You have lived on three continents. If MLIMA were a physical place on a map, where would it be?
MLIMA would not be located in one specific place; it would exist in the space between places. If I had to imagine it on a map, it would be somewhere between the dense urban energy of Hong Kong, the coastal stillness of Tunisia, and the warmth of East African artisanal traditions. It is in this in-between space that the brand truly lives. It is shaped by movement, memory, and the idea that identity can be built from multiple places rather than a fixed geography. MLIMA is less about representing a single destination and more about exploring what happens when different worlds leave their mark on you.
You start with the material, not the sketch. How does a raw piece of "waste" or a dormant stock fabric tell you what it wants to become?
For me, material is never just material; it already carries a story. It has a weight, a texture, a movement, imperfections, limitations. These qualities immediately suggest what it should or should not become. A structured fabric might want to become an architectural piece. A softer textile will call for movement and drape.
Sometimes, the print itself dictates the silhouette, because a bad cut would destroy the rhythm of the pattern. Starting with the fabric rather than the design forces me to conceive in conversation with the material, rather than imposing a form on it. I often say that it is the fabric that dictates to me what it wants to be.
What is the most surprising thing a master artisan in Tunis or Tanzania taught you that a design school never could?
That perfection is not always the goal. It's a lesson I find hard to internalize, not being perfect myself. Many artisans I work with create by hand, allowing subtle irregularities, slight shifts in the weave, tiny asymmetries, variations in texture to show through. Rather than seeing them as flaws, they consider them evidence of life and authorship.
Design school often teaches precision: how to deliver ideas and execute them. But in the real world, working with artisans requires a lot of teamwork and mutual listening. They taught me that character often lies in imperfection. They showed me that when an object is made by human hands, you should be able to feel the presence of the hand in it. This philosophy has profoundly shaped MLIMA.
MLIMA is aimed at the "modern nomad." Why is it so important for someone who is always on the move to own objects charged with history?
Because when your life is in motion, objects become anchors. People who move often, whether physically, emotionally, or culturally, understand that possessions can powerfully carry memory. A garment, a bag, a handmade object can encapsulate the atmosphere of a place, a season, or a chapter of your life.
For the modern nomad, home is not always geographical. Sometimes, home is what you carry with you. I want MLIMA pieces to provide that feeling: objects with enough soul and history to travel with you and integrate into your own personal narrative.
The name means "Mountain" in Swahili. What is the biggest "summit" or challenge you are trying to conquer with this brand right now?
The biggest challenge is to build a brand that remains deeply artisanal and narrative, while growing sustainably. In fashion, there's always this pressure to grow faster, produce more, simplify the process. But MLIMA was never intended for mass production. So the challenge is to figure out how to grow without losing the intimacy, craftsmanship, and integrity that are the essence of the brand. Creating a brand that can scale while remaining human, intentional, and rooted in meaning.
Photo credits: Grégory LeBourdais
Find the brand on its e-shop: https://www.mlimaworld.com/
And on its Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mlima_world/