E

Bruchköbel was quiet — fields, forests, and familiar roads looping through calm routine.

At home, my father’s metal workshop was all hum and heat, drawers that clicked shut with finality, and tools laid out like instruments of ritual.

It wasn’t just craftsmanship — it was choreography. From him, I learned that precision is a form of respect, and that every object has its rightful place.

Frankfurt introduced rhythm. It moved faster, dressed sharper, demanded more. It was my first encounter with the polished world of luxury — immaculate displays, leather gloves on glass counters, gestures that spoke louder than words.

What I noticed most was how space was used : the power of order, the silence between sentences. I began to understand how people moved through design — how form could shape behavior.

Paris didn’t ask me to arrive fluent — it asked me to arrive open. I landed with no real grasp of the language, yet found my way through instinct, charm, and one well-timed connection that led to a former maid’s apartment on the ground floor of a Haussmann building.

The window faced a quiet lightwell, where sound traveled slowly and time felt suspended. It was a crash course in culture, tact, and improvisation.

Every street had its own tone; every hallway its own pace. It taught me to read between the lines, to lean into nuance. My first real lessons in savoir-faire began here — not in school, but in the city itself.

London brought ceremony. I worked briefly in fine jewelry at Selfridges, where time seemed to pause around a velvet tray.

There was intention in every detail : the weight of a watch, the timing of a nod, the way lighting softened everything.

It was my introduction to the ritual side of luxury — not performance, but presence. I didn’t stay long, but it stayed with me.

Turin was slower, softer. The city moved like honey — sun-drenched arcades, empty courtyards, the sound of my own thoughts echoing back.

For the first time, I let myself not know. I walked more, sat longer, listened deeper. There were no loud turning points, just a quiet shift.

What I found there wasn’t new — but it was newly mine. I was returning to something unspoken. To someone I was ready to meet again.

Berlin was tension & texture : steel beams and soft façades, precision and possibility.

I arrived early — balancing full-time work with the final year of my studies — and stayed focused, even when the world around me blurred.

The city offered space to question, test, and redraw. It was here that E truly took form — not as a persona, but as a posture. Intentional. Observant. Ready.

Back in London now, but different. I live in a home with cultural resonance — where stories once broadcast now echo quietly in clean lines and modular forms.

It’s not about display; it’s about coherence. Camaleonda curves meet USM logic. Light falls just right at breakfast. Evenings end with glassware heavy in the hand.

This space reflects what I’ve come to value : honest materials, considered movement, and flexibility that adapts without losing its soul. A home shaped by clarity, not clutter.