‍What would change in my life if I believed, with certainty, that nothing is wrong with me?

What if I were allowed to take up space, shift forms, and think in ways that don’t need to be explained?

What if I were free to express my sensuality in a way that didn’t feel vulgar, or provocative?

And yet, each time I dress, something feels misaligned, like my body is speaking a language the garments have forgotten how to understand.

The silhouettes were never made to hold a woman like you

I don’t know how to explain it, but I’ve never truly felt at home in any clothing. The silhouettes keep getting wider, stiffer, emptier, deprived of any kind of, heaven forbid, femininity, individuality, self-expression.

Actually, yes, I can explain it.

It’s the one-size-fits-all, scalable, unbelievably simple garment construction and seam lines, designed to take as little time as possible for machines to assemble.

One could almost say it’s foolish, to offer beauty to a world that no longer asks for it.

She gracelessly walks, knowing her body is both held and free in all the right places—feeling her thighs rub against each other, the hips swaying ever so lightly, and the warmth and pulse of her slightly aroused sexual center.

As garments become boxier, cheaper-looking, and creatively barren, focused only on neutral colors, it feels like a betrayal of what I’ve come to call the Voluptuous Muse.

It’s the archetype living inside each woman, who approaches pleasure, desire, softness, sensualism as a way of life. You could also call her Aphrodite. Volupta. Venus.

But on rare occasions, when I do find a garment with what I believe to be an acceptable pattern—one that at least takes into account the basics of the feminine form in all its glory, with some shaping and curved seam lines—I hold on to it.

I know it’s not as crazy as it sounds. Every woman has a favorite garment. A dress, for instance, that doesn’t ask the body to change; the fabric simply, effortlessly, softly lays on the skin. A dress you’re able to breathe in, be in, move freely in but also one where you feel supported, held.

Now that’s when the Muse is satisfied. Satiated.

She sings. She eats. She anoints herself.

She gracelessly walks, knowing her body is both held and free in all the right places—feeling her thighs rub against each other, the hips swaying ever so lightly, and the warmth and pulse of her slightly aroused sexual center.

Yes, all of this because of a well-constructed pattern that deeply respects and honors the Voluptuous Muse within you, along with so many other aspects the fashion and beauty industries have long tried to take from us.

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When I designed this couture dress, I wanted it first to carry the structured, grounded essence of the masculine, reminiscent of a man’s warm embrace, intimate and steady against the skin. The kind that reminds you, with every breath, of the fullness of your body’s natural grace.

The more seam lines, panels, and boning I use, the more I’m able to mold the fabric and support the body exactly as it asks to be held.

Both the masculine and the feminine live within the corset

The innermost layer begins with a delicate silk charmeuse, in a deep, colored hue floating just inside the corset. She moves with me, soft and breathable, slightly expansive with each inhale. She’s adaptable, radiant, and catches the light like a sliver of ruby jewelry.

The middle layer is crafted from lightweight coutil—the traditional corsetry fabric, chosen for its strength and its ability to shape, to return to form without distortion.

And finally, the outer layer is made from the same red cotton voile as the dress itself, so the entire silhouette remains seamless, with no transparency, no disruption—just one continuous gesture of intention.

At the back, a row of carefully spaced grommets traces the spine. Through them, I laced a deep red wine ribbon—rich, tactile, and unapologetically feminine. It doesn’t merely close the corset; it ties the garment to the body like a secret vow, soft yet secure, allowing the structure to breathe and adjust so it is moving with her, not against her.

The more seam lines, panels, and boning I use, the more I’m able to mold the fabric and support the body exactly as it asks to be held.

I chose red for this dress because, at the time of envisioning it, I was craving stimulation, excitement. I wanted a red that felt rooted, yet alive; calm on the outside, but pulsing with vitality underneath.

I’m not someone who dresses to induce a feeling. I don’t choose a color in the morning to summon an emotion. I dress to enhance what already lives just beneath the surface. I dress to mirror the rhythm of the day before it fully arrives.

It’s not a red that necessarily speaks of sensuality or desire, though it could. It’s a red that speaks of passion. Of energy. Of something just about to begin.

So I knew this dress would be for the days when I already feel alive, when there’s warmth in my limbs and a spark in my fingertips, as though something unsaid is asking to be written.