I’m doing this not just for price transparency but also because smashing the pay taboo helps everyone get the pay they deserve. And I am self-employed so I have the privilege of no boss to get in trouble with.
This veil was easier to work out my hourly rate because, unlike Happily Ever After in my previous attempt, the embroidery machine is not involved so all the work is me.
In this case, my customer was based in the UK (like me) and paid £200 for her veil on Etsy. Etsy then helpfully gives me a breakdown of fees to show my actual earnings on this sale – £178.16.
However, it doesn’t explain why only £157.52 arrives in my bank account. If anyone more familiar with the inner workings of Etsy, HMRC or maths in general can explain where the missing £20.64 went, I’d be grateful. I’ll even send it to you if you show me how to recover it.
The payment on my bank statement.
The cost of the fabric, crystals, beads, comb, thread etc bring this figure down another £40, to £117.52, while postage and packaging costs drop it a further £15.05, to £102.47.
I set my stopwatch to see how long it actually took me to make this veil, from cutting out the fabric, through edging it, to hand-stitching 18 crystals and hand-beading the 3-D spider. Including parcelling it up at the end, it was two hours and 14 minutes, so my hourly earnings were £45.54. Not half bad, but still short of the £75 hourly rate I generally base my prices on.
And for extra fairness, I stopped the timer to make my cup of tea.
How much of the cost of a veil actually lands in my pocket? The answer, it turned out when I tried to work it out, is not straightforward. I’m not sure whether I was surprised by the figure I kind of landed on, but I found it interesting enough to share it.
This example is based on an Etsy order I received before Christmas for a fingertip Happily Ever After veil.
Woohoo! A new order!
With the local taxes in the customer’s US homeland, the total paid by them Etsy was £421.20 (~$567.72 US).
Before the money leaves Etsy, there are a few immediate deductions, which Etsy very kindly lays out:
Fees laod out by Etsy
I get a little confused here because if you take that £83.58 away from £390 (after tax), you get £306.42 (right?!), but what lands in my bank account a few days later is actually slightly more, £310.52. Where the extra £4.10 came from is anyone’s guess but I’m not complaining, especially in low season.
The mystery figure that landed in my bank account
Either way, I then have some more hard costs to cover:
Hard costs for shipping and packaging
I use (almost award-winning; highly commended in the Quirky Awards 2023) sustainable packaging from Tishwish, Royal Mail’s international tracked & signed service with extra insurance, plus the new US 10% import duty (and Royal Mail’s 50p fee for handling this for me). All this brings what landed in my.bank account down to £242.52.
That’s before I even buy the materials for the veil itself.
Hard costs for veil materials
I make enough veils that I can buy many of these in modest bulk – not exactly the economies of scale big manufacturers see, but, for example, I can halve the cost of tulle by buying it in 50m rolls, knowing I’ll get through it. So, the cost of the raw materials of this particular veil are £26.52, just under 7% of the purchase price, bringing the total going to me to £217.
So let’s consider the time it takes to turn a pile of tulle, thread and ribbon into a Happily Ever After fingertip veil. It takes approximately three days to cut, embroider, sew and assemble to completion, so call it 24 working hours, based on an eight-hour working day.
I set my hourly rate at £75, but the time taken to make this veil for £217 slash that to just £9 per hour, which isn’t even minimum wage.
How much per hour
However, most of the time required to make this veil is for embroidering which my machine (theoretically at least) can mostly get on with without me. So, let’s say only a quarter of those three days requires me hands on. That brings my hourly rate to a more palatable £36 per hour, but still less than half what I should be charging (more on this here).
But, and here’s where it gets a bit tricky to calculate again, we need to consider the cost of that beautiful embroidery machine, and all the other equipment I need to make the veil.
What I bought to make my veils
Embroidery machines are EXPENSIVE. I bought mine, an entry-level industrial multi-needle embroidery machine (swoon), for £6,000 a couple of years ago. It literally cost six times more than I paid for my car (priorities, my queens). For context, the next model up is £10,000. Even my first (now back-up) embroidery machine was £1,200 seven years ago, and that only has a single needle, meaning I have to rethread it myself for every colour change, which is every three minutes or so for this veil.
The software I use to create and edit my embroidery designs was £900 and I’ve since paid a further £250-ish for the latest edition. There’s also my Cricut (£300) which even actually works sometimes, but I do have to swear at it a lot first.
A few further costs not included in the image above are my business insurance (public liability, professional indemnity, stock in trust, etc) which is another £500-odd a year; machine servicing at around £200-300 a year and miscellaneous business costs including phone/WiFi bill, mortgage, etc.
As tricky as it is to put a fair price on my work, I think I usually get it about right. I only employ myself and I feel well compensated, so that’s a decent measure, plus I absolutely adore my job.
If you think I should be earning more for what I create, please consider that the next time you see a veil or wedding dress on an ultra-fast fashion site for next to nothing, and think about what the person who actually made it will earn from it.
Considering a wedding dress with off-shoulder, Bardot straps? Read this first.
You know I’m not one for following trends for the sake of it, but an unavoidable one this summer is the Bardot neckline. Popularised by the eponymous actress Bridget Bardot in the 1950s and ’60s, the straight (or sweetheart) neckline elongated by off-shoulder straps has actually been around since Regency and Victorian eras.
It’s the straps we need to talk about. Loved for balancing out wide hips, narrowing broad shoulders, showing off the décolleté while remaining elegant and concealing bingo wings, they do have an inherent drawback.
The crux of Bardot straps is this: there will always be a trade-off between how well they fit and how much you can still move your arms.
Gorgeous Sarah opted to remove her Bardot straps (and train) completely, and straighten the neckline.
There are workarounds but all of them involve a compromise of some sort. If you want to be able to lift your arms at all on your wedding day – to hug guests, slow-dance with your new spouse, pick up children, toss your bouquet (or hold it victoriously aloft), throw shapes on the dancefloor, remove your veil or fix your hair – and have your heart set on this classic neckline, here’s what we can do.
Awesome Sophie in her Bardot-neckline wedding dress. Yes, she’s on the loo; yes, she’s allowed me to share this.
Option 1: Do nothing
Accept the fit of the straps as they are, which might be slightly baggy but almost certainly will limit how high you can lift your arms.
Option 2: Tighten them to fit
Some people are happy to sacrifice movement and just want them to sit as straight and snugly as possible. This is fine if it works for you, but your arms will be pinned to your sides and only usable from elbows down.
Option 3: Make them detachable
There are a few ways we can do this, including adding poppers so you can remove them entirely. Alternatively, we can have them fitting snugly but fashion a way for them to fold neatly under your arms if you choose to wriggle your arms out of them completely. Alternatively, you could wear a Bardot style as a bolero or even just a separate ‘collar’ that slips over your shoulders.
Option 4: Add elastic
A popular option with my customers this year has been to run some elastic through (or under) the straps so they fit more snugly but can still extend when arms are lifted. This option will cause some gathering/ruching in the straps, which some have embraced for its frilly effect and had me add elastic to the full strap, while others weren’t keen on the aesthetic and just had me add it towards the back.
Option 5: Engineer an internal runner
This is a clever option if you don’t mind the straps finishing tucked into the back (and/or front) of your dress rather than resting on top. Each strap is looped over a horizontal ‘bar’ of ribbon inside the dress that it can run along, while a length of elastic pulls it back into place when your arms are down. It doesn’t work with all dress and strap styles but worth asking about as it’s the best option for keeping a close fit while allowing maximum movement if it works.
Option 6: Raise where they sit
If you’re open to a neckline that isn’t quite strictly a Bardot, a final option is to raise where the straps sit, so they’re on the edge of your shoulder rather than around your arms. This means losing arm coverage (in case that’s a dealbreaker) and gaining coverage on your back so bear in mind whether you want that or not too.
Beautiful Debs, whose Bardot straps I raised to sit higher on her shoulders so her back would feel less exposed. Her sweetheart neckline lent itself particularly well to this alteration. Raising them also meant that, despite shortening them, she had more freedom of arm movement.
If you’ve yet to start wedding dress shopping, please don’t rule out a Bardot neckline, but remember that it will always require a compromise of some sort. And if you already have your Bardot-neckline dress, please don’t panic. Feel free to drop me a line and we can find the best solution for you and your dress.
Char in her gorgeous Bardot gown (with the five-metre custom veil I made her). Photo: Lauren Brumby Photography
The Three Fs to consider to make sure your dream wedding dress doesn’t become a neurospicy nightmare
Shopping for – and wearing – a wedding dress is a whole new experience for most people. Seeing yourself as The Bride for the first time can be surreal and overwhelming, and you’re often in and out of several dresses in quick succession. Consequently, you might not have time or emotional energy to notice the little things that will make wearing one for a whole day uncomfortable.
Add the sensory issues that often come with neurodiversity into the mix and the dress of your dreams can end up feeling like a nightmare.
But not all dresses are created equal, and there are some common culprits to look out for when you’re choosing your dress, mainly around the three Fs: Fabrics, Finishes and Fit. Feel free to add your own F if you hit all three.
FABRICS
I’m not just talking about synthetic fabrics (polyester, nylon, etc) that make you sweat here, as you’ll be hard pressed to find a dress made from 100% breathable, natural fibres (e.g. silk, cotton, viscose, etc) in most boutiques. Sometimes you get a choice, especially if you’re going bespoke. Get samples you can take away and experiment with if you can.
Lace
Lace can be scratchy (particularly the stiffer kind in direct contact with your skin), or conversely tickly – I’m looking at you, eyelash lace necklines. Eyelash lace can usually be trimmed down to the solid edge if necessary so don’t let it put you off an otherwise perfect dress.
Tickle tickle! Beautiful and delicate, eyelash lace can also be a bit tickly for some people.
Check which parts of your body will be in contact and whether it will irritate you.
Feathers
Another tickly one is feathers. Even if you’re not outright allergic, feathers can tickle mot just your skin but the inside of your nose (they shed too). There can also be sharp bits.
Sequins
One of my biggest bugbears with wedding dress manufacturers is the placement of beads and – worse – sequins under the arms of sleeveless dresses where they will chafe the delicate skin of bare inner arms. Have you ever felt the edge of a sequin? Those buggers are SHARP. Now imagine rubbing your arm on clusters of them all day and night.
Even if they’re not right up in your armpit, check what your wrists will be brushing against if your dress has beads and sequins on the skirt. If they’re somewhere annoying, you can have them removed. Alternatively, if they’re too pretty to ditch, have your seamstress cover them in a soft sheer fabric such as tulle or organza so you can still have the sparkle without the scratching. If you’re open to a bit of a restyle, you could even add sleeves or gloves to protect your skin.
Glitter
A huge trend at the moment is glitter, especially on tulle, although I’ve also seen it on satin and even lace (and I’ve actually made two wedding dresses using a black glitter lace satin!). By its nature, it has a slightly rough texture so I usually recommend putting it under a layer of tulle rather than have it as the top layer of a dress. It will still sparkle but feel softer.
Veils are different as they’re not in constant contact with your skin.
FINISHES
It’s not just the fabrics themselves that can cause an issue, but what you do with them and where on the dress you wear them.
Stitched tulle
For example, even the softest tulle becomes a serious rash-inducing irritant when it’s folded and stitched, especially for a neckline; it makes every tiny fibre an inflexible ridge that RUBS. I see red skin under a lot of illusion panels where the edge has been turned under and sewn. It’s usually better to leave the edge raw and unstitched; I cut some away for a bride during her fitting this week and the relief was immediate.
Some tulle necklines and arm scyes (that’s the technical term for an armhole) have to keep their stitched edge to prevent them stretching out of shape during wear. In these cases, ask your seamstress to put something underneath the narrow hem to protect your skin. Depending on the dress, I’ve used iron-on soft interfacing (often seen on the back of embroidery on T-shirts for example) organza ribbon and clear silicon tape. Sometimes we need to experiment a bit to find what will work best for the dress and the wearer.
Unstitched tulle
It also depends on where on the dress they are. Unfinished stiff-tulle hems (usually in underskirts and inner dress layers) feel like barbed wire if they come into contact with the tops of your feet. When I get in a hot shower after a day when I’ve worked on stiff tulle, my hands and forearms suddenly sear from all the micro abrasions and scratches they’ve sustained from the edges.
Enclosing them in a rolled hem or encasing them in bias binding protects skin. I do this as standard on all my bespoke dresses, but not all manufacturers do (the last Vera Wang dress I altered didn’t; also polyester BTW), or they’re inconsistent with it (some Wed2b dresses have their stiff tulle hemmed, others don’t)
The raw edge of stiff tulle
Boning
Not quite a fabric, but an essential component of many wedding dresses is boning (stop sniggering at the back). It shouldn’t be uncomfortable but check where it finishes at the bottom to make sure it’s not digging in your tummy, hips or the tops of your legs, especially when you sit. I’ve had to shorten bodice bones for many people, especially wheelchair users.
Need a light boning, anyone? Fnarrrr
Smells
Smells might not be the first thing wedding dresses make you think of, but have a good sniff when you’re trying them on or choosing fabrics. Some manufacturers spray fabrics with chemicals that have a distinctive smell that not everyone can tolerate. Some have a sickly sweet smell and others more unpleasant odour of fish mixed PVA glue.
Cheap stiff tulle seems to be a repeat offender here. I once had to leave some outside (literally on the washing line) for two months before I could tolerate it inside, even after machine washing it twice. The smell still hadn’t completely gone so I gave up on it and invested in a better one, making a mental note never to cheap out on stiff tulle again.
If you’ve bought your dress second hand or a vintage number and specialist cleaning can’t get rid of smells, my friends in theatre always recommend spraying with cheap vodka.
FIT
Of course, making sure your dress fits well can solve a lot of sensory issues. But when you’re trying on samples that don’t fit you properly, make sure you understand what a proper fit will feel like.
Heavy + strapless = tight bodice
For heavy strapless dresses in particular, it might have to be tighter than you’d like. A weighty skirt section needs to rest snugly above your hips so it doesn’t fall down and have to doing the yank-it-up dance all day. By snug, I mean firm and supportive; you should still be able to breathe normally and feel like you could enjoy a full meal. Wedding dresses are not usually designed or worn for practicality but they shouldn’t be uncomfortable and should certainly never be painful.
If you’re someone who easily feels constricted in tighter clothes, consider whether a looser style might be for you. I’ve seen a dress trigger a panic attack once it fitted as it should because the bride didn’t realise that it would need to be so tight to stay up. She was autistic and had sensory issues against feeling squeezed. When she bought her heavy satin strapless ballgown, it was some inches too big for her – gaping all over and falling down – and she didn’t realise how much more snug the bodice would need to be to support the weight of the skirt. Even leaving it slightly looser than I would normally to accommodate her sensitivities (she explained them to me at our first appointment), it still felt too restrictive for her.
THE GOOD STUFF
I would love to be able to provide a definitive list of Fabrics, Finishes and Fits that won’t cause sensory issues. As we know though, if you know one neurospicy person you know one neurospicy person. Everyone’s needs, likes, dislikes and sensitivities are different, just as every dress will be different. Satin is lovely and smooth and could be a safe bet for many but it can be heavy and people like my daughter hate the sound and feel of someone running their nails on it. Most things are surmountable but might need more budget for alterations.
What I’m hoping to achieve here is to give some things to consider when choosing a wedding dress, whether that’s in a boutique, creating something bespoke or buying second hand.
Because I don’t ever again want to see someone’s face as they realise at their final fitting that they’ve made a mistake in their dress choice.
I won the Quirky Weddings Award for Weddingwear! The Quirkys are the UK’s only awards for alterative wedding suppliers.
I am so freaking happy!
Winner winner chicken dinner
I know everyone says this but I was absolutely not expecting to heat the Quirky Weddings founder Lily Jones to call my name. My fellow finalists are all weddingwear creators I’ve not only admired for years, followed on social media and regularly turned to for advice and sanity checks. Hell, one of them is even a judge on my category for The Wedding Industry Awards, which I’ve also entered this year (hi Bex, I love you very much).
Legend Bridal, Bex Brides, Caroline Versallion, Aimee at Corsetry & Couture and Harriet Christelow London are all top-of-their-game awesome so please check them out. We all do different things, are in different areas and will click with different people, which is so important when you’re creating such high-stakes pieces.
Maybe we should be rivals but we’re not. We love what we do, support each other and uphold standards across the industry which you can only do as a community.
Our Facebook and WhatsApp groups buzz with requests for advice, and there’s never any judgment. You’re laying yourself bare among your contemporaries when you post something like, “I’m having a brain fart and can’t remember how to do this type of zip; please can someone think for me?”, but within ten minutes – without fail – you’ll have at least five responses describing their favourite method or just empathising, “Oh God, I fucking hate those zips too.”
Best of all at the awards I finally got to meet Caroline and Aimee in person and see Legend’s Charlotte again. Next time, Bex and Harriet; I’ll have a pornstar martinis with your names on them.
And I got to meet other vendors with whom I’ve collaborated on styled shoots and real weddings. Big love and congratulations to The Lucky Sixpence, Proud Fox Ceremonies, Eva Rose Weddings, Toni Searle Beauty and Gem Wright Photography.
I don’t want this to be a glib post full of false modesty because I am so proud and very happy to have a win to beat back back imposter syndrome. But I need to credit all the finalists for all their hard work, talent and for helping to get me here too.
Also, massive kudos to Quirky Weddings for using the inclusive term ‘Weddingwear’ in the award title.
Perhaps we should be rivals, but we don’t see it that way. There’s plenty of work to go around and we need to know who we can recommend when we’re fully booked. And you can’t work in weddings and not have at least one back-up plan if something takes you out of action in peak season; last year for example, just as I recovered from Covid, I broke my arm. The year before, I’d picked up brides when a dressmaker friend broke her leg.
We have Facebook groups, WhatsApp groups and Christmas parties. We celebrate each other’s new shop openings, dress designs, birthdays and business anniversaries.
More tellingly, we are open and vulnerable with each other. We ask for advice and help. We admit when we don’t know the technique for something or have never used a particular machine or stitch.
Even better, within minutes usually, someone provides the answer and willingly, voluntarily, steps in to teach what we need to know.
Last month, I wanted to know how to do a delicate edging stitch I’d seen at the V&A’s Chanel exhibition. Unfortunately in that case, it turned out I would need two new machines: a picot hemming machine and a time machine, because picot hemming machines haven’t been manufactured for a century, BUT it was dressmakers in my network who told me this.
Anyway. I’m going to go against the sisterhood grain here and call someone out, albeit not by name.
I’d made a veil a bride not local to me who was having her dress altered by someone else. I’d made her friend’s wedding dress a few years back and included a bustle hook as standard, and she asked her seamstress to add one to her dress. She even described quite specifically the type she wanted (there are several).
When she went to pick her dress up, there was no bustle hook. Instead, the seamstress handed her these three safety pins.
This is not a bustle hook. “Just use these,” my bride was told.
There are bustle pins you can buy, but I’ve never recommended them. Figuring out which bits of many layers to attach them to, usually at the point of the wedding when most people have had a few sherberts, is not simple. Worse, they make holes in the fabric, and my bride asked whether this would happen.
“Yes,” was the response, “but hopefully no-one will see them.”
Pick. My. Jaw. Off. The. Floor.
I want to give the seamstress the benefit of the doubt. We all have off days. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she was rushed. Maybe she didn’t actually know how to bustle this dress but she’a a professional seamstress workong with a bridal boutique. Maybe there was a reason she couldn’t do it that hasn’t occurred to me, because I can’t fathom why she recommended this.
I’m not local or available in time so couldn’t do it myself but, predictably, someone from my needle ninja network stepped in within hours to add the bustle hook (thank you again, Tina).
A member of our Facebook group said of she found out the safety pin seamstress was a member, she’d be kicked out.
Another customer, a tattoo artist, was in awe when I told her about how supportive dressmakers are, and was rightly envious. She told me that her industry was rife with rivalry and bitchiness.
We are so passionate about what we do and seeing it done well. Keep your safety pins for emergencies, not your bustles.
It’s finally happened. I’ve had brides arrive for wedding dress fittings without their shoes or underskirt several times but today brought a first: a bride just arrived for her without… her dress.
It’s absolutely not her fault; she’s storing it at her parents’ house and her dad handed her the wrong grey storage box. We only realised what had happened when we opened it in my fitting room and found an assortment of summer clothing and books.
While she runs back to her parents’ house for the correct grey box, I thought I’d put together a list of what you need to have with you to make sure I get your dress fitting perfectly:
Yourself. As you are, no worries about whether you’ve gained/lost weight or that your dress won’t fit. That’s why you’re here.
Your dress. Obviously.
Your shoes. Unless you’re absolutely 100% certain you don’t need your dress taking up.
Your underskirt. This can make an inch or more’s difference to the length, especially if it’s hooped. If it has a suck-you-in waistband, it can also change how the bodice fits. They tend to sit Simon-Cowell-waistline high so if you have a sheer bodice and/or an open back, nows also the time to check whether it’ll be on show if we don’t do something about it.
Your undies. Anything that changes your shape or size such as a padded bra, minimiser bra, shapewear, padded knickers (would not be a first) will need to be on you when I pin you in your dress. Just remember to take them with you when we’re done (but it also wouldn’t be a first if you forget).
Belt. Especially if you want it sewn on.
Not essential, but feel free to bring your veil, jewellery, garter, and anything else you’d like to try to see if it works with your dress if you’d like and we’ll have a proper play.
I’ve just come out of a wedding dress fitting with a bride who loved her dress bit now wants me to restyle the neckline of her dress because the priest (Catholic, if it’s relevant) conducting her church ceremony asked her:
Not my actual bride in question, just another badass.
“How revealing is your dress?”
Consequently, she has gone from loving her dress and feeling confident with the V-neck illusion panel (ie skin-toned translucent tulle) to being paranoid and wanting to add approx 4″ of lace to conceal her cleavage.
I’m not religious so wanted to get perspective(s) on whether I’m right to be feeling angry on her behalf. I feel the priest is policing her body, was sexist to ask her this (he didn’t ask the groom) and what she chooses to show of her own body at her own wedding is no concern of anyone else.
If it even makes a modicum of difference to the priest, should he even be a bloody priest? If he’s worried about what other people think, that’s irrelevant. If he’s worried about being distracted himself, or having “impure” thoughts provoked, that’s a him problem, not a neckline issue.
If he’s concerned about some epidermis causing a distraction, I’ve offered to dance at the back in a bikini.
I realise this is technically none of my business either but I’m feeling invested now after seeing the effect his probing has had on the bride.
Me: Always choose a couture bridal specialist to work on your wedding dress. The skills they have over your aunt’s friend or your own DIY efforts if you’re not a pro are worth every penny.
Also me: I’m not spending £8 – eight whole pounds – on that Hobbycraft kit when I can make one myself for my children’s birthdays.
I broke my wrist last Thursday. My right, and I’m right handed, at the start of what are typically my two busiest months of the year.
Sad, tired face; lumpy bent wrist
I was booked solid with alterations, bespoke creations and embroidered veil orders and one split-second stumble backwards rendered me on my arse in every sense. I have a Colles distal radial fracture, more technically known as A Proper Number.
By Friday lunchtime, I’d found that I could accomplish many routine tasks with my left hand, even if brushing my teeth was more like punching myself in the face. Crucially I could still sew, with the exception of some techniques, BUT I couldn’t cut fabric.
The largest scissors I could wield were my tiny stork-shaped embroidery scissors which barely nibble fabric, and I couldn’t exert enough pressure on my rotary cutter to get the blade through even the lightest tulle.
So, painstakingly (and painfully), I typed out a message with one thumb, dropping my phone on my foot a couple of times, to the A-Level student I’d told the previous week that I couldn’t take him in for work experience.
Krishal the wunderkind
Krishal came over almost immediately and I liked him even more quickly than that. Actually, everything was speedy. He’d said he was a fast learner and I threw him in at the deep end with techniques he’d never used; he swam with them all. Rotary cutter, narrow-hem machine foot, seam ripper: all nailed first time.
Get this: he’d never used a seam ripper (aka stitch unpicker, the Ctrl+Z of sewing) because he’d never needed to. He’d never sewn a thing wrong. Ever. Including on his first A-Level project, an ambitious cocktail mini-dress with crinoline underskirt in fabric he dyed himself.
Not only that, but he’s taught himself French and Japanese, because he wants to work in Paris and Tokyo. And he’s a gifted musician. And tennis player. And 5,000m runner. Oh, and he’s been approached by a modelling agency.
We’ve been geeking out about sewing AND linguistics AND Disney films (these are a few of my favourite things 🎶) and I think I want to adopt him.
True, I do ❤️ yoga.
A week on, I’m sustaining fewer facial injuries while cleaning my teeth and I can now cut fabric again. Far from simply shadowing and observing me on work experience and making cups of tea, Krishal has been doing skilled work for which I have paid him the rate I would receive for the same jobs.
He is clearly someone who will go far. If his mum and dad refuse to surrender their parental rights to me, I at least hope that one day, while jetting between his Paris and Tokyo ateliers, Krishal remembers me and that he was once – literally – my right hand man.
