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lnc2 · 3 years

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this time next year

Summary: Marinette is worried about the future. Adrien wants to know where he fits into it.

A/N: This piece was written for the @mlwriterzine and I’m so excited to finally share this with you! I hope you enjoy it and also go check out the zine because there are so many amazing stories/art pieces collected there.

AO3

The party was well underway by the time Adrien knocked on Nino’s door. Alya was the one who answered, half of her face obscured by gold tin foil pinned to a green beret.

“Speak of the devil,” she grinned, leaning heavily on the door frame.

Adrien bussed her cheek and passed over the bottle of rosé he’d swiped from his father’s wine cellar. “Sorry, Alya. The show ran late. You know how those things go.”

She waved him in, whistling at the bottle in her hands, and shook her head. “Thankfully I don’t. Everyone’s in the living room.”

Adrien followed her into the kitchen instead, eyes straying over the tipsy, crowded apartment. Back against the wall, where Nino’s faded and cracked leather couch usually sat, was a long table covered in gold plastic sheeting. Green and gold hats of various styles were littered across, as well as glitter, rhinestones, netting, feathers, and any other number of crafting materials.

He smiled. “I see you’ve all started without me.”

“Naturally,” Alya said, putting his gift in the fridge to chill. “You’re several drinks behind us now, Agreste. Pick your poison.” She gestured to the half-empty bottles of liquor scattered across the bar.

“No tequila?”

She snorted. “You’ll have to track down Marinette for that one. She ran off with the bottle half an hour ago.”

Something warm filled his chest. “A cup of ice and a lime then.”

“Good luck with that,” Alya said, bumping his shoulder as she passed him the glass. Adrien laughed as he followed her into the living room, his smile widening as he spotted Kagami fussing with the green flowers on her gold newspaper hat.

“I’m not sure how I feel about this.”

Alya batted her hand away. “It’s tradition!”

She pressed her lips together. “It’s archaic.”

“Boo,” a familiar voice called from behind him. Adrien’s heart stuttered as a familiar pair of arms slipped around his waist. “It’s just for fun. No one takes it seriously.”

Adrien thought back to earlier in the evening and Gabriel’s annual Saint Catherine’s Day gala and couldn’t agree. There was a stark difference between the frivolousness and whimsy of Nino’s house party and the staid sobriety of his father’s fashion show.

As if reading his thoughts, Marinette’s eyes sparkled up at him beneath gold netting. “At least no one here.”

“Speak for yourself,” Alya said. She adjusted her hat and threw an accusatory look towards Nino. “Tick tock, babe.”

“You won’t let me propose until you’re out of grad school,” he whined.

Adrien hid his grin as the familiar argument ensued. Instead, he tipped his cup of ice towards the half-empty bottle in Marinette’s hand.

“You’re one of the few people I’d share with,” she said, filling his glass. Adrien leaned down to whisper his gratitude only to be pushed from the other side, causing them to knock heads.

Marinette laughed waving off his apologies with a squeeze to his waist even as their assaulter continued to elbow into the group.

“I’m never getting married,” Alix announced from her position on the back of one of Alya’s coworkers. There was a crown on her head but no decorations. She gestured wildly with her free hand. “Just call me Queen Catherinette.”

“All hail,” Alya said, clinking her wine glass against a reluctant Kagami’s. Her glassy eyes strayed towards Marinette. “What about you, girl? It’s been a while since I’ve heard about Emma, Louis, and Hugo.”

Adrien tried not to sound too interested when he asked, “Who?”

Marinette laughed, her flushed cheeks flushing further. “I’m afraid that future is on hold, Al. I need to find a boyfriend first.”

She removed her arm from around his waist then and Adrien had to restrain himself from pulling her back to his side. Instead, he took a healthy swallow of tequila and let the conversation drift into less turbulent waters.

Now was hardly the time to volunteer his name to the top of her list.

Adrien could think of two, maybe three very important conversations they needed to have before he could even approach that topic. The most pressing of which weighed heavy on his right hand and sparkled like precious gems on his lady’s ears.

He watched over the rim of his glass as Marinette giggled with the other women in their silly hats. One of them—Alix’s roommate, he thought—burst out with a jubilant, “For pity’s sake, give us a husband!” only for the others to raise their glasses with various tipsy rounds of, “Hear, hear!”

He smiled as Marinette wrestled Kagami’s fidgeting hands away from her hat. It had only been a few weeks since their reveal but Adrien was struggling to see how he could have missed the woman he’d loved for a decade in his dear and wonderful friend.

“Some party, huh?”

Adrien coughed as Nino slapped him on the back just as he was swallowing. Nino laughed at his accusing glare.

“Sorry man,” he said, grinning. “I thought you heard me coming but I guess you were distracted.”

Adrien ignored the teasing lilt in his friend’s voice.“It’s a good crowd,” he said instead. “I’m sorry I was so late.”

“No worries. Although if everything goes well hopefully this will be the last Saint Catherine’s party we’ll be hosting.”

Adrien laughed. “You think you’ll have worn Alya down by then?”

Nino shrugged. “Fingers crossed. I’ve had this ring burning a hole in my pocket for two months now.”

“Maybe you should be the one wearing the hat.” He grinned, only to receive a rough shove to his shoulder.

“You’re one to talk.”

Adrien pretended not to understand.

“Seriously, dude?” Nino shook his head. “You’re not that slick. If you like her you should just ask her out. I know for a fact she used to have a thing for you.”

And even though Adrien already knew that, even though Marinette told him so several years earlier when her crush was a thing of the past as she’d laughingly put it, hearing his heart’s desire put into words so matter-of-factly did things to him.

Things like make him want to punch a hole in the nearest wall or tear out his hair in frustration.

Because really, how was it fair that the one woman he’d spent years chasing had actually spent several years of her own chasing him right back?

It wasn’t.

Not when Adrien still found himself in the chase and she had apparently just … stopped.

“That was a long time ago, Nino.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that.”

“... Why?” Adrien stared, stomach clenching. “Did she say something? Did Alya say something?”

His heart raced like hummingbirds wings in his throat as he tried to catch his friend’s gaze.

Adrien grabbed his shoulder and shook. “Nino.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny anything.” He laughed, before hiding his smile behind his glass as they caught Alya’s attention across the room. Adrien met her suspicious frown with a wave even as his other hand tightened on Nino’s shoulder.

“But …?”

“But … I wouldn’t count myself out just yet.”

Adrien’s hand fell to his side as all of his breath rushed out of him. “Oh.”

“Although, that may change if you don’t do something about it. Sooner rather than later if Kim’s roommate is anything to go by.”

Nino nodded towards the corner of the room where Marinette was chatting with a tall brunette. He was leaning towards her, his fingers playing at the edge of the netting on her hat as he whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. Adrien was already halfway across the room when Nino shouted, “Good luck!”

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do to break up their little tete-a-tete but he needn’t have worried. As soon as he was in her line of sight Marinette’s smile lit up like the Eiffel tower and there was little left for him to do other than introduce himself before the interloper tried his luck elsewhere.

“Come outside with me,” she said, tugging his arm. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

“Your fault,” Adrien said, happy to follow her anywhere. “You canceled patrol.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “You know I had to finish up those pieces for your father’s show.”

“At least you weren’t forced to go.”

She laughed and leaned back against the balcony railing. It was cooler than usual tonight as fall slowly gave way to winter and they had the little patio all to themselves. “Perks of being a lowly intern.”

“Please,” he said, bumping her shoulder. “You’ll be a junior designer by next year.”

She hummed, taking a swig of tequila from the bottle only to cough as it hit the back of her throat.

“You can mix that with something you know?”

His lady winced and took another sip, smaller this time. “Who has time for that?”

“You if you’d just slow down.”

It was only half a joke. Lately, even before their Big Reveal, Adrien noticed something changing in Marinette. She was a little less scattered, a little more single-minded. There was almost a frenzied focus about her, like some great fear was nipping at her heels, spurring her forward.

It wasn’t until her timer ran out during an akuma attack that he began to understand why.

“It was ten years this September,” she murmured, turning out to face the cobbled streets below.

Adrien hesitated before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side.

“We’ll get him, bug. I promise.”

“But when, Chat?” She started to lean her head against his shoulder only for her hat to get in the way. Frustrated, she ripped the little masterpiece off her head and crushed it in her hands.

“Stupid holidays aside, I do want a life, Adrien.” She ripped lightly at the netting. “You said I’ll make junior designer by next year? I don’t see how that’s possible when I’m running out of work every other day because someone couldn’t control their emotions.”

Her voice caught on the last word and he was horrified to realize she was crying. “I want to run my own business someday. I want –– I want to fall in love and get married and have babies.” She looked up, teary gaze meeting his. “How can I do anything when I always have one foot out the window waiting for the next catastrophe? Who could put up with that?”

“You’re not someone a person has to put up with, my lady.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Right. Tell that to my exes.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, because really that’s all he could do.

“Don’t be.” She sniffed, giving him a sad, sad smile. “You can’t do anything about it any more than I can.”

That wasn’t entirely true though.

Adrien turned his attention towards the scrunched up hat in her hands. Marinette followed his gaze and gave a watery laugh.

“I want it all, Adrien,” she whispered.

“I know,” he whispered.

“Do you?” she asked, eyes wide and blue and wet and angry. “Do you really?”

Adrien pulled her to him then, giving her the hug her fears deserved. Marinette clutched at his back, her arms sliding beneath his coat to wrap around his waist, giving as good as she got.

“I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Tears stung his eyes and words, the right words, stuck in the back of his throat as she gave voice to desires he’d never been brave enough to even dream. Not when Ladybug said no and not when Marinette said not anymore and not when they merged and became everything he’d ever wanted but feared he’d never have.

She wanted it all.

Adrien closed his eyes and breathed in his lady’s perfume. Freesia and jasmine and something he’d never been able to name. Marinette’s arms loosened around his waist when it seemed like he would pull away, but Adrien only held her tighter.

“I––” He stopped. “You said you don’t want to slow down?”

Marinette nodded.

“Well … how—how would you feel about a chaser?”

She pulled away so she could see his face. “A chaser?” she repeated, frowning.

Adrien bit his lip, feeling heat rushing up his neck and ears. “Ah, yeah,” he said, doing his best to hold her gaze. “Like—like a partner. To your tequila, I mean.”

Adrien watched as confusion gave way to understanding in the form of a perfect little open-mouthed oh. His heart was pounding hard enough he was starting to suspect she could hear it when her eyes glistened up at him beneath the dim porch lights.

God help him but he couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t trust the gentleness in her gaze or the way her body went soft against his or the purse of her lips as she watched him with that pleased little half-smile as realization gave way to something and that something could only be called wonderful as she ducked her head beneath his chin, pressed her lips against the open collar skin of his neck and finally, finally whispered in that small, hopeful impatient way of hers,

“Are you volunteering?”

And even though he knew she knew and even though the question really didn’t require an answer, Adrien tightened his hold on her until they were swaying together chest to chest and repeated the only thing he’d ever wanted to give her.

Yes.

#miraculous ladybug #lnc2 writes #post reveal pre relationship #adrinette #ml writer zine #adrienette

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

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Please do holiday prompt 85 (unexpected apology)!

85. we haven’t been friends for years but we both end up at a mutual friend’s holiday party and you apologize for how things went down between us (which I wasn’t expecting in a million years)

from winter writing prompts here

it’s that time of year again everyone.....ive been so busy with school and zine stuff that im taking a little break to write this today ☺️ set very late 2019, before the Events of 2020

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It occurs to Hermann as he stands amongst a handful of society’s most monied and high-ranking—mulled wine in hand, stiff suit buttoned too-tight around his neck—that he is not only completely out of his element, but residing at a level of desperation that he cringes to even consider. Hermann does not schmooze; Hermann has never had the capacity to schmooze; in all of his previous attempts at schmoozing (typically at the bequest of his father, who would tote Hermann around as a conversation piece at fundraising events), Hermann would come across invariably as disingenuous, uptight, and arrogant, and certainly not someone with whom one would entrust large cheques made out to the PPDC for.

Yes; desperation. To borrow the cliché, desperate times call for desperate measures. To borrow another, war changes man. Robots wage war on monsters from another world, the UN wages war on the jaeger program’s budget, and Hermann must wage war on prospective PPDC donors if he wishes to still be employed by the New Year. He can’t decide which sounds more horrendous, really.

“Would you like more wine, Dr. Gottlieb?” a passing waiter asks Hermann, and Hermann shakes his head.

“No, thank you,” he says. Hermann has always been a maudlin drunk; he doesn’t fancy risking over-drinking tonight, and making an embarrassment of himself by confessing to perfect strangers that his parents never loved him or that he fears he’ll never make a true human connection.

“Dr. Gottlieb?” someone says, incredulously.

Oh, bugger. He’s been found out. Hermann sighs, flattens down his cowlick, and plasters on a fake smile: the time has come for him to, er, lie back and think of the PPDC, so to speak. Hopefully it’ll go fast.

But when Hermann turns, it’s not to find some acquaintance of his father, or a perfect stranger familiar with his work, or even a distant colleague; it’s to find one Newton Geiszler (who Hermann may have considered a colleague, once, but certainly not anymore), dressed in a horrendous eyesore of a gold (gold) suit, nursing a large red cocktail in each hand, and staring at Hermann like he can’t decide if he wants to say something or turn and run. Hermann mirrors his stare. A pin could drop between them, and Hermann reckons, despite the undercurrent of music and chatter, they would be able to hear it.

Hermann is the one to break it. “Newton,” he says. Then he amends, quickly, “Dr. Geiszler. I wasn’t aware…” He coughs. He suddenly wishes he took another mulled wine, and wonders if it’s too late to summon back the waiter. “You are…here.”

“Uh,” Newton says. “Yeah.”

The last time Hermann saw Newton Geiszler, they were standing under an awning outside a Starbucks while a torrential downpour of rain pounded against the sidewalk and soaked their shoes. Hermann was shouting. Newton was shouting, too, and he may have also been crying. They had been asked to leave the building on account of it. That was nearly three years ago. “Er,” Hermann says. “Business? Or pleasure?”

Newton has hardly changed in the almost-three years; his hair remains thick and unruly, his jaw in bad need of a shave, his glasses smudged and slightly crooked. The suit is a bloody eyesore, though. Hermann imagines Newton thought it was festive. “Business.” Newton snorts. “God, you think I’d come here for fun? I haven’t had the money for a new sample in months, it was either this or, I don’t know, sticking mutated fish under microscopes. Kaiju blue poisoning. Been there done that, and not what I need to be doing now, you know? And you can thank your dad for that too, not having any fucking samples to work with, I mean, and his stupid wall—but I guess that’s why you’re here too. I heard they’re talking about pulling the plug on the jaeger program.”

Newton speaks quickly, and with a bewildering tendency to leap between topics like a game of hopscotch, something Hermann had quite forgotten. (They’d only met the once, after all, and Newton disguises it better in writing.) He follows it nonetheless. “Yes, well, they’re still only just rumors,” Hermann says, though he knows (with a certainty) that one more major failing of a jaeger might spell the end of it, “and I certainly hope they stay as such. I take it you’re with the PPDC now, then?”

Newton jerks a thumb towards the waistband of his gold suit, spilling a bit of his cocktail on the floor; Hermann at last notices the PPDC badge clipped to it. Newton’s grin is identical to the one in his photograph. “Hell yeah, dude,” he says. “They finally hired me about a month after we—” The corners of his mouth twitch down, ever so slightly. “—uh, got coffee.”

It had been a long-standing complaint of Newton’s, back when they wrote each other, that the PPDC was perfectly happy to use his research but turned a blind eye whenever he submitted yet another application for their k-science research team. Personality conflicts, Hermann always presumed. He and Newton certainly had plenty. Perhaps Hermann’s not the only one who’s grown desperate—a thought he scolds himself for the unkindness of a moment later. Newton is a brilliant scientist despite his difficulties and their past. “Of course,” Hermann says. “Well, congratulations. I hadn’t heard.”

“Wine?” a passing waiter asks them.

Newton shakes his head. Hermann takes one this time, gratefully.

“It’s been alright,” Newton says. He downs the entirety of the red cocktail in his right hand. “Like I said. Not many samples to work with. They had me stationed over in Vladivostok, but I got leave for the holidays. And for this I guess.”

“I’ve been in Seattle,” Hermann says. “I reckon they’ll be transferring me soon, though I haven’t an idea where.” More rumors, of course.

For a moment he allows himself the brief fantasy of being transferred somewhere with Newton, or perhaps it’s more of a fear than a fantasy—year after year of this sort of insufferable awkwardness? Being forced to work together? It’s something Hermann had longed for in the past, spending every day with his marvelous penpal at his side. It instills a sort of nausea in him now. Newton touches his arm before Hermann has the chance to excuse himself hide in the loo. “Hey, dude, listen,” Newton says. “About us getting coffee. I feel like I owe you an apology.”

Hermann can’t help it; he snorts, though he immediately regrets it. Newton, at least, does not look offended. “Do you?” Hermann says. Two and a half bloody years too late.

“I mean it,” Newton says. He blinks earnestly at Hermann, and squeezes Hermann’s arm. “I screwed it all up that day, and I could’ve—I don’t know, written, or texted, or anything to apologize, but I didn’t. And that was shitty of me. So I’m sorry, I really am. And…yeah. That’s it, I guess.”

It’s the last thing Hermann expected to hear today. It’s the last thing he expected to hear from Newton. The radio silence following that disastrous day at the coffee shop had been awful—and it’d been infuriating, too. Where had they even gone wrong that day? Hermann can’t remember anymore. Probably a fight over something inconsequential. “I see,” Hermann says. “Well. Er. Thank you, Newton. Your apology is...appreciated.”

“Cool,” Newton says.

He stares at Hermann expectantly.

“Oh,” Hermann says. “And I’m sorry, too, I suppose.”

“Cool,” Newton repeats.

He smiles at Hermann, and Hermann is momentarily suffocated by it, and the sudden reemergence of feelings he thought he’d quashed years ago. Newton is still very attractive. Very, very attractive. Hermann’s arm is warm and tingly from where Newton touched him, and he realizes the warmth is spreading up to his neck and cheeks—he’s blushing. “Hey, wanna check out the snack table with me?” Newton says. “I love the rich people food at shit like this. The last one I went to had oysters, which is totally weird. Like, it’s a gala.”

Hermann decides to accept it as the strange peace offering it obviously is meant to be. “Alright,” he says. “Though, I insist you explain your monstrosity of a suit first.”

“It’s classy,” Newton says. “Anyway, you’re one to talk, buddy.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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fdmlovesfashion · 5 years

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Celebrated designer and Chinese couturier Guo Pei presents “A Golden Opportunity” at Sotheby’s. The famed gold bridal dress that took 5 years to make is now going on auction at Sotheby’s in December. Making this event more special even more special, we discovered this designer and the amazing gold dress in 2012, where it collection debut appeared in FIDE fashion week.

Fast forward to today, the talented designer known as China’s Queen of Couture offers the dress for sale at auction for very first time. Five + years in the making, this wedding dress carries an estimate worth of of £500,00!!!! Guo Pei will be offered at Sotheby’s in its New Bond Street saleroom later this month. Pei, who is among the first generation of trained couturiers in China, got the attention thanks to Rihanna, who wore one of her looks to the Met Gala in 2015 – a dramatic trailing yellow gown which sparked a global media frenzy.

“This exquisite piece of couture design was meticulously crafted over the course of five years, and is hand sewn with gold thread in-laid with the precious metal. Carrying an estimate of £500,000-700,000, the ‘Gold Traditional Bridal Dress’ (黄金嫁衣) comes to auction direct from Guo Pei’s atelier in Beijing, presenting a rare opportunity to acquire a piece from one of the designer’s significant couture collections, normally only available to purchase by commission.”

“The partnership with Sotheby’s is very special for me. Sotheby’s is known for its high calibre auctions of quality antiques and masterpieces previously owned or worn by legendary individuals or part of a rare collection.

*****The gold traditional bridal piece selected for the auction, however, is a brand new piece of work released for the first time at an auction. Its value lies in the traditional craftsmanship and culture it brings forth. I feel our partnership is an answer to Couture’s future – Couture will be considered an art form in the future and this partnership has paved the way for this possibility.” – Guo Pei

STAY GOLD: GUO PEI at SOTHEBY’S commentary by #brigitteseguracurator.

photo credit: Sotheby’s FashionDailyMag.

Creative Director | Fashion Editor : Brigitte Segura @fashiondailymag @brigitte_segura @socialcuratorsnyc.

FashionDailyMag zine + blogs: fdmloves || FashionDailyMag | fdmLOVESmens | fdmlovesmusic.

STAY GOLD: GUO PEI at SOTHEBY’S Celebrated designer and Chinese couturier Guo Pei presents “A Golden Opportunity” at Sotheby's. The famed gold bridal dress that took 5 years to make is now going on auction at Sotheby's in December.

#brigitteseguracurator #chinese couturier #fashiondailymag #gold bridal dress #gold dress #Guo Pei #queen of couture #RIHANNA #sothebys auction

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meanstoatrend-blog · 6 years

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Yasmine Amani: The GSA student putting propaganda, poise and Putin at the forefront of textiles

Yasmine Amani met me at the front of her studio with a large blue Ikea bag filled with her intricately embellished, irreverent designs. A 3rd year Textiles & Embroidery Glasgow School of Art student; she sent heads turning with her first collection this year. We walked round to CCA to sit down over a couple of G&Ts, and I got to know the girl applying politics to fashion with her decadent embroidered pieces. There’s something pretty unconventional about sending dictators Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un’s faces down the catwalk on sportswear, so I wanted to know where her ideas and influences originated.

Yasmine’s primary influence is her Dad and his love of luxe sportswear; “My dad is algerian, I model my aesthetic on my dad, he’s definitely an icon when it comes to tracksuits”. The athleisure style Yasmin’s father sports is a recurring theme of that informed her collection, as we are frequently informed by the narratives present in her father’s native Algeria.

Keeping the sportswear tradition in the family, Amani sits in front of me rocking a pair of custom harem style trousers with Kim Jong Un embellished on the derrière. I can’t help but be reminded of the cruise’ 18 collection from luxury high fashion house Gucci.

As a designer, her texture and style inspiration hails from high fashion houses Gucci and Versace; “The detailing in the Gucci snake and the symbolic meaning behind the design reminds me of tapestry and the old forgotten arts”.

This year fashion pop culture's perennial fascination with religion took centre stage, in particular Catholicism, at this years Metropolitan Gala in New York. Versace presented us with dramatic designs emblazoned with silver Byzantine crosses, sumptuous gold colours and extravagant ecclesiastical accessories. Yasmine’s collection depicts similar contrasting elements, between street leisure wear and political iconography. ‘Mapping the correlation between propaganda and religious iconography; mixing the halo with leisure wear”

Yasmine sourced her items from various vintage boutiques and shops for her first collection. Fila and Slazenger silk tracksuits and a simple black shift dress which she added frills, gemstones, rhinestones and exquisite fabrics to create the visual imagery on her designs.

Luxury sportswear designer’s have been know to be antithetical to the mass produced cheap materials on sportswear. Gucci sells tracksuits and sportswear but would never consider the thought of it being recognised as sportswear. In addition to the fashion world’s own long-running fetishisation of the street, it has blurred the divide that traditionally separated the runway from the streets. Within high fashion, certain figures have done their best to make sportswear feel like an unwelcome guest at a party.

Drawn in by the Ego and narcissism of the dictators, her work disempowers them by highlighting their obsession with their own image. These figures are extremely visual in their presence. Putin presents himself in velvet and velour tracksuits and string vests whilst weightlifting, constantly trying to prove his masculinity and his powerful role as Russian President. However Putin has started to shift from the image of the tough fighter and a miracle-maker to the image of a considered man and the leader of a young team. He is the country's brand. “Putin is a VERY visual man”.

Kim Jong’s expression on Yasmine’s garments is a constant beaming smile. Kim sports a peasant-style outerwear, but appears intent on modernising his country’s look with a suave haircut, which fellow North Koreans are forbidden to copy. With his androgynous attitude and demure what can we possibly do but laugh at this political figure who has indifferent views on how his country survives, resulting in mass poverty and uncertainty.

When it comes to designing the pieces, each is drawn, placed by hand then beaded around the face, finally contour around the face and position it.

With fourth year looming and a six piece collection to curate, we don’t know what to expect from this new designer, but we hope for more current over the top decorate designs with an injection of humour.

“My time at GSA is a chance to experiment with fabric, textures and create pieces will enjoy. I hope to follow it with a masters in fine art”

Yasmine’s designs caught my eye at the GSA March fashion show earlier this year and for me stole the show with their unpredictability and decadence, “What you wear is itself as an expression, so i create one off pieces’’. This designer has a fierce experimental outlook on fashion. For a first collection, it was bold, expressive and current. Yasmine is a very talented woman who is creating iconic and eye-catching unpredictable fashion. “ I believe i am headstrong in my approach to embody unpredictable entertaining fashion”.

Since showing her collection in March, Yasmine’s pieces are featured in acclaimed independent visual zine SYN Magazine.

Creative Director, Fashion Writer & Stylist - Caoimhe McKay @ceevs_

Designer - Yasmine Amani @itsyasmineamani

Photography - Jonathan Ashworth @jonny_ashworth

Model - Eilidh Maxwell @eilidh95

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