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Love Letter to Lebanon

“Make sure you sit on the left side of the plane,” said Edwina. After checking into my connecting flight from Istanbul to Beirut, I realized I had an aisle seat in the third row on the right side of the plane, much to my dismay. The attendant at the flight counter looked at me, perplexed as I insisted on switching to a seat on the left side of the plane, even though the only remaining seat was in the back row, adjacent to the bathroom.
I woke from my nap in the clouds to the announcement of our imminent descent into Beirut Rafic Hariri International Airport. As I gazed out the window, the Mediterranean stretched before me, its azure waters sparkling. The coastline hugs the sea as if they’ve shared a thousand lifetimes together. Rising boldly from the depths of the sea are the Pigeon Rocks, monument-like stones shaped by time and carved by the restless hands of wind and waves. Weathered yet unwavering, they stand tall.
After a week in Lebanon, I would come to understand that the landscape that first welcomed me was more than a breathtaking view. It is a living metaphor, a testament to the beauty that runs deep through this land, the warmth felt in every embrace, and the soul of a people who carry their history and heritage like poetry in their veins.

My dear friend Edwina invited loved ones from each corner of the world and each chapter of her life. This trip was a celebration of two important milestones, her 30th year around the sun and her achievement of earning a Master of Science degree in Sustainability Management from Columbia University. But more than that, this was a “homecoming” to Lebanon.
To Edwina, Lebanon is her everything. She says Lebanon is her home: “It’s memory, it’s resilience, it’s love. It’s where my ancestors are buried and where my wildest dreams are rooted. It’s where the mountains meet the sea in a way that feels like poetry, and where joy and pain live side by side: both loud and sacred. Returning to Lebanon always brings me back to myself. Planning this journey was my way of giving that feeling back to the people I love.”
Over the course of the week, Edwina showed us Lebanon through her eyes. One of the most special days of the trip was when we visited Daher Farms, Edwina’s family’s land in the Bekaa Valley. It was a way to introduce everyone to where much of her story began.

The day started with a delicious, traditional spread catered by ADIRA, a brand she strongly resonates with for their work with Lebanese women and farmers in the Central Bekaa region. ADIRA’s products blend tradition and innovation, and their mission reflects so much of what Edwina loves about this country: care for the land, pride in culture, and investment in community.
We also toured the Daher Foundation, led by Edwina’s mother, Marleine. Daher Foundation is committed to improving healthcare access, empowering youth, and creating more sustainable livelihoods in rural Lebanon.
As Edwina said, “It meant so much to me to show everyone the work we’ve been doing behind the scenes: initiatives that center dignity, well-being, and long-term impact. Seeing the group’s engagement and curiosity reminded me how powerful it is when global and local communities come together with open hearts.”
We ended the day at Tawlet Ammiq, a breathtaking farm-to-table restaurant that sits at the edge of the Bekaa Valley, overlooking its patchwork of fields. It was one of those rare pauses where everyone felt connected to something bigger—the land, the people, the purpose.

A few days later, we ventured an hour north of Beirut to Batroun. Founded by the Phoenicians, Batroun is a 4,000-year-old fishing village and is considered one of the oldest cities in the world. A historical tour followed by shawarma and Batrouni lemonade brought us to Arnaoon, a centuries-old Lebanese village cradled by the mountains. We danced our way into Arnaoon, stomping to dabkeh and synchronizing our steps to the derbakeh.
The traditional Lebanese architecture set against mountain peaks and lush vegetation transported me to a place I couldn’t describe, only feel. Yara had the right words to capture the dizzying magic of Arnaoon. She commended its authenticity and purity for transporting visitors, “grounding them in something both real and timeless.”
To Yara, Arnaoon is a land deeply rooted in her heart. Perhaps, it’s because her parents discovered a hidden gem and felt called to revive the echoes of a village of five small Lebanese goat herders’ cottages dating back 500 years ago. When Yara’s parents first stumbled upon this land, something about it captivated them. She said they often describe it as a calling, a mission to breathe life into a dream. Yara’s parents didn’t know the path ahead, and she said they lacked the means to realize the vision they carried. But they chose to take the first step, regardless. That step led to something far greater than they had ever imagined.
In Yara’s words, “Arnaoon became a place of happiness, dreams, and opportunity. [It’s] a home to a community of pure- hearted people who reflect the very soul of the land itself.”

Knowing the unparalleled generosity and hospitality of Lebanese people, I was not shocked to learn that Yara and Edwina became friends by a serendipitous chance of fate. A simple offer to help a stranger on the street unfolded into a collaboration and showcase of shared purpose and heart, rooted in a mutual love for their land and people. From early planning to the final farewell, every detail was approached with intention. Over three immersive days, they curated experiences in each corner of Arnaoon, with each moment crafted to invite connection, joy, and belonging. “I imagined guests living a different story in each corner of Arnaoon, experiencing a unique emotion in every zone,” said Yara. Yara strived to connect people and “create magic for those who are already magical.”
Amongst rolling hills and a moon so full it could burst, Ranim and Bernard invited us to experience the land that shaped them through the quiet power of our stillness and breath. Though they had only just met on this trip, their energies were unmistakably aligned.
“I’ve always thought I wanted to travel the world—little did I know the world would come to my homeland, and I’d get to connect with it through the presence of such beautiful souls,” said Ranim. She wanted to offer the group a taste of what Lebanon has taught her, which is “resilience, joy, creative chaos, unconditional love, and the miracle of holding paradoxes.”
Bernard also wanted to offer something from the heart. Through yoga, meditation, and the soulful resonance of the handpan, he created a space where we could feel Lebanon not just with our eyes, but with breath, body, and heart. “This offering was my way of showing another face of Lebanon, not the one shaped by headlines, but the one rooted in resilience, warmth, and soul. I wanted to reflect the peace that exists here, even in the midst of complexity.”
Ranim and Bernard showed us how intention and presence can become a bridge that connects us not only to ourselves, but to the spirit of a land, its people, and wisdom held beneath the surface.

After Arnaoon, we spent time in Anfeh, a coastal town in northern Lebanon. Known for its striking blue-white seaside chalets and crystal-clear waters, Anfeh is often compared to the Greek Islands. But it has a character all on its own. Perched on a rocky peninsula with archeological remains including salt pans and Crusader-era ruins, the land tells a story shaped by centuries of trade, conquest, and monastic devotion. The landscape is rugged and serene, dotted with ancient chapels, windswept cliffs, and the shimmering sea. Today, Anfeh remains a peaceful retreat, where the past lingers gently and nature speaks in the language of waves and stone.
I ended my trip in Lebanon with a few days in Beirut. Beirut could and should be its own story, because Beirut is the blueprint. The blueprint for a city characterized by persistence, reinvention, and soul. A mosaic made whole by every fracture. A pulse that never stops. Beirut shows the world how to hold contradictions: churches and mosques share a skyline, laughter echoes louder after loss, ruins become roots. Here, you rebuild not just buildings, but belief. Beirut showed me who I am when everything familiar falls away, a believer in resilience, beauty after ruin, and the quiet power of beginning again.
Gin basils at the Albergo Hotel rooftop, shawarma at Em Shérif, dancing at GOU and AHM, strolling through Gemmayzeh and Saifi Village, and power blackouts at the hair salon were some of the memories formed in Beirut. The daytime was filled with discoveries, while evenings felt like the city’s true spirit came to life. Music spilling from every corner. Tables filled with mezze and laughter. It felt like time bent in Beirut.

I didn’t expect to stay a few extra days in Beirut, but after Israel initiated missile strikes on Iran, Beirut Rafic Hariri International Airport was temporarily closed with dozens of flights cancelled, including mine. It took days to rebook my flight, but I felt grateful to be safe and enjoy extra time in Lebanon. It was a privilege I do not take lightly or for granted.
Two days before I arrived in Lebanon, Israel bombed Beirut on the eve of Eid al-Adha. This attack in June 2025 marked the fourth Israeli strike in the area since a ceasefire was agreed on in November 2024. South Lebanon remains a military playground for the Israeli Occupation Forces. Despite the ceasefire, Israel has not withdrawn from Dawair, Hammaes, Jabal al-Deir, Jabal Blat, and Labbouneh in South Lebanon. In a recent article from Atalayar, Mohamed, a resident of Bint Jbeil, wrote, “The greatest danger is that people are getting used to nothing. That’s what the occupation wants, for us to forget our land.”
Much like their Palestinian brothers and sisters, the people of Lebanon are there to stay. The people of Lebanon are like the Pigeon Rocks that stand tall in the Mediterranean. Like the thick cedar trees found in the mountains and on the national flag, they remain rooted in the land they love.
I was deeply moved—and dare I say, changed—by my week in Lebanon. Lebanon feels like a warm embrace. The warmth of the sun hovering over the Mediterranean, the warmth of knafeh in ka’ik, the warmth of people who greet strangers as friends.
To know the Lebanese is to feel their soul in three sacred truths: the earth beneath them, rich with memory; the community around them, woven with resilience; and the heritage within them, carried like flame.
To Lebanon, with love. Until next time.

{
"article":
{
"title" : "Love Letter to Lebanon",
"author" : "Aditi Desai, Edwina Daher",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/love-letter-to-lebanon",
"date" : "2025-09-08 10:03:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Beirut-sunset.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "“Make sure you sit on the left side of the plane,” said Edwina. After checking into my connecting flight from Istanbul to Beirut, I realized I had an aisle seat in the third row on the right side of the plane, much to my dismay. The attendant at the flight counter looked at me, perplexed as I insisted on switching to a seat on the left side of the plane, even though the only remaining seat was in the back row, adjacent to the bathroom.I woke from my nap in the clouds to the announcement of our imminent descent into Beirut Rafic Hariri International Airport. As I gazed out the window, the Mediterranean stretched before me, its azure waters sparkling. The coastline hugs the sea as if they’ve shared a thousand lifetimes together. Rising boldly from the depths of the sea are the Pigeon Rocks, monument-like stones shaped by time and carved by the restless hands of wind and waves. Weathered yet unwavering, they stand tall.After a week in Lebanon, I would come to understand that the landscape that first welcomed me was more than a breathtaking view. It is a living metaphor, a testament to the beauty that runs deep through this land, the warmth felt in every embrace, and the soul of a people who carry their history and heritage like poetry in their veins.My dear friend Edwina invited loved ones from each corner of the world and each chapter of her life. This trip was a celebration of two important milestones, her 30th year around the sun and her achievement of earning a Master of Science degree in Sustainability Management from Columbia University. But more than that, this was a “homecoming” to Lebanon.To Edwina, Lebanon is her everything. She says Lebanon is her home: “It’s memory, it’s resilience, it’s love. It’s where my ancestors are buried and where my wildest dreams are rooted. It’s where the mountains meet the sea in a way that feels like poetry, and where joy and pain live side by side: both loud and sacred. Returning to Lebanon always brings me back to myself. Planning this journey was my way of giving that feeling back to the people I love.”Over the course of the week, Edwina showed us Lebanon through her eyes. One of the most special days of the trip was when we visited Daher Farms, Edwina’s family’s land in the Bekaa Valley. It was a way to introduce everyone to where much of her story began.The day started with a delicious, traditional spread catered by ADIRA, a brand she strongly resonates with for their work with Lebanese women and farmers in the Central Bekaa region. ADIRA’s products blend tradition and innovation, and their mission reflects so much of what Edwina loves about this country: care for the land, pride in culture, and investment in community.We also toured the Daher Foundation, led by Edwina’s mother, Marleine. Daher Foundation is committed to improving healthcare access, empowering youth, and creating more sustainable livelihoods in rural Lebanon.As Edwina said, “It meant so much to me to show everyone the work we’ve been doing behind the scenes: initiatives that center dignity, well-being, and long-term impact. Seeing the group’s engagement and curiosity reminded me how powerful it is when global and local communities come together with open hearts.”We ended the day at Tawlet Ammiq, a breathtaking farm-to-table restaurant that sits at the edge of the Bekaa Valley, overlooking its patchwork of fields. It was one of those rare pauses where everyone felt connected to something bigger—the land, the people, the purpose.A few days later, we ventured an hour north of Beirut to Batroun. Founded by the Phoenicians, Batroun is a 4,000-year-old fishing village and is considered one of the oldest cities in the world. A historical tour followed by shawarma and Batrouni lemonade brought us to Arnaoon, a centuries-old Lebanese village cradled by the mountains. We danced our way into Arnaoon, stomping to dabkeh and synchronizing our steps to the derbakeh.The traditional Lebanese architecture set against mountain peaks and lush vegetation transported me to a place I couldn’t describe, only feel. Yara had the right words to capture the dizzying magic of Arnaoon. She commended its authenticity and purity for transporting visitors, “grounding them in something both real and timeless.”To Yara, Arnaoon is a land deeply rooted in her heart. Perhaps, it’s because her parents discovered a hidden gem and felt called to revive the echoes of a village of five small Lebanese goat herders’ cottages dating back 500 years ago. When Yara’s parents first stumbled upon this land, something about it captivated them. She said they often describe it as a calling, a mission to breathe life into a dream. Yara’s parents didn’t know the path ahead, and she said they lacked the means to realize the vision they carried. But they chose to take the first step, regardless. That step led to something far greater than they had ever imagined.In Yara’s words, “Arnaoon became a place of happiness, dreams, and opportunity. [It’s] a home to a community of pure- hearted people who reflect the very soul of the land itself.”Knowing the unparalleled generosity and hospitality of Lebanese people, I was not shocked to learn that Yara and Edwina became friends by a serendipitous chance of fate. A simple offer to help a stranger on the street unfolded into a collaboration and showcase of shared purpose and heart, rooted in a mutual love for their land and people. From early planning to the final farewell, every detail was approached with intention. Over three immersive days, they curated experiences in each corner of Arnaoon, with each moment crafted to invite connection, joy, and belonging. “I imagined guests living a different story in each corner of Arnaoon, experiencing a unique emotion in every zone,” said Yara. Yara strived to connect people and “create magic for those who are already magical.”Amongst rolling hills and a moon so full it could burst, Ranim and Bernard invited us to experience the land that shaped them through the quiet power of our stillness and breath. Though they had only just met on this trip, their energies were unmistakably aligned.“I’ve always thought I wanted to travel the world—little did I know the world would come to my homeland, and I’d get to connect with it through the presence of such beautiful souls,” said Ranim. She wanted to offer the group a taste of what Lebanon has taught her, which is “resilience, joy, creative chaos, unconditional love, and the miracle of holding paradoxes.”Bernard also wanted to offer something from the heart. Through yoga, meditation, and the soulful resonance of the handpan, he created a space where we could feel Lebanon not just with our eyes, but with breath, body, and heart. “This offering was my way of showing another face of Lebanon, not the one shaped by headlines, but the one rooted in resilience, warmth, and soul. I wanted to reflect the peace that exists here, even in the midst of complexity.”Ranim and Bernard showed us how intention and presence can become a bridge that connects us not only to ourselves, but to the spirit of a land, its people, and wisdom held beneath the surface.After Arnaoon, we spent time in Anfeh, a coastal town in northern Lebanon. Known for its striking blue-white seaside chalets and crystal-clear waters, Anfeh is often compared to the Greek Islands. But it has a character all on its own. Perched on a rocky peninsula with archeological remains including salt pans and Crusader-era ruins, the land tells a story shaped by centuries of trade, conquest, and monastic devotion. The landscape is rugged and serene, dotted with ancient chapels, windswept cliffs, and the shimmering sea. Today, Anfeh remains a peaceful retreat, where the past lingers gently and nature speaks in the language of waves and stone.I ended my trip in Lebanon with a few days in Beirut. Beirut could and should be its own story, because Beirut is the blueprint. The blueprint for a city characterized by persistence, reinvention, and soul. A mosaic made whole by every fracture. A pulse that never stops. Beirut shows the world how to hold contradictions: churches and mosques share a skyline, laughter echoes louder after loss, ruins become roots. Here, you rebuild not just buildings, but belief. Beirut showed me who I am when everything familiar falls away, a believer in resilience, beauty after ruin, and the quiet power of beginning again.Gin basils at the Albergo Hotel rooftop, shawarma at Em Shérif, dancing at GOU and AHM, strolling through Gemmayzeh and Saifi Village, and power blackouts at the hair salon were some of the memories formed in Beirut. The daytime was filled with discoveries, while evenings felt like the city’s true spirit came to life. Music spilling from every corner. Tables filled with mezze and laughter. It felt like time bent in Beirut.I didn’t expect to stay a few extra days in Beirut, but after Israel initiated missile strikes on Iran, Beirut Rafic Hariri International Airport was temporarily closed with dozens of flights cancelled, including mine. It took days to rebook my flight, but I felt grateful to be safe and enjoy extra time in Lebanon. It was a privilege I do not take lightly or for granted.Two days before I arrived in Lebanon, Israel bombed Beirut on the eve of Eid al-Adha. This attack in June 2025 marked the fourth Israeli strike in the area since a ceasefire was agreed on in November 2024. South Lebanon remains a military playground for the Israeli Occupation Forces. Despite the ceasefire, Israel has not withdrawn from Dawair, Hammaes, Jabal al-Deir, Jabal Blat, and Labbouneh in South Lebanon. In a recent article from Atalayar, Mohamed, a resident of Bint Jbeil, wrote, “The greatest danger is that people are getting used to nothing. That’s what the occupation wants, for us to forget our land.”Much like their Palestinian brothers and sisters, the people of Lebanon are there to stay. The people of Lebanon are like the Pigeon Rocks that stand tall in the Mediterranean. Like the thick cedar trees found in the mountains and on the national flag, they remain rooted in the land they love.I was deeply moved—and dare I say, changed—by my week in Lebanon. Lebanon feels like a warm embrace. The warmth of the sun hovering over the Mediterranean, the warmth of knafeh in ka’ik, the warmth of people who greet strangers as friends.To know the Lebanese is to feel their soul in three sacred truths: the earth beneath them, rich with memory; the community around them, woven with resilience; and the heritage within them, carried like flame.To Lebanon, with love. Until next time."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"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",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/mandela-keffiyeh.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"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 %}"
}
,
{
"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 "
}
,
{
"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",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Cover_EIP_MiuMiu_Apron.jpg",
"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."
}
]
}