Djamila Saidi

Last night, I was in my tiny studio, surrounded by fabric swatches and sketches, finishing up a deep red jacket for next week’s fashion show. The hum of my sewing machine was soothing, a reminder of how far I’ve come from the days when fashion was just a distant dream. Growing up in a Paris suburb, life wasn’t easy—my parents, who came from Algeria with little, worked hard but money was always tight. Vacations were out of the question, so I spent my time on the streets with friends, where I picked up a sense of style and survival. My mother taught me to sew when I was young, and that skill became my escape, allowing me to create the clothes I couldn’t afford.

At 25, I’ve turned that early passion into something real. A scholarship to a prestigious fashion school opened doors I never thought I’d see, and modeling gigs helped me make the connections I needed to start my own label. My designs are heavily influenced by the streets where I grew up—bold, edgy, and unapologetic. Next week’s show is a big deal for me, not just because of the clothes, but because my friends from the neighborhood, who’ve shared similar struggles, will be walking the runway in my creations.

I know I’ve been lucky. In the fashion world, it’s not just talent that gets you ahead—it’s timing, connections, and yes, even looks. I don’t say that to boast; it’s just a reality I’ve had to accept. Many from my neighborhood weren’t as fortunate. They got caught in cycles of drugs and crime, unable to break free. As I finished the last stitch on the jacket, I thought about how easily my life could have gone down a different path. The line between success and struggle is so thin, and I’m constantly reminded of that. For now, though, I’m focused on the future—the show, the designs, and the hope that my work can reflect not just where I’ve come from, but where I’m going.