Text & Textile — 6

Sixty-year-old women who I guess are seamstresses stop in front of my dresses, violently sliding the hangers from left to right and walking away in complete incomprehension at the sight of the prices on the labels. Yet I stand beside my dresses, I am as invisible as the rack that supports them. Sometimes I’m asked for a business card that I no longer print, I’m sorry and I point our QR code on the table. A question pulls me out of my reverie, do my dresses are machine washable? Yes! and I risk a long answer, natural fibers are durable… but the client walks away thanking me. A little girl approaches the table on which I have placed some jewelry and porcelain bud vases. We don’t touch, Marguerite, we look with our eyes, says her mother. I watch Marguerite lickering my vase while her mother look through my dresses, her coffee in one hand. Two hours pass, I ate my banana, two dates and my baba ghanouj sandwich. A lady stops, she has a question, I smile at her.

She asks me where I bought my velvet hangers. I smile politely.

Once or twice a year, I hit the road. I hang my delicate dresses in an arena, a church or a community center. Around me, craftsmen who work with wood, leather. Entrepreneurs that sell fruity coffee in design packaging, lattes and caps embroidered with their logo. We taste cookies, marinades, jams, popcorn. Behind me, five members of the same family patiently wait for their first transaction – they sell decorative stained glass pieces – staring at the empty banches of the arena.

On the way back, I review my day. It always goes quite well in the end, I sell a few pieces to customers who know Noémiah, who are delighted to finally be able to try on my dresses, ask me questions about my eco-responsible and inclusive approach. And like many others, Marguerite’s mother left with a pair of earrings.