AUGUST 2025 EDITION

I can almost guarantee that the person reading this newsletter is sitting in a lie. The lies we tell ourselves, we create the craziest scenarios of things just going wrong.
We punish ourselves in our heads much more than we like to think.
We suffer more in imagination than in reality and most of what holds us back never actually happens.
We panic before anything goes wrong, we rehearse pain we may never feel, we write entire stories in our heads, and live in fear of chapters that may never be written.
We drive ourselves mad with the lies we tell ourselves- always sick with anxiety.
But the truth is, reality is rarely as brutal as the stories we tell ourselves, and often, the only way to quiet the noise is to take action.

When creatives say inspiration can come from anywhere, they truly mean it. Sandibe’s design channels the pangolin—Africa’s elusive, gentle creature that carries its own shelter. The lodge rises like it has grown from the swamp forest itself, a maternal form guiding her young through the Okavango’s watery labyrinth. It’s a structure that doesn’t just sit in nature; it feels like it belongs to it.

Here, architecture mimics the woven and layered shelters found in the wild. Organic forms, locally sourced materials, and patterns that echo the scales of the pangolin bring the building’s skin to life. It’s more than biomimicry—it’s a deep respect for how creatures, humans included, have always made home from what surrounds them.

What’s striking about Sandibe is how it disappears into its setting. The warm timber curves, thatch-like textures, and the subtle rhythm of its form mean that at certain angles, you could swear it had been here for centuries.

Who knew that striped walls could actually ground a space? I’m pleasantly surprised that patterns often dismissed as busy — albeit maximalist — can, in the right hands, act as an anchor rather than a distraction. Here, sharp vertical lines meet the rounded embrace of contemporary seating, creating a room that feels deliberate yet lived in. It’s a quiet masterclass in balance, use of patterns and proportion.

There’s something wonderfully off-balance about these doodle-like pieces — a kind of deliberate asymmetry that makes them hum with life. They remind me of patterns I’ve seen in Kuba cloths and mud cloth, where geometry bends to the hand of the maker. And here’s a note to self: never throw away your child’s artwork. Frame it, honour it, let it live on your walls like it belongs in a gallery.

Black and white floor geometry anchors the hallway like a bold signature, its lines reminiscent of African textile patterns reimagined in stone. Above, a bronze-toned console floats effortlessly, carrying sculptural vessels that feel ancient. I love the little unfinished yet somehow finished detail on the mirror. It adds an intricate detail yet a sense of imperfection.

In Sons of the Rift, Osborne Macharia reimagines young men as generals and decorated war heroes, their armour woven from the language of beadwork. Across the Great Rift Valley — from Eritrea to Mozambique — this imagined tribe carries its history on its skin, in patterns that speak of beauty, power, and survival. Neon light becomes their battlefield, and every adornment is a medal earned.

Here, the Rift Valley is not a line that divides — not just the great scar that cuts through Africa, but a seam stitching cultures together. Macharia’s Afrofuturistic lens dresses these warriors in cascades of beads, feathers, and metallic textures — echoing the intricate beadwork of Kenya’s Maasai, Samburu, and Turkana communities. Each element is a fragment of the many peoples who call this geological wonder home, resulting in a portrait of unity as armour, and history as fashion.

Beadwork has always been more than decoration; it’s a language of social hierarchy, lineage, and pride. Sons of the Rift expands that language into a sci-fi future, where heritage is worn like a shield and beauty is a strategic weapon. Macharia’s portraits pulse with this duality — intimate yet monumental, ancient yet impossible to place in time. Osborne Macharia remains to be an all time favourite in my books.

Still on the podcast studio. Just wrapped the design concept phase, and it feels good. If you really look at this image, you might not believe it’s a podcast set — but that’s exactly the point. Samuel wanted a space that could hold all his worlds in one breath: from feminism to street culture, from scholarly debates to political banter, from activism to the arts. He wanted cohesion without dulling the edges. Out of three bold, distinct concepts I sent him, he chose this. The magazine-style backdrop became our quiet genius move, a visual thread that ties together every subject he’ll tackle, without clutter or chaos, where all the guests will feel at home.

With a new week comes a new studio obsession. This time, it’s terracotta — in all its warm, earthy nuances; a major favourite. Click on my texture of the week above and you’ll see why it’s holding my attention right now. Until next week, my friend. x