A DECADE IN THE MAKING
Chain, glass and light, woven by hand. The sea, made to wear.
Carried Home.
Its counterpart in pink — stainless steel chain set with Austrian and Czech crystals and nacre pearls in rose, coral and deep red. Warmer than its sister, like the inside of a shell held up to the light.
One piece exists. A decade of gathered stones, worn as one object. When it is gone, it is gone.
Nothing Sewn Shut.
The cult Oceanus silhouette returns — crop vest, tie-side thong and wrap skirt, three pieces that move together. Worn full or broken apart, it is built around the body's own lines.
The side ties are the quiet drama of the set: nothing is sewn shut, everything turns and loosens. The skirt falls in sheer tulle, a veil of water over everything beneath it.
What the Sea Kept.
A harness thong in green — stainless steel chain set with Austrian and Czech crystals and nacre pearls in deep sea tones, emerald and saphir caught in silver. The light moves through it like sun through shallow water.
Armour That Reveals.
A bodysuit built like an object, not sewn like a garment. Each strand of stainless steel chain is hung by hand and threaded with turquoise and lavender glass beads — a slow, deliberate weave that turns metal and glass into something that moves like water on the skin.
Worn, it is less a piece of lingerie than an armour that reveals: a net that catches the light and the eye, holding the body without hiding it.
Found at Low Tide.
A harness thong in vivid blue — stainless steel chain set with Austrian and Czech crystals in deep cobalt and saphir, spilling into a leg chain that traces the thigh. The brightest of the three, like light caught on water at its clearest hour.
One piece exists. A decade of gathered stones, worn as one object. When it is gone, it is gone.
The Undertow.
An asymmetric fall of chain, sequins and stone. Stainless steel chain carries rose sequins, Czech crystals and glass beads, closing on a single Aurora Borealis pear drop that swings as you walk — the whole piece moving like something half-remembered from the sea.
Worn low on the hips, it turns walking into an event.
Where the Light Moves.
The counterpart to the bralette, and its equal in intent. Stainless steel chain framed and hung with iridescent blue sequins, hand-set so the light moves where you do. Worn alone or as part of the set, it leaves nothing to apologise for.
Catch Fire.
A harness of chain that catches fire in the light. Stainless steel curb chain frames the body, hung with iridescent blue sequins that shiver and flash with every movement — a piece that refuses to stay still, refuses to be ignored.
Made to be looked at, and to make you want to be.
Caught in the Net.
A dress built the way a net is built — by hand, piece by piece. Rectangles of turquoise PVC are hand-cut and linked one to the next with o-rings, until the whole thing falls over the body like water made solid.
It covers almost nothing and frames everything: the light passes straight through it, and so does the gaze. Less worn than inhabited.
The Tide Rosary.
Not quite a rosary, not quite a chain — something older and stranger, made to rest against bare skin. Glass beads and Czech crystals are strung by hand along the line, catching and breaking the light with every breath.
Worn long against the chest, it draws the eye down and makes an altar of the body. A devotional object for no faith but your own.
A surface drawn over the body.
The Opéra bodysuit revisits a familiar silhouette, reworked in sheer tulle and finished with fine lace detailing. It follows the body closely, creating a continuous line—soft, controlled, uninterrupted.
Worn alone or layered, it settles into the skin, holding warmth and shape with equal ease. A second skin, composed in depth.
Ten years of gathered crystals and pearls, woven into two pieces. One of each. Never ordered, never repeated.
The Last Light.
A front-tie bodysuit cut from iridescent foil that shifts between rose and fire as you move. The tie sits low and deliberate — undone with a single pull, it is the whole piece's intention worn on the surface.
Four-way stretch holds the body like a second skin still wet from the sea. Less swimwear than a surface for the light to run across.
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Size Guide
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