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Isis Dunya
Is living her best life

EIP: How did you start your career in fashion? What inspired you to enter that field?
DUNYA: I started my brand eight years ago, after a trip to Lebanon. I moved to Beirut and felt a strong need to create a brand that truly represents my community. I saw that fashion was full of cultural appropriation and driven by capitalism, and I wanted to create something that looked like me, felt like us, and brought us together.
EIP: You made everything yourself, so every piece has your special touch, which is rare when it comes to fashion these days. Tell us about your process.
DUNYA: When I started this brand, I didn’t have many resources at first, which actually became a blessing. It allowed me to handle everything myself and fully express my identity and way of thinking through each piece. I choose the fabrics, make the patterns, and do the fittings and adjustments. I also do the photography, artistic direction, casting, production — sometimes even the catering during shoots! Over the years, I’ve started collaborating with freelancers, but I still carry most of the workload myself. This way of working has given me real independence and freedom. Producing everything in my own studio, making it in Paris, and fighting against fast fashion is a daily battle, but it’s also a strong commitment that defines my brand.

EIP: What’s the connection between sustainability and fashion for you?
DUNYA: As an Arab woman, I’ve always been deeply affected by the vicious cycle we get trapped in as part of the so-called “global South.” We end up supporting fast fashion, even luxury fashion, without realizing that behind these brands, there’s often the same exploitation — usually of racialized and marginalized people. Whether it’s a cheap fast fashion piece or an expensive luxury item, it’s still built on the same system of overproduction and exploitation.
It frustrates me to see how we become both victims of and active participants in this system instead of supporting our own designers or finding alternative ways of producing and consuming fashion. Especially for marginalized communities, fast fashion is often the only accessible option, which makes the problem even more complex.
That’s why I created my brand: as a way to break this cycle, reclaim our power, and propose a more conscious, community- based approach to fashion.


EIP: Where do you find inspiration?
DUNYA: I’m of Turkish and Algerian origin, born and raised in Paris. As a child, I traveled to Algeria often, but during my teenage years, I had to stop going because of family reasons. That distance really shaped me. It pushed me to look deeper into anti-capitalist ideas, traditional clothing, and non-Western cultures.
I’ve always felt different. Even in middle school, I had my own style; I wasn’t like everyone else. I was fascinated by how clothes can express someone’s singularity and personality. My inspiration comes from everywhere: Paris, my travels, and my neighborhoods. I live in the suburbs, in the 93 — the poorest department in Paris, often labeled as “no-go zones.” But for me, it’s home, and it’s full of life and beauty.
The people the fashion world ignores are the ones who inspire me most: an aunt going to the market in her traditional robe, a family dressing up in matching outfits for Eid, an uncle going to the mosque with his cane and a pop culture T-shirt. I don’t care about runways, about “clean girl” aesthetics, or what’s trending on the Left Bank. I care about real people and real stories. That’s where my creativity truly lives.

EIP: How does your Arab culture in Paris come to life in your work?
DUNYA: My Arab culture is everywhere in my work. I love going to local markets in Montreuil or in my neighborhood, wearing a djellaba and feeling fully myself. What I love most is being able to show both sides of me: one night I can go to a fancy party in a mini skirt and heels, and the next day I’m in a djellaba and Nike TNs.
My personality is built on these two worlds: being a “baddie” and being a girl from the hood. In France, there’s a real problem with how Arab women are seen. The term beurette, for example, is a very negative, fetishizing word that reduces Arab women to stereotypes. Through my work, I wanted to destroy these codes and show that we can be whoever we want to be.
We can be glamorous, sexy, and modest all at once. We don’t have to fit into a box that society or the fashion world wants to put us in. For me, it’s about the freedom to be yourself without caring about the gaze of others.
I also had to fight against patriarchy within my family to get the freedom I have today, and I’m proud of that fight. Through my clothes, I want my community to feel the same: come as you are, be what you want to be, and don’t let anyone define you.


EIP: You have such wonderful energy. What words do you live by?
DUNYA: I truly feel guided by a force since I started this brand. Even though it’s extremely hard to survive as an independent label, I know my work has a real purpose. When I see how women leave my studio — empowered, seen, and represented — I know why I do this.
I created this brand so that racialized women, women who wear the veil, women with curves, and women who want to feel sexy can finally feel understood and included. No other brand has done what I do; deciding that each woman is different and that all deserve to be accepted and celebrated.
Even after seven years, I have no regrets. My work is meaningful, and so many women see themselves in it. That’s what keeps me going every day. I’m deeply passionate, I aim high, and I know in ten years, I’ll be even further.
Humility and honesty also guide me. My work is honest; I never compromise on my vision or my values. That’s what keeps me true to myself and to my community.

EIP: If you could be the creative director of a fashion house, which one would it be and why?
DUNYA: I would choose Jean Paul Gaultier. In the ‘90s, his approach was so punk and revolutionary — he put Black, Arab, and queer people on the runway at a time when no one else dared to. For me, he’s a designer who has always stayed close to the people.
In terms of values and energy, it’s the house that resonates with me the most. It feels authentic, inclusive, and bold — just like what I try to express in my work.

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"title" : "Isis Dunya: Is living her best life",
"author" : "Isis Dunya",
"category" : "interviews",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/isis-dunya",
"date" : "2025-09-08 10:10:00 -0400",
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"content" : "EIP: How did you start your career in fashion? What inspired you to enter that field?DUNYA: I started my brand eight years ago, after a trip to Lebanon. I moved to Beirut and felt a strong need to create a brand that truly represents my community. I saw that fashion was full of cultural appropriation and driven by capitalism, and I wanted to create something that looked like me, felt like us, and brought us together.EIP: You made everything yourself, so every piece has your special touch, which is rare when it comes to fashion these days. Tell us about your process.DUNYA: When I started this brand, I didn’t have many resources at first, which actually became a blessing. It allowed me to handle everything myself and fully express my identity and way of thinking through each piece. I choose the fabrics, make the patterns, and do the fittings and adjustments. I also do the photography, artistic direction, casting, production — sometimes even the catering during shoots! Over the years, I’ve started collaborating with freelancers, but I still carry most of the workload myself. This way of working has given me real independence and freedom. Producing everything in my own studio, making it in Paris, and fighting against fast fashion is a daily battle, but it’s also a strong commitment that defines my brand.EIP: What’s the connection between sustainability and fashion for you?DUNYA: As an Arab woman, I’ve always been deeply affected by the vicious cycle we get trapped in as part of the so-called “global South.” We end up supporting fast fashion, even luxury fashion, without realizing that behind these brands, there’s often the same exploitation — usually of racialized and marginalized people. Whether it’s a cheap fast fashion piece or an expensive luxury item, it’s still built on the same system of overproduction and exploitation.It frustrates me to see how we become both victims of and active participants in this system instead of supporting our own designers or finding alternative ways of producing and consuming fashion. Especially for marginalized communities, fast fashion is often the only accessible option, which makes the problem even more complex.That’s why I created my brand: as a way to break this cycle, reclaim our power, and propose a more conscious, community- based approach to fashion.EIP: Where do you find inspiration?DUNYA: I’m of Turkish and Algerian origin, born and raised in Paris. As a child, I traveled to Algeria often, but during my teenage years, I had to stop going because of family reasons. That distance really shaped me. It pushed me to look deeper into anti-capitalist ideas, traditional clothing, and non-Western cultures.I’ve always felt different. Even in middle school, I had my own style; I wasn’t like everyone else. I was fascinated by how clothes can express someone’s singularity and personality. My inspiration comes from everywhere: Paris, my travels, and my neighborhoods. I live in the suburbs, in the 93 — the poorest department in Paris, often labeled as “no-go zones.” But for me, it’s home, and it’s full of life and beauty.The people the fashion world ignores are the ones who inspire me most: an aunt going to the market in her traditional robe, a family dressing up in matching outfits for Eid, an uncle going to the mosque with his cane and a pop culture T-shirt. I don’t care about runways, about “clean girl” aesthetics, or what’s trending on the Left Bank. I care about real people and real stories. That’s where my creativity truly lives.EIP: How does your Arab culture in Paris come to life in your work?DUNYA: My Arab culture is everywhere in my work. I love going to local markets in Montreuil or in my neighborhood, wearing a djellaba and feeling fully myself. What I love most is being able to show both sides of me: one night I can go to a fancy party in a mini skirt and heels, and the next day I’m in a djellaba and Nike TNs.My personality is built on these two worlds: being a “baddie” and being a girl from the hood. In France, there’s a real problem with how Arab women are seen. The term beurette, for example, is a very negative, fetishizing word that reduces Arab women to stereotypes. Through my work, I wanted to destroy these codes and show that we can be whoever we want to be.We can be glamorous, sexy, and modest all at once. We don’t have to fit into a box that society or the fashion world wants to put us in. For me, it’s about the freedom to be yourself without caring about the gaze of others.I also had to fight against patriarchy within my family to get the freedom I have today, and I’m proud of that fight. Through my clothes, I want my community to feel the same: come as you are, be what you want to be, and don’t let anyone define you.EIP: You have such wonderful energy. What words do you live by?DUNYA: I truly feel guided by a force since I started this brand. Even though it’s extremely hard to survive as an independent label, I know my work has a real purpose. When I see how women leave my studio — empowered, seen, and represented — I know why I do this.I created this brand so that racialized women, women who wear the veil, women with curves, and women who want to feel sexy can finally feel understood and included. No other brand has done what I do; deciding that each woman is different and that all deserve to be accepted and celebrated.Even after seven years, I have no regrets. My work is meaningful, and so many women see themselves in it. That’s what keeps me going every day. I’m deeply passionate, I aim high, and I know in ten years, I’ll be even further.Humility and honesty also guide me. My work is honest; I never compromise on my vision or my values. That’s what keeps me true to myself and to my community.EIP: If you could be the creative director of a fashion house, which one would it be and why?DUNYA: I would choose Jean Paul Gaultier. In the ‘90s, his approach was so punk and revolutionary — he put Black, Arab, and queer people on the runway at a time when no one else dared to. For me, he’s a designer who has always stayed close to the people.In terms of values and energy, it’s the house that resonates with me the most. It feels authentic, inclusive, and bold — just like what I try to express in my work."
}
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"title" : "Black Liberation Views on Palestine",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/black-liberation-on-palestine",
"date" : "2025-10-17 09:01:00 -0400",
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"content" : "In understanding global politics, it is important to look at Black liberation struggles as one important source of moral perspective. So, when looking at Palestine, we look to Black leaders to see how they perceived the Palestinian struggle in relation to theirs, from the 1960’s to today.Why must we understand where the injustice lies? Because, as Desmond Tutu famously said, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”{% for person in site.data.quotes-black-liberation-palestine %}{{ person.name }}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
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"title" : "First Anniversary Celebration of EIP",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "events",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/1st-anniversary-of-eip",
"date" : "2025-10-14 18:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/WSA_EIP_Launch_Cover.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Celebrating One Year of Independent Publishing",
"content" : "Celebrating One Year of Independent PublishingJoin Everything is Political on November 21st for the launch of our End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine.This members-only evening will feature a benefit dinner, cocktails, and live performances in celebration of a year of independent media, critical voices, and collective resistance.The EventNovember 21, 2025, 7-11pmLower Manhattan, New YorkLaunching our End-of-Year Special Edition MagazineSpecial appearances and performancesFood & Drink includedTickets are extremely limited, reserve yours now!Become an annual print member: get x back issues of EIP, receive the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine, and come to the Anniversary Celebration.$470Already a member? Sign in to get your special offer. Buy Ticket $150 Just $50 ! and get the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine Buy ticket $150 and get the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine "
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{
"title" : "Miu Miu Transforms the Apron From Trad Wife to Boss Lady: The sexiest thing in Paris was a work garment",
"author" : "Khaoula Ghanem",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/miu-miu-transforms-the-apron-from-trad-wife-to-boss-lady",
"date" : "2025-10-14 13:05:00 -0400",
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"excerpt" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.",
"content" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.From the opening look—German actress Sandra Hüller in a utilitarian deep-blue apron layered over a barn jacket and neat blue shirting—the thesis was loud: the “cover” becomes the thing itself. As silhouettes marched on, aprons multiplied and mutated—industrial drill cotton with front pockets, raw canvas, taffeta and cloqué silk, lace-edged versions that flirted with lingerie, even black leather and crystal-studded incarnations that reframed function as ornament. What the apron traditionally shields (clothes, bodies, “the good dress”) was inverted; the protection became the prized surface. Prada herself spelled it out: “The apron is my favorite piece of clothing… it symbolizes women, from factories through to serving to the home.”Miu Miu Spring 2026 Ready-to-Wear. SuppliedThis inversion matters historically. The apron’s earliest fashion-adjacent life was industrial. It served as a barrier against grease, heat, stain. It was a token of paid and unpaid care. Miu Miu tapped that lineage directly (canvas, work belts, D-ring hardware), then sliced it against domestic codes (florals, ruffles, crochet), and finally pushed into nightlife with bejeweled and leather bibs. The garment’s migration across materials made its social migrations visible. It is a kitchen apron, yes, but also one for labs, hospitals, and factories; the set and styling insisted on that plurality.What makes the apron such a loaded emblem is not just what it covers, but what it reveals about who has always been working. Before industrialization formalized labor into factory shifts and wages, women were already performing invisible labour, the kind that doesn’t exist on payrolls but sits at the foundation of every functioning society. They were cooking, cleaning, raising children, nursing the ill. These tasks were foundational to every economy and yet absent from every ledger. Even when women entered the industrial workforce, from textile plants to wartime assembly lines, their domestic responsibilities did not disappear, they doubled. In that context, the apron here is a quiet manifesto for the strength that goes unrecorded, unthanked, and yet keeps civilization running.The algorithmic rise of the “tradwife,” the influencer economy that packages domesticity as soft power, is the contemporary cultural shadow here. Miu Miu’s apron refuses that rehearsal. In fact, it’s intentionally awkward—oversized, undone, worn over bikinis or with sturdy shoes—so the viewer can’t flatten it into Pinterest-ready nostalgia. Critics noted the collection as a reclamation, a rebuttal to the flattening forces of the feed: the apron as a uniform for endurance rather than submission. The show notes framed it simply as “a consideration of the work of women,” a reminder that the invisible economies of effort—paid, unpaid, emotional—still structure daily life.If that sounds unusually explicit for a luxury runway, consider the designer. Prada trained as a mime at Milan’s Piccolo Teatro, earned a PhD in political science, joined the Italian Communist Party, and was active in the women’s rights movement in 1970s Milan. Those facts are not trivia; they are the grammar of her clothes. Decades of “ugly chic” were, essentially, a slow campaign against easy consumption and default beauty. In 2026, the apron becomes the newest dialect. An emblem drawn from leftist feminist history, recoded into a product that still has to sell. That tension—belief versus business—is the Miuccia paradox, and it’s precisely why these aprons read as statements, not trends.The runway narrative traced a journey from function to fetish. Early looks were squarely utilitarian—thick cottons, pocketed bibs—before migrating toward fragility and sparkle. Lace aprons laid transparently over swimmers; crystal-studded aprons slipped across cocktail territory; leather apron-dresses stiffened posture into armor. The sequencing proposed the same silhouette can encode labor, intimacy, and spectacle depending on fabrication. If most brands smuggle “workwear” in as set dressing, Miu Miu forced it onto the body as the central garment and an unmissable reminder that the feminine is often asked to be both shield and display at once.It’s instructive to read this collection against the house’s last mega-viral object: the micro-mini of Spring 2022, a pleated, raw-hem wafer that colonized timelines and magazine covers. That skirt’s thesis was exposure—hip bones and hemlines as post-lockdown spectacle, Y2K nostalgia framed as liberation-lite. The apron, ironically, covers. Where the micro-mini trafficked in the optics of freedom (and the speed of virality), the apron asks about the conditions that make freedom possible: who launders, who cooks, who cares? To move from “look at me” to “who is working here?” is a pivot from optics to ethics, without abandoning desire. (The aprons are, after all, deeply covetable.) In a platform economy that still rewards the shortest hemline with the biggest click-through, this is a sophisticated counter-program.Yet the designer is not romanticizing toil. There’s wit in the ruffles and perversity in the crystals; neither negate labor, they metabolize it. The most striking image is the apron treated as couture-adjacent. Traditionally, an apron protects the precious thing beneath; here, the apron is the precious thing. You could call that hypocrisy—luxurizing the uniform of workers. Or, strategy, insisting that the symbols of care and effort deserve visibility and investment.Of course, none of this exists in a vacuum. The “tradwife” script thrives because it is aesthetically legible and commercially scalable. It packages gender ideology as moodboard. Miu Miu counters with garments whose legibility flickers. The collection’s best looks ask viewers to reconcile tenderness with toughness, convenience with care, which is exactly the mental choreography demanded of women in every context from office to home to online.If you wanted a season-defining “It” item, you’ll still find it. The apron is poised to proliferate across fast-fashion and luxury alike. But the deeper success is structural: Miu Miu re-centered labor as an aesthetic category. That’s rarer than a viral skirt. It’s a reminder that clothes don’t merely decorate life, they describe and negotiate it. In making the apron the subject rather than the prop, Prada turned a garment of service into a platform for agency. It’s precisely the kind of cultural recursion you’d expect from a designer shaped by feminist politics, who never stopped treating fashion as an instrument of thought as much as style.The last image to hold onto is deceptively simple: a woman in an apron, neither fetishized nor infantilized, striding, hands free. Not a costume for nostalgia, not a meme for the feed, but a working uniform reframed, respected, and suddenly, undeniably beautiful. That is Miu Miu’s provocation for Spring 2026: the work behind the work, made visible at last."
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