Immediately after Fall Show 2025, I went to India.
And somewhere in there, I started thinking about scraps.
Which probably requires some explanation.
We go through these phases where certain words are everywhere.
Repurposed.
Handcrafted.
Artisan-made.
One-of-a-kind.
Made in India.
Words that are incredibly important to me and to Sapana. And I think it's wonderful that more and more people care about how things are made and who makes them.
But when we hear the same words over and over and over, sometimes they start to feel like just that.
Words.
And I started wondering if I was doing that, too.
Not calling anyone else out here. Calling myself out.
If I'm going to say that repurposing and resourcefulness are important to me, shouldn't I hold myelf accountable to leaning more into those practices?
So many things
I went into this year wanting to be more creative.
The past couple of shows had been surrounded by things I was completely obsessed with. Yo-yos everywhere. Then all of this incredible lace started coming in.
And I kept looking at the lace thinking: Okay, but how do I wear this?
There is so much sheer and peekaboo happening right now, and I love it on other people. But what does that look like for me? At my age? With my body? What is my version of showing something but not everything?
So while I was in India, I started looking at lace.
And somewhere in that search I thought:
Why can't we make our own?
Great, Jolie. Another new product. Another new technique to learn. Another thing to make when we already have so many things.
So. Many. Things.
And then it hit me.
Why aren't we using our so many things?
We already work with textiles that have had lives before us. We take old blankets and quilts and kantha and saris and turn them into something new.
But then we cut them.
And cutting creates scraps.
So what happens to those?
If we're repurposing materials, shouldn't we also be thinking about how to repurpose the leftovers from the repurposing?
Can you repurpose something twice?
Of course you can.
And suddenly that felt much more interesting to me than simply making another new thing.
I've been here before
I went through a very serious crafting phase years ago.
Maybe "phase" isn't even the right word.
Addiction?
I would go to Hobby Lobby or Michael's and whatever was on sale that week apparently became my new personality.
Oh, we're embossing now?
Wonderful.
I need a heat gun.
And embossing powder.
Actually, I need 14 colors of embossing powder because apparently I have plans.
Next week we'd move on to something else.
It was insanely delightful.
I loved all of it.
I loved learning how to make things. I loved having the right little tool. I loved opening drawers and seeing paper and ribbon and stamps and paint and thinking about all the things they could become.
Then we prepared to move overseas.
And I looked at my craft room.
Oh my Lord.
What the hell do I do with all of this?
For years I had looked at those supplies and seen possibility.
Suddenly I saw excess.
Honestly, I was a little embarrassed by how much I had accumulated.
I called the art teacher at our school and asked if he wanted any of it.
He said yes.
I said, "No, I don't think you understand. I'm talking pickup-truck loads."
Bring it on.
So I did.
Then I became the art teacher
When we moved to Malaysia, I was fortunate enough to fall into a position teaching art.
And suddenly I was on the other side.
Art supplies were more expensive. But more importantly, they weren't always readily available.
I couldn't just decide we were doing a project tomorrow, run into a store and grab whatever I needed.
I had to find things.
I had to plan.
I had to figure out what we could afford.
And I had to figure out what else could work.
It changed the way I looked at materials.
I remember bringing in this enormous roll of white paper, maybe five feet tall, and watching the kids look at it like it was gold.
And I remember doing one of those silly activities we would have done at home without thinking twice ... wrapping each other in toilet paper like mummies.
At home, you run into Walmart, grab a package of toilet paper and don't give it another thought.
But afterward I noticed some of the kids carefully folding up the toilet paper and putting it into their backpacks.
They were taking it home.
I don't think I've ever forgotten that.
Something I had considered a cheap, disposable art supply wasn't disposable to them at all.
It made me look at what we had differently.
It made me more resourceful.
More inventive.
And much more aware of what I was throwing away.
And somehow, I needed to learn that again
Last year, I started feeling some of that discomfort again.
I would look around at everything we were making and think:
How much of this are we actually using?
And how much of it is waste?
That was hard for me to reconcile.
Because it's one thing to build a brand around repurposed textiles.
It's another thing to keep asking yourself whether you're living up to the idea behind those words.
So this year, I started asking our team and our makers to look at the leftovers differently.
Not as waste.
As raw material.
What can this become?
Can those little circles become something completely different?
Can remnants be pieced together?
Can deadstock fabric be overdyed and made relevant again?
Can something old move toward what we're seeing in fashion right now without losing the history of what it was?
Can we respond to what our customers are asking for without simply making more stuff?
I don't want Sapana to ignore trends. I love fashion. I love seeing what's happening and figuring out how we can interpret it.
I just want to do it our way.
So you're going to see some things
This Show, you're going to see a lot of pieces that have been remade.
Repurposed from things that were already repurposed.
Deadstock fabric.
Overdye.
Scraps.
Remnants.
Pieces that might have been too small or too strange or too leftover to have an obvious purpose.
We're going to keep creating.
Absolutely.
But I want us to be a little more thoughtful about what we're creating with.
Because I think we're all entering this wonderful making phase again. People are sewing and knitting and embroidering and painting and learning old techniques. We're remembering how satisfying it is to make something with our hands.
And maybe part of that isn't just learning how to make more.
Maybe it's relearning how to look at what we already have.
That tiny scrap isn't necessarily trash.
That weird leftover piece isn't necessarily useless.
Sometimes creativity isn't starting with a blank piece of paper and an unlimited supply of materials.
Sometimes creativity is looking at the pile in front of you and saying:
Okay. What can we make out of this?
That's the question I've been asking all year.
And you're going to see a lot of my answers this Show.
This fall at Sapana in Round Top, that means new pieces made from deadstock fabrics, overdyed textiles, vintage sari remnants and scraps left behind from our own repurposed clothing. Some of it will feel familiar. Some of it might be a little funky. Hopefully all of it feels inventive ... like we found one more life hiding inside something we already had.