Velvet Vows
By Kenda Lahresh
Love follows us quietly, like the echo of a song we once heard on repeat. It is in the curve of a friend’s smile, the brush of hands in a crowded street, the soft weight of a pet leaning into your legs. We see it in the glow of our childhood rooms, in the moments we held ourselves before anyone else could, in the fleeting glances that speak more than words ever could. It follows us everywhere, and so does its bittersweet absence.
Love drapes itself over our lives like fur and velvet, soft but unyielding. It is in the small rituals, the quiet mornings, the nights spent alone with our thoughts, the way we forgive ourselves and return to ourselves again. It lingers in fleeting strangers, in shared laughter, in memories we touch like photographs pressed to skin. Every absence sharpens it, every longing marks it, every reunion confirms it.
Love follows us like the echo of a melody we can never forget. It moves through city streets and catwalks, through the satin folds of a dress, the sharp edge of leather, the soft weight of fur brushing shoulders. It is stitched into the seams of fashion, whispered in the silhouettes of Alexander McQueen, the drama of Galliano, the quiet rebellion of Kanye and Kim, the poise of Iman and the thrill of Rihanna. It moves through music, art, and memory, a pulse threading through velvet nights, through songs from the sixties, through the haunting tones of Lana Del Rey and The Weeknd, reminding us that love is everywhere, even when we cannot see it, even when we walk alone.
It hums in music, in the dark velvet tones of Lana Del Rey, the haunting pulse of The Weeknd, the timeless echoes of love songs from the 60s that still make our hearts ache. Love follows us in chords and lyrics, in the improvisation of jazz, the fury of rock, the intimacy of an acoustic guitar strummed in a dimly lit room. Bowie taught us that love is transformation, reinvention, a performance that still lives long after the curtain falls.
We see it in art, in the brushstrokes that capture longing, in sculpture that freezes passion mid-motion. Love is everywhere, even in what we do not recognize, even in the small moments: the glance of a stranger, the laugh of a friend, the way our hands rest on our own bodies in quiet devotion. Self-love is the undercurrent, the river beneath the city lights, the pulse that sustains us as we move through life’s stage.
Love is not only celebrated in couples in magazines, in photos, in applause. It is the force that inspires creativity, the energy that fuels obsession, the tenderness that shapes ambition. It is in the risk of daring fashion, in the vulnerability of performance, in the courage to stand alone and still be adored. It lingers in memory, in absence, in the spaces between moments, reminding us that even fleeting touches, even whispers, even solitary nights are not without love’s presence.
Love follows us. Through leather and lace, through fur and satin, through the flash of cameras and the hush of a gallery. It moves through music, fashion, art, history, through the lives of those who dared to feel and to create. It is patient, relentless, subtle, magnificent. And when we finally notice, we realize it has always been there, shaping us, carrying us, teaching us how to give and how to hold, how to become and how to return.
The world celebrates love in couples in the grand gestures, the spotlight kisses, the red carpets and magazine covers, yet it often forgets the love that moves unseen, the love that waits in patience and in silence. It is the self we cradle, the strength we wear like leather and lace, the fire we carry alone. Its not always perfect but that it is raw, real, and uncompromising, making an empire built not just on passion but on presence, on daring to honor yourself even in the chaos.
We chase the grand gestures and forget the subtler symphonies: a friend’s gaze that reassures, a sibling’s support that steadies, the animal at our feet that offers unconditional devotion. Self-love is the pulse that binds these moments together, the light that keeps them from slipping away. It is the understanding that we are enough, that we deserve our own devotion, that every whisper of care around us is part of the story we live.
Love always follows us. It moves in shadows and in light, in leather jackets and lace dresses, in city streets and empty rooms. It does not ask for permission. It does not wait for acknowledgement. It simply is, quietly insistent, softly relentless, shaping us into who we are and who we will become.
I have a few people who truly showed me what true love is, through friendship uplifting you in times of doubt and pain, they lift you when doubt weighs heavy in the way they whisper you can do this you are enough when the world forgets to say it.
They are the ones who inspire me, who spark my creativity, who push me to chase ideas that feel too big, too bold, too impossible. They make me want to be better, to dream higher to become the version of myself I did not know I could be.
Love lives in them too in the laughter we share in the late night conversations, the little victories we celebrate like fireworks, the quiet encouragement that carries me farther than I could go alone. It is in the way they see me really see me and hold me up when I cannot hold myself.
These friends are magic creators, dreamers, believers. Their love is patient, soft, relentless. It runs beneath every moment shaping who I am, who I want to be, reminding me that I am never truly alone.
Thank you Isra, for your bubbly, beautiful and cheeky presence lighting up every room you walk into. Thank you, Asri, for your stylish, graceful, and warm presence that makes every moment sparkle. Thank you Saarah, for your sassy side-eye, stunning beauty, and kind heart that spreads joy wherever you are. I love you guys so much and you have shaped so much of who I am today. My girls forever.
Thank you to all my loved ones for inspiring me, lifting me up, and being there during the hard times. Thank you for pushing me to keep going, for encouraging me when I felt like giving up, and for reminding me of my own strength. Your support, kindness, creativity, energy and love mean more than words can say, and I’m so grateful to have each of you in my life. I love you all so much.
❦
The Power of Reinvention
Zahia Dehar
By Kenda Lahresh
They all thought they knew her story before she even stepped into the room. Whispers, judgment, assumptions, every gaze seemed fixed on her mistakes, her past, her controversy. But she refused to be defined by it. Zahia Dehar chose transformation. She chose to rise. She chose to turn scrutiny into art, criticism into couture, and doubt into power, and maybe, deep down, we’ve all been there.
Her story begins in the glare of the world’s eyes, whispers trailing her every step, judgment shaping the space around her. As a teenager, Zahia Dehar was caught in a scandal that consumed headlines across France, a storm that could have shattered anyone. The accusations, the scrutiny, the relentless gaze of a world eager to define her, many would have crumbled beneath it. But she did not. She chose a different path. She chose transformation. She chose to rise.
“The whole world knew about me for doing that. It really hurt. I cried for six months; I thought I’d never go out again.”
The scandal left its mark, yes. It carved doubt into her days, tested her spirit, and forced her to confront herself in ways no one else could. Yet from the ashes of scrutiny, she forged strength. She learned that the world’s assumptions do not define the self, that judgment can be alchemy, transforming fear into courage, whispers into power. Couture became her voice, and every
gown, every embroidered detail, every architectural silhouette became a testament to her resilience. Delicate threads stitched not only fabric but reclamation, weaving vulnerability into audacity, fragility into fortitude.
“Her baby-face looks and Brigitte Bardot physique immediately enraptured the fashion glitterati.
Her architectural silhouettes command the body, celebrating its curves, its presence, its movement. Her embroidery speaks in language both intricate and intimate, telling stories of mastery, grace, and defiance. Through her creations, she invites the world to witness a woman who has been tested, who has stumbled, but who rises again, more luminous, more daring, more herself. She revolutionized the way couture embraces the body, not as object or ornament, but as living art, sculpted and celebrated.
“Lagerfeld says she is so fascinating precisely because she is a reminder of France's 18th-century courtesans, the paid mistresses of the rich and powerful, "a purely French tradition that the whole world admired and copied".”
Overcoming the scandal reshaped her completely. She embraced her narrative, claimed her space, and let creativity become both shield and sword. She moved through the world unafraid, her designs echoing her journey, bold yet delicate, structured yet flowing, intimate yet cinematic. She turned scrutiny into attention, doubt into artistry, and judgment into fuel for her vision. Her influence radiates outward, drawing celebrities, editors, and tastemakers to the precision of her work and the courage behind it.
Zahia Dehar’s story is a promise. It is proof that adversity can become artistry, scandal can become power, and a life once questioned can emerge radiant, sculpted by courage, vision, and relentless reinvention. Her journey whispers to us all, the past is not a cage. The shadows are not the end. Every doubt, every misstep, every trial carries the seeds of transformation.
Zahia Dehar moves like a secret wrapped in satin, soft, shimmering, and dangerous to touch. She was first painted as a fantasy by others, she took the brush back and turned herself into art. Her beauty is not passive, it commands. She plays the doll, but the strings are in her hands, and every glance, every whisper of lace is a spell, not to please but to possess. She’s the kind of woman who turns scandal into silk and desire into power, leaving the world wondering if they are adoring her or if she has already won, and truth is she always wins.
Her story teaches us that we can rise. That we can create. That we can stand luminous in the light and fearless in the shadows. She reminds us that beauty is resilience, that power is grace, and that to rise from scrutiny, to transform the story written for us into the story we choose, is the most cinematic, the most radical, and the most human act of all.
Zahia Dehar is living proof that even after the storm, even after the world has spoken, we can become the icons of our own lives, unstoppable, unapologetic, and radiant.
A Symphony of Melancholy and Gold
The Art of Fashion & Beauty
By Kenda Lahresh
There is something sacred about autumn. The world softens, the light deepens, and even the wind feels dressed in velvet. The leaves, once a bright chorus of green, turn into a symphony of melancholy and gold, whispering stories of change, nostalgia, and quiet beauty.
Fashion listens to this rhythm. Designers have always understood the poetry of fall, the moment when opulence feels right again, when the body asks for warmth and the soul craves memory.
In 1995, Dolce & Gabbana captured this feeling perfectly with their Sicilian Romance collection. Black lace, deep reds, rosary crosses, and the shimmer of candlelight on fabric. It was devotion and desire intertwined, an ode to womanhood that felt sacred and dangerous at once. Each look carried a pulse of warmth and memory, as if stitched with fragments of old love letters and prayers.
A year earlier, Rifat Ozbek’s Spring 1994 collection danced in contrast yet harmony. His vision was free-spirited and luminous, blending Turkish mysticism with 90s ease. White dresses floated like dreams, embroidered vests shimmered in the light, and there was a spiritual calm that felt like the morning after a long, beautiful night. Together, Ozbek and Dolce & Gabbana painted two sides of femininity: freedom and fire, serenity and sin.
That same duality lives in music that defines the season. Lana Del Rey’s world feels like it was born in autumn light, her voice lined with nostalgia and musk. Albums like Born to Die, Ultraviolence, and Norman F***ing Rockwell carry the scent of cigarettes, old Hollywood, and faded love. Her music plays like a memory of a runway show that never ends. The strings, the melancholy, the California sunlight turning gold as she sings about beauty and decay.
Then there is The Weeknd, the king of the fall himself. His early Trilogy era feels like the echo of a dark afterparty, all glitter and emptiness, lust and confession. Beauty Behind the Madness turned that underground sadness into something cinematic. Together, Lana and Abel sound like autumn nights in a city that never sleeps: expensive perfume, half-empty glasses, silk sheets, and the ache of something you cannot name. Their worlds merge with fashion’s, the same heartbreak, the same beauty that hurts just enough to feel alive.
Jewelry in fall takes on a special significance. Gold pieces shine in the soft light, simple yet undeniably luxurious. Minimalist Cartier-inspired designs feel modern but timeless, elevating any look without overwhelming it. A delicate bracelet, a sleek ring, or a thin chain necklace can transform an outfit, adding subtle strength and elegance that mirrors the season itself.
Kim Kardashian’s 2012 era defined a new chapter of autumn glamour. Her sculpted silhouettes paired with Giuseppe Zanotti heels created a bold, sensual, and cinematic look. Kanye West’s structured leather and fur pieces added strength and swagger, making the duo a cultural signal of transformation and confidence. The muted autumnal tones, rich textures, and precise tailoring echoed the season itself, reflecting the warmth of fallen leaves, the depth of golden light, and the quiet melancholy that defines fall. Kim’s style in this era became an icon presence, ambition, and modern glamour.
Zahia Dehar, in her own right, emerged as an autumn icon through her couture. Her gowns were delicate yet daring, with sheer panels, intricate embroidery, and hand-applied embellishments that seemed to capture the flicker of candlelight on fallen leaves. Each piece told a story of contrast,softness and edge, vulnerability and confidence, intimacy and spectacle. Her designs echoed the textures of autumn, like mist over golden fields or the hush of wind through amber trees. Zahia’s couture commanded attention while harmonizing with the quiet strength and melancholy of fall, making her work timeless and transformative in its own way.
Autumn fashion has always lived within this energy. The fabrics thicken into velvet, satin, and fur. Every texture becomes a story. There is something eternal about the way a fur coat moves; it transforms whoever wears it. In the soft weight of mink or the shimmer of faux fur lies a power that no other material carries.
