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Im-Mortal Magenta
The Colour that Doesn’t Exist

My name is Ayham Hassan. I’m a Palestinian fashion design student based in London and Ramallah. My work is deeply rooted in my personal experiences growing up in the West Bank and is approached through a critical and analytical lens. I am dedicated to challenging and reshaping my reality through the expressive medium of fashion, drawing inspiration from the social customs and evolving culture in my city. Focusing on exploring the rich craftsmanship in Palestine, with a particular emphasis on tailoring, textiles, and draping. I actively collaborate with local artisans to incorporate their traditional techniques and expertise into my design and production process. By doing so, I aim to contribute to the preservation of Palestinian crafts and enhance the overall production cycle in my country, ensuring that these invaluable skills and traditions do not disappear, especially in the fast- evolving world we live in.
The unique aesthetic of my work is deeply influenced by the environment in which I was raised, characterized by a raw, primal, visceral, and earthy quality. This aesthetic is a reflection of the challenges I faced growing up under Israeli military occupation. To me, fashion is not simply a form of self-expression; it is a means of protection, at times from societal pressures, and always from the harsh realities of military occupation.
I firmly believe in the transformative power of design as a force for positive change and progress. Through my work, I seek to disrupt the fabric of constructed life in my community, prompting individuals to confront the pressing issues within Arab and Palestinian societies. By building upon traditional techniques and infusing them with innovative and sustainable production methods, I am committed to elevating design and industrial independence in Palestine and the Levant area. Additionally, I aspire to integrate the often-overlooked Palestinian identity into the global fashion industry.
إنهاليستثوبًاأخلعهاليوم،بلجلًداأمزقهبيد ّي.ولاهي فكرة أتركها ورائي، بل قلبًا حلو بالجوع والعطش
“It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands. Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and thirst.”
— Khalil Gibran, The Prophet (1923).
I have developed a collection that powerfully showcases my conceptual process for each look, utilizing primarily deadstock materials and end-of-stock leather skins. My selection includes an array of soft silk chiffon, woven silks, and vibrant shades of magenta. I have incorporated silk organza, rubber bands, faux leather cords, and knitted wool from Palestine. Additionally, my materials feature tulles, paper silks, metal embellishments, pleated paper, and hand-stitched woven cotton from Palestine, all contributing to a distinctive and impactful aesthetic.

Firstly, I confront the issue of cultural sustainability against the backdrop of the horrific genocide occurring in Gaza and the West Bank. My work is deeply inspired by the Magenta weaving technique and cross-stitch embroidery, which have cultural roots in the city of Majdal in Gaza. Regrettably, the last family practicing these traditional crafts faces severe intimidation from Israeli forces, with some members displaced to Egypt. Through the use of symbolic color and powerful motifs, I assertively document and celebrate the uniqueness of this heritage in every look of my graduate collection.
Secondly, I take a firm stance on environmental sustainability in the construction of my pieces. I have developed innovative zero-waste cutting techniques for each look, focusing intently on utilizing deadstock materials and leftover leather skins. My project has garnered sponsorship from Last Yarn Fabrics and support during my placement at Maison Givenchy. Together with my mother, I have crafted a wool knit scarf using wool sourced from local Palestinian shops, all while operating within a reparative production cycle. Furthermore, I proudly collaborated with eight exceptionally skilled female artisans specializing in cross-stitch embroidery; for them, this craft is a vital source of income for their households. In essence, my graduate collection is a powerful celebration of creativity and craft preservation from my hometown. It unapologetically addresses the devastating effects of genocide and war on the survival of a vibrant culture.
Incorporating my identity into my work is not just important; it is essential. I am committed to confronting socio-political issues within the fashion landscape and raising critical awareness of the industry’s environmental impacts. Through my designs, I will deliver bold statements that inspire change, foster meaningful dialogue, and promote a more thoughtful and responsible approach to fashion. My aim is to craft pieces that not only enhance personal expression but also challenge the status quo and elevate our collective voice.

CÉLINE: You moved to London four years ago to follow your dream. What was your dream?
AYHAM: My dream was always fashion. I’m fascinated by the incredible designers in London, like McQueen and Galliano. In Ramallah, there was not much of a scene. I started studying design at Birzeit University in Ramallah, and met the most incredible artists, like Amer Shomali and Omar Joseph Nasser Khoury (?). I was so privileged and honored to be taught by them. I ultimately realized that I wanted to have a career in fashion, and the goal became CSM (Central Saint Martins in London).
CÉLINE: How was the process to apply?
AYHAM: It was insane. It was literally like doing the impossible. But I applied, and got in. Then I had to face the complications of going and getting funded. At that time, I had incredible mentorship from Nol Collective (an intersectional feminist & political fashion collective out of Palestine) who were incredibly supportive. However, unfortunately, the government in Palestine does not acknowledge fashion as a serious topic, like art… There is an amazing art scene in Palestine. Just not much fashion. So, I started doing crowdfunding. The crowdfunding got picked up by people at Dazed (digital magazine - dazeddigital.com), Bella Hadid, and a lot of people in the industry, who shared it on Instagram. It was so humbling… The al-Quds al-taw’am (?) made Palestine kind of mainstream on Instagram. There is an interesting evolution in terms of what resistance is and how to communicate what we are fighting for and how to communicate our ideas on social media. Emma Davidson (Fashion Features Director at Dazed Media) wrote an article in Dazed that literally changed my life in one night. I got all my funding sorted out, and I got my sponsorship. Emma called me and said, “Prepare yourself… make sure you have an umbrella. London is rainy.”

CÉLINE: Your recent collection went viral, and it was in every single news outlet. I was so proud to see it… from GQ to Vogue to literally, everywhere. How was it for you to put out a collection? It’s so personal. Tell us a little bit about the process behind it, and the work in Palestine, the embroidery, the work with the oversized fabrics. Tell me about how you built this collection, and what it means to you.
AYHAM: At that time, with the genocide in Gaza and the effect of that in the West Bank and in the occupied Palestinian territories in the north, it was so insanely tough and difficult… We grew up with our families, our grandparents telling us horrific stories. And there’s so little documentation of what happened during the Nakba, and the Naksa, the Intifadas, and everything connected to Palestinian resistance. The late Ottoman Empire also fucked up the situation and made it possible for Israel to come about. I was studying and watching documentaries, listening to stories. What happened in Gaza happened before, and it’s happening again. And even worse. I was in shock. I was in mourning, and huge suffering, and I didn’t understand how to actually support the resistance other than posting and sharing and going to protests with my friends…
I’m in fashion, I’m a creator. I have a vision, and I have an identity that I want to share with the world. And I was aware that I needed to do something. I needed to reflect on my emotions and process everything. It was so tough to do this at UAL (University of the Arts London). Unfortunately, the show was sponsored by L’Oreal, which is complicit in the genocide. UAL is sponsored by a lot of companies that are complicit. It was really tough. But thank God the staff members and my tutors, all of them, reached out and reminded me that I was entitled to speak out. This collection, I’m not going to lie, was created in the context of being at CSM in London, but it was unapologetically about Palestine.
I’m afraid for my family, my friends, my loved ones, in Lebanon, Syria, and Palestine. It was a terrifying time, and it still is a terrifying time. It’s insane. I needed to address this reality. I could not just look through the archives of incredible designers from the ‘50s and ‘60s. I had to address what was (and is) happening to my country. I did months of research in Palestine. I was able to go to Palestine in the summer before I started my collection. I spent months looking at archives, at imagery. I learned how people were forced to leave their countries and sent to refugee camps in Jordan and Lebanon. I was looking at all of this, and I was really overwhelmed. I thought, how am I going to approach this? It was the quest for liberation and the reality of genocide. I wanted to look at the history of Gaza. I wanted to understand the power and resilience behind it. And it clicked for me, the magenta color. It looked like a symbol of resilience, a symbol of joy in the face of suffering and the horrific things that people were going through. It’s a color of beauty, it’s a color that demands, “Look at me. I’m here!” This is what Gaza is for me, and this is how I experienced it from the West Bank.

CÉLINE: Where did you start? Was the tatreez (Arabic word for Palestinian embroidery) on your work done in Palestine?
AYHAM: Yes. Because I grew up in Ramallah, I was able to connect with a network of embroiderers who are in the villages near Ramallah and Jerusalem. I’d worked with them before on one of my samples. And I was like, let me go back to that. It was a very complicated technique to develop in a short period of time. I used the embroidery, but I applied it maximally. I changed the sizing, the scale, the colors, and the placement of it. The embroidery was done by hand by eight women who, incredibly, used images I sent them to work from. They picked up my changes immediately. And of course, my mom and my aunties, my friends, and my neighbors were also checking with them and working with them. So that was beautiful, and it was really important for me, because I wanted my textiles to come from Palestine, I wanted them to have the feel of Palestinian hands. Their resilience. This is how we fight back.
The day of the show was so special. I had Sharon Rose, an incredible friend of mine, who came from Haifa to be part of it. My first model was Palestinian as well, from Ramallah. Sadly, my family could not come, but it was really interesting to meet the people who were able to be there. However, unfortunately, the school invited a designer who had served in the Israeli military to judge… And, we didn’t (and don’t) even know whether there will be a Palestine in two years, and that’s scary. That is very scary. This collection came from my reflection on that situation. Every look in the collection was specifically referenced with keywords. It told a very strong story, and the magenta was really striking. One of the pieces was a net that my mom knitted and embroidered by hand. I wanted her to be a part of it, and I wanted her to see it… we are in 2025, it’s not that complicated to travel from continent to continent, but this is how difficult it is in Palestine. You cannot actually travel easily. You have to go to Jordan. You have to cross all these checkpoints.
The Ottoman Empire made sure to kill the industries and starve the people who worked with silk in Lebanon. There’s a huge story about mulberry trees, silk, and the famine that the Ottoman Empire caused, which severely impacted the Lebanese people. And similarly, in Syria… so, we became the ones to provide the silks. There is a connection through the fabrics and the colors and the threads between our countries and our nations… People say I’m Palestinian, but I’m probably more Lebanese, more Syrian. We are all of the same ethnic makeup. When we look at the collection, we see this cry, this loud scream, this creative explosion of, look at me, look at me, I’m here… and it’s extremely moving. I think that’s why it’s touching a lot of people, and it’s going viral, because people need to see this in a way that is creative. It’s a counterbalance in such a powerful way to all the horror we are seeing.
Fashion is art to me. This virality has shown me that my work resonates on so many levels. It’s fashion, it’s design, it’s an explosion of creativity, and passion, and gender and sexuality expression. My collection is addressing the reality of genocide, the quest for liberation, and the inevitability of liberation. This is a collective liberation movement. It’s our right to scream and say, this is not okay! It is a genocide. It’s ethnic cleansing. During the show, they closed every door, they locked everything, they had police officers. My models were like, we have to do something. We have to carry signs. We have to show that this is not okay. My models, all of them, carried signs that said, “Boycott L’Oreal,” and “Free Palestine.” It was not even my suggestion. It was the models who decided to do this.

CÉLINE: Do you think your brand is punk? Do you fall in the punk lineage?
AYHAM: Maybe in the spirit of punk… it’s rebellious. We are living in very uncertain times in all industries. It’s very scary. I said everything I wanted. But unfortunately, they always tone it down. Change it a little bit. Of course, the staff are incredible and very pro-Palestinian, all of them, the tutors, students, everyone is… but the whole UAL multinational company… you just realize you don’t matter to anyone. They had a course fees reduction for Ukrainian students because they are going through the war, and I, as a Palestinian, didn’t receive any reduction. That was a huge what’s the deal? And why the hell do we have to have funding from L’Oreal to do a show to exhibit the most incredibly talented students, but we are living in a time if you’re not in that show, you’re not going to be shared. If you’re not posted, you’re not going to get a job. If you’re not shared, people are not seeing your work, and we deserve to show our work. You know, we worked super hard on it…
CÉLINE: What’s next for you? Where are you headed?
AYHAM: The ultimate goal is to open my own collective and work with students, work with designers and freelancers and artists in Palestine, in Lebanon and Syria, and Jordan, and hopefully make my statement in the industry. I have so much to say. I’m experiencing a genocide. My family is in Palestine. I am from Ramallah. I’m seeing all these stories, and at the same time, I have to be inspired. I have to be creative. I have to be on my best behavior, to be every day doing my best work. And I have to use different words to speak to people, and I have to approach it differently and humbly tone down. So which one? If it’s about being Palestinian, yes, it is about being Palestinian, about having to discuss really harsh topics in a fashion context. And this is what I’m providing to the industry. This is what I’m going to do every single season, every single year. This is what I’m going to speak about. This is what I’m going to approach.
CÉLINE: If you were to work at a big house, at a traditional fashion house, is there one you would want to be a part of?
AYHAM: Unfortunately, everything is complicit with everything horrible that I don’t stand for. And that’s why I have to do my own thing. Of course, I would love to work with Givenchy and Dior… You’re talking about years and years and years of craft, beautiful work, talented people, and the money to do the absolute best work. Unfortunately, I realized that I don’t have a space in that place because they are complicit. That’s why it is really important for me to do my own thing. I have so much to say on every topic, not just Palestine.

{
"article":
{
"title" : "Im-Mortal Magenta: The Colour that Doesn’t Exist",
"author" : "Ayham Hassan",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/ayham-hassan",
"date" : "2025-09-08 10:05:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/AYHAM-HASSAN-LOOK8.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "My name is Ayham Hassan. I’m a Palestinian fashion design student based in London and Ramallah. My work is deeply rooted in my personal experiences growing up in the West Bank and is approached through a critical and analytical lens. I am dedicated to challenging and reshaping my reality through the expressive medium of fashion, drawing inspiration from the social customs and evolving culture in my city. Focusing on exploring the rich craftsmanship in Palestine, with a particular emphasis on tailoring, textiles, and draping. I actively collaborate with local artisans to incorporate their traditional techniques and expertise into my design and production process. By doing so, I aim to contribute to the preservation of Palestinian crafts and enhance the overall production cycle in my country, ensuring that these invaluable skills and traditions do not disappear, especially in the fast- evolving world we live in.The unique aesthetic of my work is deeply influenced by the environment in which I was raised, characterized by a raw, primal, visceral, and earthy quality. This aesthetic is a reflection of the challenges I faced growing up under Israeli military occupation. To me, fashion is not simply a form of self-expression; it is a means of protection, at times from societal pressures, and always from the harsh realities of military occupation.I firmly believe in the transformative power of design as a force for positive change and progress. Through my work, I seek to disrupt the fabric of constructed life in my community, prompting individuals to confront the pressing issues within Arab and Palestinian societies. By building upon traditional techniques and infusing them with innovative and sustainable production methods, I am committed to elevating design and industrial independence in Palestine and the Levant area. Additionally, I aspire to integrate the often-overlooked Palestinian identity into the global fashion industry. إنهاليستثوبًاأخلعهاليوم،بلجلًداأمزقهبيد ّي.ولاهي فكرة أتركها ورائي، بل قلبًا حلو بالجوع والعطش “It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands. Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and thirst.”— Khalil Gibran, The Prophet (1923).I have developed a collection that powerfully showcases my conceptual process for each look, utilizing primarily deadstock materials and end-of-stock leather skins. My selection includes an array of soft silk chiffon, woven silks, and vibrant shades of magenta. I have incorporated silk organza, rubber bands, faux leather cords, and knitted wool from Palestine. Additionally, my materials feature tulles, paper silks, metal embellishments, pleated paper, and hand-stitched woven cotton from Palestine, all contributing to a distinctive and impactful aesthetic.Firstly, I confront the issue of cultural sustainability against the backdrop of the horrific genocide occurring in Gaza and the West Bank. My work is deeply inspired by the Magenta weaving technique and cross-stitch embroidery, which have cultural roots in the city of Majdal in Gaza. Regrettably, the last family practicing these traditional crafts faces severe intimidation from Israeli forces, with some members displaced to Egypt. Through the use of symbolic color and powerful motifs, I assertively document and celebrate the uniqueness of this heritage in every look of my graduate collection.Secondly, I take a firm stance on environmental sustainability in the construction of my pieces. I have developed innovative zero-waste cutting techniques for each look, focusing intently on utilizing deadstock materials and leftover leather skins. My project has garnered sponsorship from Last Yarn Fabrics and support during my placement at Maison Givenchy. Together with my mother, I have crafted a wool knit scarf using wool sourced from local Palestinian shops, all while operating within a reparative production cycle. Furthermore, I proudly collaborated with eight exceptionally skilled female artisans specializing in cross-stitch embroidery; for them, this craft is a vital source of income for their households. In essence, my graduate collection is a powerful celebration of creativity and craft preservation from my hometown. It unapologetically addresses the devastating effects of genocide and war on the survival of a vibrant culture.Incorporating my identity into my work is not just important; it is essential. I am committed to confronting socio-political issues within the fashion landscape and raising critical awareness of the industry’s environmental impacts. Through my designs, I will deliver bold statements that inspire change, foster meaningful dialogue, and promote a more thoughtful and responsible approach to fashion. My aim is to craft pieces that not only enhance personal expression but also challenge the status quo and elevate our collective voice.CÉLINE: You moved to London four years ago to follow your dream. What was your dream?AYHAM: My dream was always fashion. I’m fascinated by the incredible designers in London, like McQueen and Galliano. In Ramallah, there was not much of a scene. I started studying design at Birzeit University in Ramallah, and met the most incredible artists, like Amer Shomali and Omar Joseph Nasser Khoury (?). I was so privileged and honored to be taught by them. I ultimately realized that I wanted to have a career in fashion, and the goal became CSM (Central Saint Martins in London).CÉLINE: How was the process to apply?AYHAM: It was insane. It was literally like doing the impossible. But I applied, and got in. Then I had to face the complications of going and getting funded. At that time, I had incredible mentorship from Nol Collective (an intersectional feminist & political fashion collective out of Palestine) who were incredibly supportive. However, unfortunately, the government in Palestine does not acknowledge fashion as a serious topic, like art… There is an amazing art scene in Palestine. Just not much fashion. So, I started doing crowdfunding. The crowdfunding got picked up by people at Dazed (digital magazine - dazeddigital.com), Bella Hadid, and a lot of people in the industry, who shared it on Instagram. It was so humbling… The al-Quds al-taw’am (?) made Palestine kind of mainstream on Instagram. There is an interesting evolution in terms of what resistance is and how to communicate what we are fighting for and how to communicate our ideas on social media. Emma Davidson (Fashion Features Director at Dazed Media) wrote an article in Dazed that literally changed my life in one night. I got all my funding sorted out, and I got my sponsorship. Emma called me and said, “Prepare yourself… make sure you have an umbrella. London is rainy.”CÉLINE: Your recent collection went viral, and it was in every single news outlet. I was so proud to see it… from GQ to Vogue to literally, everywhere. How was it for you to put out a collection? It’s so personal. Tell us a little bit about the process behind it, and the work in Palestine, the embroidery, the work with the oversized fabrics. Tell me about how you built this collection, and what it means to you.AYHAM: At that time, with the genocide in Gaza and the effect of that in the West Bank and in the occupied Palestinian territories in the north, it was so insanely tough and difficult… We grew up with our families, our grandparents telling us horrific stories. And there’s so little documentation of what happened during the Nakba, and the Naksa, the Intifadas, and everything connected to Palestinian resistance. The late Ottoman Empire also fucked up the situation and made it possible for Israel to come about. I was studying and watching documentaries, listening to stories. What happened in Gaza happened before, and it’s happening again. And even worse. I was in shock. I was in mourning, and huge suffering, and I didn’t understand how to actually support the resistance other than posting and sharing and going to protests with my friends…I’m in fashion, I’m a creator. I have a vision, and I have an identity that I want to share with the world. And I was aware that I needed to do something. I needed to reflect on my emotions and process everything. It was so tough to do this at UAL (University of the Arts London). Unfortunately, the show was sponsored by L’Oreal, which is complicit in the genocide. UAL is sponsored by a lot of companies that are complicit. It was really tough. But thank God the staff members and my tutors, all of them, reached out and reminded me that I was entitled to speak out. This collection, I’m not going to lie, was created in the context of being at CSM in London, but it was unapologetically about Palestine.I’m afraid for my family, my friends, my loved ones, in Lebanon, Syria, and Palestine. It was a terrifying time, and it still is a terrifying time. It’s insane. I needed to address this reality. I could not just look through the archives of incredible designers from the ‘50s and ‘60s. I had to address what was (and is) happening to my country. I did months of research in Palestine. I was able to go to Palestine in the summer before I started my collection. I spent months looking at archives, at imagery. I learned how people were forced to leave their countries and sent to refugee camps in Jordan and Lebanon. I was looking at all of this, and I was really overwhelmed. I thought, how am I going to approach this? It was the quest for liberation and the reality of genocide. I wanted to look at the history of Gaza. I wanted to understand the power and resilience behind it. And it clicked for me, the magenta color. It looked like a symbol of resilience, a symbol of joy in the face of suffering and the horrific things that people were going through. It’s a color of beauty, it’s a color that demands, “Look at me. I’m here!” This is what Gaza is for me, and this is how I experienced it from the West Bank.CÉLINE: Where did you start? Was the tatreez (Arabic word for Palestinian embroidery) on your work done in Palestine?AYHAM: Yes. Because I grew up in Ramallah, I was able to connect with a network of embroiderers who are in the villages near Ramallah and Jerusalem. I’d worked with them before on one of my samples. And I was like, let me go back to that. It was a very complicated technique to develop in a short period of time. I used the embroidery, but I applied it maximally. I changed the sizing, the scale, the colors, and the placement of it. The embroidery was done by hand by eight women who, incredibly, used images I sent them to work from. They picked up my changes immediately. And of course, my mom and my aunties, my friends, and my neighbors were also checking with them and working with them. So that was beautiful, and it was really important for me, because I wanted my textiles to come from Palestine, I wanted them to have the feel of Palestinian hands. Their resilience. This is how we fight back.The day of the show was so special. I had Sharon Rose, an incredible friend of mine, who came from Haifa to be part of it. My first model was Palestinian as well, from Ramallah. Sadly, my family could not come, but it was really interesting to meet the people who were able to be there. However, unfortunately, the school invited a designer who had served in the Israeli military to judge… And, we didn’t (and don’t) even know whether there will be a Palestine in two years, and that’s scary. That is very scary. This collection came from my reflection on that situation. Every look in the collection was specifically referenced with keywords. It told a very strong story, and the magenta was really striking. One of the pieces was a net that my mom knitted and embroidered by hand. I wanted her to be a part of it, and I wanted her to see it… we are in 2025, it’s not that complicated to travel from continent to continent, but this is how difficult it is in Palestine. You cannot actually travel easily. You have to go to Jordan. You have to cross all these checkpoints.The Ottoman Empire made sure to kill the industries and starve the people who worked with silk in Lebanon. There’s a huge story about mulberry trees, silk, and the famine that the Ottoman Empire caused, which severely impacted the Lebanese people. And similarly, in Syria… so, we became the ones to provide the silks. There is a connection through the fabrics and the colors and the threads between our countries and our nations… People say I’m Palestinian, but I’m probably more Lebanese, more Syrian. We are all of the same ethnic makeup. When we look at the collection, we see this cry, this loud scream, this creative explosion of, look at me, look at me, I’m here… and it’s extremely moving. I think that’s why it’s touching a lot of people, and it’s going viral, because people need to see this in a way that is creative. It’s a counterbalance in such a powerful way to all the horror we are seeing.Fashion is art to me. This virality has shown me that my work resonates on so many levels. It’s fashion, it’s design, it’s an explosion of creativity, and passion, and gender and sexuality expression. My collection is addressing the reality of genocide, the quest for liberation, and the inevitability of liberation. This is a collective liberation movement. It’s our right to scream and say, this is not okay! It is a genocide. It’s ethnic cleansing. During the show, they closed every door, they locked everything, they had police officers. My models were like, we have to do something. We have to carry signs. We have to show that this is not okay. My models, all of them, carried signs that said, “Boycott L’Oreal,” and “Free Palestine.” It was not even my suggestion. It was the models who decided to do this.CÉLINE: Do you think your brand is punk? Do you fall in the punk lineage?AYHAM: Maybe in the spirit of punk… it’s rebellious. We are living in very uncertain times in all industries. It’s very scary. I said everything I wanted. But unfortunately, they always tone it down. Change it a little bit. Of course, the staff are incredible and very pro-Palestinian, all of them, the tutors, students, everyone is… but the whole UAL multinational company… you just realize you don’t matter to anyone. They had a course fees reduction for Ukrainian students because they are going through the war, and I, as a Palestinian, didn’t receive any reduction. That was a huge what’s the deal? And why the hell do we have to have funding from L’Oreal to do a show to exhibit the most incredibly talented students, but we are living in a time if you’re not in that show, you’re not going to be shared. If you’re not posted, you’re not going to get a job. If you’re not shared, people are not seeing your work, and we deserve to show our work. You know, we worked super hard on it…CÉLINE: What’s next for you? Where are you headed?AYHAM: The ultimate goal is to open my own collective and work with students, work with designers and freelancers and artists in Palestine, in Lebanon and Syria, and Jordan, and hopefully make my statement in the industry. I have so much to say. I’m experiencing a genocide. My family is in Palestine. I am from Ramallah. I’m seeing all these stories, and at the same time, I have to be inspired. I have to be creative. I have to be on my best behavior, to be every day doing my best work. And I have to use different words to speak to people, and I have to approach it differently and humbly tone down. So which one? If it’s about being Palestinian, yes, it is about being Palestinian, about having to discuss really harsh topics in a fashion context. And this is what I’m providing to the industry. This is what I’m going to do every single season, every single year. This is what I’m going to speak about. This is what I’m going to approach.CÉLINE: If you were to work at a big house, at a traditional fashion house, is there one you would want to be a part of?AYHAM: Unfortunately, everything is complicit with everything horrible that I don’t stand for. And that’s why I have to do my own thing. Of course, I would love to work with Givenchy and Dior… You’re talking about years and years and years of craft, beautiful work, talented people, and the money to do the absolute best work. Unfortunately, I realized that I don’t have a space in that place because they are complicit. That’s why it is really important for me to do my own thing. I have so much to say on every topic, not just Palestine."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "What We Can Learn from the Inuit Mapping of the Arctic",
"author" : "William Rankin",
"category" : "excerpts",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/inuit-mapping-arctic",
"date" : "2025-12-02 12:49:00 -0500",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Cover%20-%20Radical%20Cartography%20%5B9780525559795%5D.jpg",
"excerpt" : "This excerpt is from RADICAL CARTOGRAPHY by William Rankin, published by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2025 by William Rankin.",
"content" : "This excerpt is from RADICAL CARTOGRAPHY by William Rankin, published by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2025 by William Rankin.In 1994, the Berkeley geographer Bernard Nietschmann made a famous claim about the power of mapping in the global struggle for Indigenous rights. It was a claim about how the tools of historical oppression could be reclaimed by the oppressed: “More Indigenous territory has been claimed by maps than by guns. This assertion has its corollary: more Indigenous territory can be defended and reclaimed by maps than by guns.” The idea was that by putting themselves on the map—documenting their lives and their communities—Indigenous peoples would not be so easy to erase. Nietschmann was working in Central America, often heroically, during a time of violence and displacement, and he inspired a generation of researchers and activists interested in flipping the power structure of state-centric cartography on its head.But despite the spread of bottom-up mapping projects in the past 30 years, perhaps the most successful example of Indigenous mapping actually predates Nietschmann’s call to action. Just one year prior, in 1993, the Inuit of northern Canada signed a treaty creating the territory of Nunavut—the largest self-governing Indigenous territory in the world—and mapping was central to both the negotiation and the outcome. It remains one of the rare cases of Indigenous geographic knowledge decolonizing the world map.So why hasn’t the Inuit project been replicable elsewhere, despite decades more work on Indigenous mapping? The answer lies in the very idea of territory itself, and in particular in one of the most threatened parts of the Inuit landscape today: ice. The winter extent of Arctic sea ice reached a record low earlier this year, and a new low is predicted for the winter ahead. Yet the shrinking ice isn’t just an unshakable sign of Arctic warming; it’s also a poignant reminder of what Nietschmann got right—and what he missed—about the relationship between cartography and power. In particular, it shows how Inuit conceptions of space, place, and belonging are rooted in a dynamic, seasonal geography that’s often completely invisible on Western-style maps.The story begins in the 1970s, when the young Inuit leader Tagak Curley, today considered a “living father” of Nunavut, hired the Arctic anthropologist Milton Freeman to lead a collaborative mapping project of unprecedented scope and ambition. Freeman taught at McMaster University about an hour outside Toronto; he was white, but his wife, Mini Aodla Freeman, was Inuit (she was a translator and later a celebrated writer). Freeman assembled a team of other anthropologists and Arctic geographers—also white—to split the mapping into regions. They called their method the “map biography.” The goal was to capture the life history of every Inuit hunter in cartographic form, recording each person’s memories of where, at any point in their life, they had found roughly three dozen species of wildlife—from caribou and ptarmigan to beluga, narwhal, and seaweed. Each map biography would be a testimony of personal experience.After the mapping was split into regions, about 150 field-workers—almost all Inuit—traveled between 33 northern settlements with a stack of government-issued topographic maps to conduct interviews. Each hunter was asked to draw lines or shapes directly on the maps with colored pens or pencils. The interviewers stayed about 10 weeks in each settlement, visiting most hunters in their own homes, and the final participation rate was an astonishing 85 percent of all adult Inuit men. They collected 1,600 biographies in total, some on maps as large as 10 feet square.Then came the cartographers, back in Ontario: one professor and a team of about 15 students. The first map below (Figure 1) shows how the individual map biographies were transformed into summary maps, one for each community. For every species, the overlap of all hunters’ testimony became a single blob, and then blobs for all species were overlaid to make a complete map. The second map (Figure 2) shows one of the finished atlas pages along the Northwest Passage. The immediate impression is that the Arctic is in no way an empty expanse of barren land and unclaimed mineral riches. It is dense with human activity, necessary for personal and collective survival. The community maps combined to show almost uninterrupted Inuit presence stretching from northern Labrador to the Alaska border.Figure 1: Top left is a simplified version of a “map biography” from a single Inuit hunter, showing his birthplace and the places he hunted caribou, fox, wolf, grizzly bear, moose, and fish at various points in his life. (The original biography would have been drawn over a familiar government-issued topographic map.) The other three maps show how multiple biographies were then combined into patterned blobs for all hunters and all species. (Map courtesy of William Rankin/ Penguin Random House LLC.)Figure 2: A two-page spread from the finished atlas showing the seven kinds of animals hunted from the settlements of Igloolik and Hall Beach, in an area about 500 by 300 miles: caribou, polar bear, walrus, whale, fish, seal, and waterfowl. (Because of the large number of individual species recorded in the map biographies, some species were grouped together in the final maps.) The blobs are a strong, even overpowering figure atop an unusually subtle ground. Notice in particular how difficult it is to distinguish land and water areas, since the dark shading extends beyond coastlines even for individual species. This map in fact includes the Northwest Passage—the famous sea route around the tip of North America—but the crucial Fury and Hecla Strait (named after the two British ships that first learned of, but did not navigate, the passage in 1822) is almost entirely obscured. (Map courtesy of William Rankin/ Penguin Random House LLC.)Nothing about the cartography was meant to be subversive—or even controversial. For the cartographers, the only message was that the Inuit hunted a variety of species over large areas. But look again at the finished map in Figure 2. Yes, a foreground is layered over a background in the usual way, but the visual argument is strikingly different from a typical layered map in, say, a census atlas, where the foreground data doesn’t stray beyond crisp pre-existing borders. Here, in contrast, even the basic distinction between land and water is often obscure. The maps’ content is the facts of species and area; the maps’ argument is that Inuit culture is grounded in a substantially different understanding of territory than the one Western cartography was designed to show.As a result, this new atlas shifted the negotiations between the Inuit and the Canadian government decisively. Not only did the maps provide a legal claim to the Inuit-used land, documenting 750,000 square miles—an area the size of Mexico—but also a claim to the sea, showing an additional 325,000 square miles offshore.It took many years for the full implications to play out, but the erosion of the land–water boundary became central to the Inuit vision. At the time, wildlife on land was managed by the regional Northwest Territories government, while offshore marine species were the responsibility of centralized federal agencies. The Inuit used the atlas to win agreement for a new agency with equal responsibility over both. At the same time, the Inuit also improved their position by offering their offshore claims as evidence the Canadian government would use—not just in the 1980s, but even as recently as 2024—to resist foreign encroachment in the Northwest Passage. The final agreement in 1993 granted the Inuit $1.15 billion in cash, title to about 17 percent of the land in the “settlement area,” representation on several new management agencies, a share of all natural-resource revenue, broad hunting and fishing rights, and a promise that the territory of Nunavut would come into being on April 1, 1999.It’s easy to count this project as a success story, but it’s also important to remember that it depended both on the government’s own interest in negotiation and on the willingness of Indigenous peoples, or at least their leadership, to translate their sense of space onto a map, solidifying what had previously been fluid. It also meant abandoning claims to ancestral lands that had not been used in living experience and provoking new boundary disputes with neighboring, and previously amicable, Indigenous groups. These tradeoffs have led some scholars to critique mapping as only “drawing Indigenous peoples into a modern capitalist economy while maintaining the centrality of state power.” But for the Inuit, the alternatives seemed quite a bit worse.With the more recent proliferation of Indigenous mapping initiatives elsewhere—in Latin America, Africa, and Asia—the tradeoffs have been harder to evaluate. Most governments have shown little interest in addressing Indigenous claims, and when bottom-up mapping has been pushed instead by international nonprofits interested in environmental conservation, the downsides of mapping have often come without any of the upsides.Yet it’s not just the attitude of the state that’s been different; it’s also the cartography. In nearly all these other cases, the finished maps have shown none of the territorial inversion of the Inuit atlas. Instead, Indigenous knowledge is either overlaid on an existing base map in perfectly legible form, or it’s used to construct a new base map of a remarkably conventional sort, using the same visual vocabulary as Western maps.Did the Inuit project just show the data so clearly that its deeper implications were immediately apparent? No, not really, since the great irony here is that the cartographers were in fact quite dissatisfied. Follow-up surveys reached the conclusion that the atlas was only “moderately successful” by their usual mapmaking standards.The Inuit atlas was a kind of happy accident—one that doesn’t conform to any of the usual stories about Indigenous mapping, in Canada or elsewhere. The lesson here isn’t that maps should be as Indigenous as possible, or that they should be as orthodox as possible. These maps were neither. My take is simpler: the atlas shows that maps can, in fact, support alternative conceptions of space—and that showing space in a different way is crucial.The possibilities aren’t endless, but they’re broader than we might think. Plotting different sorts of data is a necessary step, but no less important are the relationships between that data and the assumptions of what lies below. For the Inuit, these assumptions were about land, water, and territory. These were in the background both visually and politically, and they were upstaged by an unexpectedly provocative foreground. The layers did not behave as they were meant to, and despite the tradeoffs, they allowed an Indigenous community to fight for their home and their way of life."
}
,
{
"title" : "Malcolm X and Islam: U.S. Islamophobia Didn’t Start with 9/11",
"author" : "Collis Browne",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/malcolm-x-and-islam",
"date" : "2025-11-27 14:58:00 -0500",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/life-malcolm-3.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "Anti-Muslim hate has been deeply engrained and intertwined with anti-Black racism in the United States for well over 60 years, far longer than most of us are taught or are aware.As the EIP team dug into design research for the new magazine format of our first anniversary issue, we revisited 1960s issues of LIFE magazine—and landed on the March 1965 edition, published just after the assassination of Malcolm X.The reporting is staggering in its openness: blatantly anti-Black and anti-Muslim in a way that normalizes white supremacy at its most fundamental level. The anti-Blackness, while horrifying, is not surprising. This was a moment when, despite the formal dismantling of Jim Crow, more than 10,000 “sundown towns” still existed across the country, segregation remained the norm, and racial terror structured daily life.What shocked our team was the nakedness of the anti-Muslim propaganda.This was not yet framed as anti-Arab in the way Western Islamophobia is often framed today. Arab and Middle Eastern people were not present in the narrative at all. Instead, what was being targeted was organized resistance to white supremacy—specifically, the adoption of Islam by Black communities as a source of political power, dignity, and self-determination. From this moment, we can trace a clear ideological line from anti-Muslim sentiment rooted in anti-Black racism in the 1960s to the anti-Arab, anti-MENA, and anti-SWANA racism that saturates Western culture today.The reporting leaned heavily on familiar colonial tropes: the implication of “inter-tribal” violence, the suggestion that resistance to white supremacy is itself a form of reverse racism or inherent aggression, and the detached, almost smug tone surrounding the violent death of a cultural leader.Of course, the Nation of Islam and Elijah Muhammad represent only expressions within an immense and diverse global Muslim world—spanning Morocco, Sudan, the Gulf, Iraq, Pakistan, Indonesia, and far beyond. Yet U.S. cultural and military power has long blurred these distinctions, collapsing complexity into a singular enemy image.It is worth naming this history clearly and connecting the dots: U.S. Islamophobia did not begin with 9/11. It is rooted in a much older racial project—one that has always braided anti-Blackness and anti-Muslim sentiment together in service of white supremacy, at home and abroad."
}
,
{
"title" : "The Billionaire Who Bought the Met Gala: What the Bezoses’ Check Means for Fashion’s Future",
"author" : "Louis Pisano",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/the-billionaire-who-bought-the-met-gala",
"date" : "2025-11-27 10:41:00 -0500",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Cover_EIP_TBesos_MET_Galajpg.jpg",
"excerpt" : "On the morning of November 17, 2025, the Metropolitan Museum of Art announced that Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sánchez Bezos would serve as the sole lead sponsors of the 2026 Met Gala and its accompanying Costume Institute exhibition, “Costume Art”. Saint Laurent and Condé Nast were listed as supporting partners. To be clear, this is not a co-sponsorship. It is not “in association with.” It is the first time in the modern history of the gala that the headline slot, previously occupied by Louis Vuitton, TikTok, or a discreet old-money surname, has been handed to a tech billionaire and his wife. The donation amount remains undisclosed, but sources familiar with the negotiations place it comfortably north of seven figures, in line with the checks that helped the event raise $22 million last year.",
"content" : "On the morning of November 17, 2025, the Metropolitan Museum of Art announced that Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sánchez Bezos would serve as the sole lead sponsors of the 2026 Met Gala and its accompanying Costume Institute exhibition, “Costume Art”. Saint Laurent and Condé Nast were listed as supporting partners. To be clear, this is not a co-sponsorship. It is not “in association with.” It is the first time in the modern history of the gala that the headline slot, previously occupied by Louis Vuitton, TikTok, or a discreet old-money surname, has been handed to a tech billionaire and his wife. The donation amount remains undisclosed, but sources familiar with the negotiations place it comfortably north of seven figures, in line with the checks that helped the event raise $22 million last year.Within hours of the announcement, the Met’s Instagram post was overrun with comments proclaiming the gala “dead.” On TikTok and X, users paired declarations of late-stage capitalism with memes of the museum staircase wrapped in Amazon boxes. Not that this was unexpected. Anyone paying attention could see it coming for over a decade.When billionaires like Bezos, whose Amazon warehouses reported injury rates nearly double the industry average in 2024 and whose fashion supply chain has been linked to forced labor and poverty wages globally, acquire influence over prestigious institutions like the Met Museum through sponsorships, it risks commodifying fashion as a tool for not only personal but corporate image-laundering. To put it simply: who’s going to bite the hand that feeds them? Designers, editors, and curators will have little choice but to turn a blind eye to keep the money flowing and the lights on.Back in 2012, Amazon co-chaired the “Schiaparelli and Prada” gala, and honorary chair Jeff Bezos showed up in a perfectly respectable tux with then-wife MacKenzie Scott by his side and an Anna Wintour-advised pocket square. After his divorce from Scott in 2019, Bezos made a solo appearance at the Met Gala, signaling that he was becoming a familiar presence in fashion circles on his own. Of course, by that point, he already had Lauren Sánchez. Fast forward to 2020: print advertising was crumbling, and Anna Wintour co-signed The Drop, a set of limited CFDA collections sold exclusively on Amazon, giving the company a veneer of fashion credibility. By 2024, Sánchez made her Met debut in a mirrored Oscar de la Renta gown personally approved by Wintour, signaling that the Bezos orbit was now squarely inside the fashion world.Then, the political world started to catch up, as it always does. In January 2025, Sánchez and Bezos sat three rows behind President-elect Donald Trump at the inauguration. Amazon wrote a one-million-dollar check to Trump’s inaugural fund, and Bezos, once mocked by Trump as “Jeff Bozo,” publicly congratulated Trump on an “extraordinary political comeback.” By June 2025, Bezos and Sánchez became cultural and political mainstays: Sánchez married Bezos in Venice, wearing a Dolce & Gabbana gown Wintour had helped select. This landed Sánchez the digital cover of American Vogue almost immediately afterward. Wintour quietly handed day-to-day control of the magazine to Chloe Malle but kept the Met Gala, the global title, and her Condé Nast equity stake, cementing a new era of fashion power where money, influence, and optics are inseparable.Underneath all of it, the quiet hum of Amazon’s fashion machine continued to whirr. By 2024, the company already controlled 16.2 percent of every dollar Americans spent on clothing, footwear, and accessories—more than Walmart, Target, Macy’s, and Nordstrom combined. That same year, it generated $34.7 billion in U.S. apparel and footwear revenue that year, with the women’s category alone on pace to top $40 billion. No legacy house has ever had that volume of real-time data on what people actually try on, keep, or return in shame. Amazon can react in weeks rather than seasons, reordering winning pieces, tweaking existing ones, and killing unpopular options before they’re even produced at scale.Wintour did more than simply observe this shift; she engineered a soft landing by bringing Amazon in when it was still somewhat uncool and seen mostly as a discount retailer, lending it credibility when it needed legitimacy, and spending the last two years turning Sánchez from tabloid footnote to Vogue cover star. The Condé Nast sale rumors that began circulating in July 2025, complete with talk of Wintour cashing out her equity and Sánchez taking a creative role, have been denied by every official mouthpiece. But they have also refused to die, because the timeline is simply too tidy.The clearest preview of what billionaire ownership can do to a cultural institution remains Bezos’ other pet project, The Washington Post. Bezos bought it for $250 million in 2013, saved it from bankruptcy, and built it into a profitable digital operation with 2.5 million subscribers. Then, in October 2024, he personally blocked a planned editorial endorsement of Kamala Harris. More than 250,000 subscribers canceled in the following days. By February 2025, the opinion section was restructured around “personal liberties and free markets,” triggering another exodus and the resignation of editorial page editor David Shipley. Former executive editor Marty Baron called it “craven.” The timing, just months after Bezos began warming to the incoming Trump administration, was not lost on anyone. The story didn’t stop there: in the last few days, U.S. Vice President J.D. Vance revealed he had texted Bezos suggesting the hiring of a right-leaning Breitbart journalist, Matthew Boyle, to run the Post’s political coverage. This is a clear signal of how staffing decisions at a storied paper now sit within the same power matrix that funds the Met Gala and shapes culture, media, and politics alike. It’s a tangled, strategic web—all of Bezos’ making.It’s curious that, in the same 30-day window that the Trump DOJ expanded its antitrust inquiry into Amazon, specifically how its algorithms favor its own products over third-party sellers, including many fashion brands, the MET, a city-owned museum, handed the keys of its marquee event to the man whose company now wields outsized influence over designers’ fortunes and faces regulatory scrutiny from the administration he helped reinstall. This is not sponsorship; it’s leverage. Wintour once froze Melania Trump out of Vogue because she could afford to.But she cannot freeze out Sánchez or Bezos. Nor does she want to.So on the first Monday in May, the museum doors will open as they always do for the Met Gala. The carpet will still be red (or whatever color the theme demands). The photographs of celebrities posing in their interpretations of “Costume Art” will still break the internet. Andrew Bolton’s exhibition, roughly 200 objects tracing the dressed body across five millennia, displayed in the newly renamed Condé Nast Galleries, will still be brilliant. But the biggest check will come from the couple who already control 16 percent of America’s clothing spend, who own The Washington Post, and who sat three rows behind Trump at the inauguration. Everything else, guest list tweaks, livestream deals, shoppable moments, will flow from that single source of money and power. That is who now has the final word on the most influential night in American fashion."
}
]
}