A nostalgic journey through the streets of São Paulo, where flea markets, secondhand treasures, and a city’s energy ignited a lifelong passion for fashion and creativity.
The streets of São Paulo were alive before the sun even rose, vendors setting up their stalls in the early morning haze, the smell of fresh bread and strong coffee mixing with the scent of rain lingering from the night before. The city never truly slept, and as a child, neither did my curiosity.
Weekends were spent navigating the labyrinth of flea markets, where each stall was a portal to another time, another life. My hands traced the embroidered details of vintage dresses, the cool metal of forgotten brooches, the smooth leather of well-worn handbags. Even as a minor, I roamed freely through this massive metropolis, untethered by cell phones, without the constant ping of a digital world tracking my every move. The city belonged to us, and we belonged to it. It was wild and free.
São Paulo is often compared to LA for its traffic and glamorous parties, to New York for its eclectic mix of people and a city that never stops, to London for its sprawling underground subway lines, to Paris for its bohemian charm and endless flea markets, and to Seattle for its moody, rain-kissed days. But none of those comparisons can fully capture the heartbeat of the place that shaped me.
For almost thirty years, this was my world. My life was intense, always moving. By twelve, I was already running my first business, unknowingly weaving the foundation for the path I walk today. Fashion, even then, was more than clothing. It was a shield, a tool of empowerment, a way to exist loudly and confidently. But that is a story for another day.
Many of my days were spent at my grandmother's house, a space filled with ingenuity and survival. A single mother and the most resourceful woman I have ever known, she was years ahead of her time. Nothing went to waste under her watch. Empty milk jugs became planters, dull knives transformed into bracelets, leftover rice turned into crispy golden cakes—and if there wasn’t enough for a cake, the birds under her balcony would feast instead. Her home overlooked a patchwork of rooftops that connected like a sprawling village, a layered tapestry of life where people, nature, and animals coexisted in an unspoken rhythm.
Despite São Paulo's massive shopping centers, we rarely set foot in a mall. Our treasure hunts took place in hidden "brechós," tiny secondhand boutiques tucked away in the city's folds, each one with an owner who spoke of garments as if they were old friends. But the true adventure was the flea markets. Entire weekends disappeared as we wandered through them from dawn to dusk. In the morning, vendors meticulously arranged their wares, the crisp sound of unfolding fabric and unzipping suitcases filling the air. By night, transactions gave way to conversation, stories shared over food, music, and the glow of flickering streetlights.
I wish I could remember every story I heard, every lesson whispered between racks of forgotten fashion and trinkets. But what remains is the feeling—the unshakable magic of holding a piece of history in my hands. To this day, I still have much of the jewelry I collected in those years, each piece a portal back in time. Some people say music has the power to transport them, to bring them back to a moment. For me, fashion holds that same magic.
Have you ever heard the song A Million Dreams? There's a line that has always stayed with me: "Every room inside is filled with things from far away, special things I compiled, each one there to make you smile on a rainy day." That is how I feel about my collection—my life in São Paulo was a million dreams stitched together in fabric, metal, and leather, woven with the rain, the chaos, and the freedom of a city that will always be a part of me.
