An emulation of borrowed ideas, or an expression of our own? This thought has stayed with me for some time.
A stroll through the internet made me realise how much of someone else's world I carry every day. I live in India, but often I wear clothes someone else has decided are fashionable. I scroll through Western brands telling me what is available, what is chic or no longer relevant. Meanwhile, I overlook the local artisan beside me, someone creating pieces with care for people like me, because somewhere along the way I found comfort in subscribing to a certain ideal. And I wonder, who even set these narratives?
Everywhere I go there are Get Ready With Me videos, trend reports, people deciding what stays and what goes. More often than not, I am an avid consumer of these ideas. But are they even my own?
And yet, when I look closely, I find something interesting.
When our mothers wore bangles for centuries, we hardly paid attention. Today, all of us want them again. A dupatta has existed in our homes forever, yet suddenly the Scandinavian scarf feels feminine and desirable. Kolhapuris were once considered ordinary, but when luxury houses reinterpret them, they become aspirational.
Which makes me wonder, is fashion really about the piece itself, or is it about who is wearing it and who has given it meaning?
Maybe we have lost the plot in our own narratives. And perhaps that is why I built Reyaa.
Not to reject the world around us, but to reconnect with the parts of ourselves that have always existed.
I wanted to create something that changed with me, through me. At the heart of Reyaa is 925 sterling silver. The finest form of silver used in jewellery. Gold stays the same. Silver changes. That, to me, is the whole point.
Through oxidation, a soft blackened layer forms on the surface, creating the depth and patina we often associate with traditional Indian pieces and jhumkis. Silver tarnishes, but it does not corrode.
And I have always wondered, is that really a flaw, or simply evidence that something has been lived with?
The piece doesn't lose value with wear. It gains specificity much like a mother's old watch, a favourite book with folded corners and jewellery worn over years.
The beauty of these things lies not in remaining untouched, but in carrying traces of life.
I have always believed that I wear some part of who I am. And perhaps that applies to jewellery too. Silver changes with the hands that wear it. Not because it weakens, but because it responds. How you care for it, where it travels with you, what memories it gathers, all of these leave their mark.
Isn't that the beauty of finding something so resonant with yourself that it willingly grows with you? The story of a piece doesn't end with the hands that made it but continues with the hands that wear it.
Through generations. Through memories. Through women who choose for themselves. Because perhaps true style was never about following what the world tells us is right or wrong. Perhaps it has always been about making our own choices and carrying pieces that remind us who we are.