of so many people? - That’s a nonsense, postcolonial way of looking at it. - What? - Never mind. It’s... it’s complicated. - So you would build a monument to celebrate the death of thousands of people? He hesitates. - No, of course not.


,gnidilloc segairrac ,sreidlos erutainim fo dairym A ot metot a si edaçaf enotsdnas ehT .egamad laretalloc leef nac ehS .detaefed ydaerla eht revo hpmuirt eht ta pu gnirats fo noitrexe eht htiw gnineffits kcen reh msylcatac ehT .gnikool pots t’nac ehs tub sgnivrac eht regae ,reh fo daeha yaw si eH .rewop citengam taht sah fo sdraoh eht erofeb llih eht fo pot eht hcaer ot etal eht ni stser ytic eht ,pot eht morF .stsiruot ynam eht sa etihw detarutas emas eht ,thgil noonretfa sedavni ti yaw eht ,thgil eht si tI .sgnidliub elbram ehs taht dnah reh sekat ti yaw eht ,ydob dna seye reh .tsom eht rebmemer lliw ot stnemunom tliub yeht taht ,elbirret ti t’nsI ?elpoep ynam os fo noitailimuh dna htaed eht etarbelec .ti ta gnikool fo yaw lainoloctsop ,esnesnon a s’tahT ?tahW .detacilpmoc s’ti ...s’tI .dnim reveN htaed eht etarbelec ot tnemunom a dliub dluow uoy oS ?elpoep fo sdnasuoht fo .setatiseh eH .ton esruoc fo ,oN -


The nightmare wakes her up at five. The sheets and his arms cleave to her body instead of the water and the hands of the departed souls. The sensation of being pulled under the surface and slowly drowning in the river of death forces her to grasp for air. He sleeps, uninterrupted. She gets up, stands at his bedside, watching his sleeping mass move and his eyeballs flicker. Their last day. Strolling around in one of the parks, passing big and happy and noisy families in silence. He reaches for her hand but gives up after the first try. - What are you thinking about? - Nothing. Just sad to leave I guess. I love this city. - There are other cities, as great as this one. - No, none of them are like this. The foliage a prism, projecting its colours on to the ground, on to her skin. She breathes slowly, shutting out the background noises. There is a pond at the centre of the park, a pond and a bower with columns surrounding it. Doubles are moving on the surface. He finds his own as they sit down on the wooden bench. She talks a little, he tries to listen but she can see he’s drawn to his twin on the surface, mirroring his every move. - We have to go back now, she says. - Yes, in a minute. He remains transfixed, gently smiling at himself. They’re alone by the pond, the heat of the day slowly building around them. The water looks deep. If she were able to heave him in, would he drown? The impulse comes and goes, flashing through her neurons, only to suddenly fade. She is faceless in his reflection, a contour of a human being moving in the shadows. - Seriously, we have to leave or we’ll miss our flight. - Yes, ok. Irritation rises in his voice. He doesn’t move. She sighs, stands, glances at him and starts to walk away. Suddenly she stops, turns, strides back to the bench. - You have no idea what postcolonial really means, do you? And those glasses? They look ridiculous! Please. I’m going back. I might see you later.


sih dna steehs ehT .evfi ta pu reh sekaw eramthgin ehT eht dna retaw eht fo daetsni ydob reh ot evaelc smra gnieb fo noitasnes ehT .sluos detraped eht fo sdnah eht ni gninword ylwols dna ecafrus eht rednu dellup ,speels eH .ria rof psarg ot reh secrof htaed fo revir ,edisdeb sih ta sdnats ,pu steg ehS .detpurretninu .rekcifl sllabeye sih dna evom ssam gnipeels sih gnihctaw ,skrap eht fo eno ni dnuora gnillortS .yad tsal riehT .ecnelis ni seilimaf ysion dna yppah dna gib gnissap .yrt tsrfi eht retfa pu sevig tub dnah reh rof sehcaer eH


- What are you thinking about? - Nothing. Just sad to leave I guess. I love this city. - There are other cities, as great as this one. - No, none of them are like this. The foliage a prism, projecting its colours on to the ground, on to her skin. She breathes slowly, shutting out the background noises. There is a pond at the centre of the park, a pond and a bower with columns surrounding it. Doubles are moving on the surface. He finds his own as they sit down on the wooden bench. She talks a little, he tries to listen but she can see he’s drawn to his twin on the surface, mirroring his every move. - We have to go back now, she says. - Yes, in a minute. He remains transfixed, gently smiling at himself. They’re alone by the pond, the heat of the day slowly building around them. The water looks deep. If she were able to heave him in, would he drown? The impulse comes and goes, flashing through her neurons, only to suddenly fade. She is faceless in his reflection, a contour of a human being moving in the shadows. - Seriously, we have to leave or we’ll miss our flight. - Yes, ok. Irritation rises in his voice. He doesn’t move. She sighs, stands, glances at him and starts to walk away. Suddenly she stops, turns, strides back to the bench. - You have no idea what postcolonial really means, do you? And those glasses? They look ridiculous! Please. I’m going back. I might see you later.


sih dna steehs ehT .evfi ta pu reh sekaw eramthgin ehT eht dna retaw eht fo daetsni ydob reh ot evaelc smra gnieb fo noitasnes ehT .sluos detraped eht fo sdnah eht ni gninword ylwols dna ecafrus eht rednu dellup ,speels eH .ria rof psarg ot reh secrof htaed fo revir ,edisdeb sih ta sdnats ,pu steg ehS .detpurretninu .rekcifl sllabeye sih dna evom ssam gnipeels sih gnihctaw ,skrap eht fo eno ni dnuora gnillortS .yad tsal riehT .ecnelis ni seilimaf ysion dna yppah dna gib gnissap .yrt tsrfi eht retfa pu sevig tub dnah reh rof sehcaer eH ?tuoba gnikniht uoy era tahW .ytic siht evol I .sseug I evael ot das tsuJ .gnihtoN .eno siht sa taerg sa ,seitic rehto era erehT .siht ekil era meht fo enon ,oN eht ot no sruoloc sti gnitcejorp ,msirp a egailof ehT gnittuhs ,ylwols sehtaerb ehS .niks reh ot no ,dnuorg ertnec eht ta dnop a si erehT .sesion dnuorgkcab eht tuo gnidnuorrus snmuloc htiw rewob a dna dnop a ,krap eht fo nwo sih sdnfi eH .ecafrus eht no gnivom era selbuoD .ti a sklat ehS .hcneb nedoow eht no nwod tis yeht sa nward s’eh ees nac ehs tub netsil ot seirt eh ,elttil .evom yreve sih gnirorrim ,ecafrus eht no niwt sih ot


- We have to go back now, she says. - Yes, in a minute. He remains transfixed, gently smiling at himself. They’re alone by the pond, the heat of the day slowly building around them. The water looks deep. If she were able to heave him in, would he drown? The impulse comes and goes, flashing through her neurons, only to suddenly fade. She is faceless in his reflection, a contour of a human being moving in the shadows. - Seriously, we have to leave or we’ll miss our flight. - Yes, ok. Irritation rises in his voice. He doesn’t move. She sighs, stands, glances at him and starts to walk away. Suddenly she stops, turns, strides back to the bench. - You have no idea what postcolonial really means, do you? And those glasses? They look ridiculous! Please. I’m going back. I might see you later.


sih dna steehs ehT .evfi ta pu reh sekaw eramthgin ehT eht dna retaw eht fo daetsni ydob reh ot evaelc smra gnieb fo noitasnes ehT .sluos detraped eht fo sdnah eht ni gninword ylwols dna ecafrus eht rednu dellup ,speels eH .ria rof psarg ot reh secrof htaed fo revir ,edisdeb sih ta sdnats ,pu steg ehS .detpurretninu .rekcifl sllabeye sih dna evom ssam gnipeels sih gnihctaw ,skrap eht fo eno ni dnuora gnillortS .yad tsal riehT .ecnelis ni seilimaf ysion dna yppah dna gib gnissap .yrt tsrfi eht retfa pu sevig tub dnah reh rof sehcaer eH ?tuoba gnikniht uoy era tahW .ytic siht evol I .sseug I evael ot das tsuJ .gnihtoN .eno siht sa taerg sa ,seitic rehto era erehT .siht ekil era meht fo enon ,oN eht ot no sruoloc sti gnitcejorp ,msirp a egailof ehT gnittuhs ,ylwols sehtaerb ehS .niks reh ot no ,dnuorg ertnec eht ta dnop a si erehT .sesion dnuorgkcab eht tuo gnidnuorrus snmuloc htiw rewob a dna dnop a ,krap eht fo nwo sih sdnfi eH .ecafrus eht no gnivom era selbuoD .ti a sklat ehS .hcneb nedoow eht no nwod tis yeht sa nward s’eh ees nac ehs tub netsil ot seirt eh ,elttil .evom yreve sih gnirorrim ,ecafrus eht no niwt sih ot .syas ehs ,won kcab og ot evah eW gnilims yltneg ,dexfisnart sniamer eH .etunim a ni ,seY .flesmih ta ylwols yad eht fo taeh eht ,dnop eht yb enola er’yehT ehs fI .peed skool retaw ehT .meht dnuora gnidliub eslupmi ehT ?nword eh dluow ,ni mih evaeh ot elba erew ot ylno ,snoruen reh hguorht gnihsafl ,seog dna semoc a ,noitcefler sih ni sselecaf si ehS .edaf ylneddus .swodahs eht ni gnivom gnieb namuh a fo ruotnoc .thgifl ruo ssim ll’ew ro evael ot evah ew ,ylsuoireS .eciov sih ni sesir noitatirrI .ko ,seY dna mih ta secnalg ,sdnats ,shgis ehS .evom t’nseod eH sedirts ,snrut ,spots ehs ylnedduS .yawa klaw ot strats .hcneb eht ot kcab od ,snaem yllaer lainoloctsop tahw aedi on evah uoY .esaelP !suolucidir kool yehT ?sessalg esoht dnA ?uoy .retal uoy ees thgim I .kcab gniog m’I


collection index


collection index


Dress Aveline

Blouse Aveline

Jacket Diana

Trousers Diana

Top Vida

Skirt Vida

Dress Vida

Dress Hanna

Top Hanna

Trousers Hanna

Shirt Clara

Skirt Theodora

Dress Rosalia

Skirt Aveline


enilevA esuolB

enilevA sserD

anaiD sresuorT

anaiD tekcaJ

adiV sserD

adiV trikS

adiV poT

annaH sresuorT

annaH poT

annaH sserD

arodoehT trikS

aralC trihS

enilevA trikS

ailasoR sserD


Photography: Sejin Ahn Model: Amanda Urvall Nyrén Design: Lundgren+Lindqvist Print: Göteborgstryckeriet Thanks to: European Institute, Łódź Muzeum Kinematografii, Łódź

Creative director: Michelle Urvall Nyrén michelle@everreve.com Sales and production: Karol Galazka karol@everreve.com www.everreve.com


www.everreve.com

ever revê – autumn/winter collection 2013  

Lookbook for the ever revê autumn/winter collection 2013

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