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Latest issue on 7 Sept 2025. Update every Saturday.

Thursday Show
The Frozen Fountain: A Lesson in Coming Home

The Frozen Fountain: A Lesson in Coming Home

5 min read

The Frozen Fountain: A Lesson in Coming Home

There are some places I never miss when I’m back in Amsterdam. The Frozen Fountain is one of them.

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It’s difficult to describe exactly what it is. Part gallery, part furniture store, part design museum, it feels a little like IKEA grew up, went to art school and developed impeccable taste. Every corner is carefully considered, every object has breathing space, and every room invites you to imagine a different way of living.

Walking through it this week, something unexpected struck me. There wasn’t actually that much that was new.

At first, I thought that was disappointing. I’m so used to working in fashion, where we’re constantly thinking about the next collection, the next pattern, the next idea. At Nala, we reinvent ourselves every few months. But The Frozen Fountain reminded me of something I’d almost forgotten.

If something is beautiful, it doesn’t need to change.

The sofas I admired last year were still beautiful. The lamps I wanted to take home were still perfect. The carpets, the ceramics, the art, they had lost none of their appeal simply because time had passed. Good design doesn’t chase trends. It quietly waits for you to appreciate it.

Of course, I still wanted to buy half the shop. A beautiful sofa, a sculptural lamp, an incredible rug and a few pieces of art somehow all found their way onto my imaginary shopping list. Reality quickly reminded me that these things require a slightly larger budget than my suitcase could handle, but dreaming is part of the experience.

The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.

What I love most is the visual merchandising. The colour combinations are extraordinary. Nothing feels forced or overcrowded. Every object has a purpose, proving that less really can be more. It’s an inspiring reminder that a home doesn’t have to be filled with things. It simply needs to be filled with the right things.

Perhaps that’s also a very Dutch way of looking at life.

The Dutch invest in their homes. They’ll save for years for the perfect sofa, a beautiful dining table, an artwork or a carpet that they’ll treasure for decades. They might skip a holiday to buy a piece they truly love because home matters. It’s where life happens. It’s where friends gather, families grow and quiet moments are spent. Creating a beautiful home isn’t considered a luxury. It’s considered part of living well.

There’s a touch of wabi-sabi in that philosophy too. The idea that home should bring a sense of peace and comfort, that beauty doesn’t need to be loud and that carefully chosen objects can quietly improve everyday life.

Walking through The Frozen Fountain was a lovely reminder for me personally. Perhaps we don’t always need to reinvent ourselves. Perhaps good ideas deserve time to breathe. Perhaps a beautiful object, a comfortable chair or a well chosen lamp can stay with us for years and become part of our story.

And perhaps that’s the secret of good design. It’s not about constantly buying something new.

It’s about creating a home you never want to leave.

The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
Amsterdam, Beyond the Postcard

Amsterdam, Beyond the Postcard

5 min read

Amsterdam, Beyond the Postcard

Whenever people hear I’m going to Amsterdam, the same things come up. Bicycles. Canals. Coffee shops.
But within a few hours of arriving, I’m reminded that the city’s real magic lies somewhere else entirely.

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Amsterdam is a city best explored on foot. Walking through it feels like wandering through an open air museum, where every street reveals another beautiful facade, another perfect window, another carefully tended garden. The houses seem to compete, not in grandeur, but in charm.

What always strikes me is the abundance of flowers. Roses climb up historic facades, fig trees stand proudly in front gardens, and window boxes overflow with seasonal blooms. It’s impossible not to notice that flowers are woven into Dutch life. They aren’t reserved for special occasions. They’re part of the everyday. Real flowers, fresh flowers, growing wherever they can, making ordinary streets feel extraordinary.

The same philosophy extends indoors. Peek through a window and you’ll often spot a vase of fresh flowers on a table or desk. It’s a small detail, but it says something about the Dutch approach to beauty. You don’t wait for a celebration. You simply make everyday life a little more beautiful.

The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.

And then there are the signs.

Without stepping into a single shop, Amsterdam offers a masterclass in typography. Traditional cafés and bars still proudly display their names in hand painted lettering, often in the famous Amsterdamse Krulletter, or Amsterdam Curly Letter. Developed in the 1940s and perfected by generations of Dutch sign painters, these elegant swirls and flourishes have become part of the city’s identity, decorating windows and facades with a craftsmanship that refuses to disappear. It’s a wonderful reminder that even something as practical as a shop sign can become a work of art.

I arrived yesterday to one of those perfect postcard days. Soft clouds drifting across a blue sky, bicycles quietly passing by, roses in full bloom and beautiful hand painted signs catching the afternoon light. There was no need to visit a museum or gallery. The city itself was enough.

Perhaps that’s what I love most about Amsterdam. It doesn’t separate art from everyday life. Flowers belong on the streets. Beautiful lettering belongs on shop windows. Historic houses are meant to be lived in. Beauty isn’t hidden away. It’s simply part of the daily routine.

And maybe that’s the best souvenir the Dutch have to offer: the idea that ordinary life deserves extraordinary care.

The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
Ordinary. Art. Ordinary Again.

Ordinary. Art. Ordinary Again.

5 min read

Ordinary. Art. Ordinary Again.

I’ve always believed that the most beautiful ideas come from the most ordinary places.

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One of my favourite patterns started with a simple plastic chair. It was one of the very first designs in the Banal series, a celebration of the everyday objects we often overlook. I loved the idea that something so familiar could become a piece of art, simply by looking at it differently.

Years later, that story has come full circle.

The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.

The pattern has found its way back into everyday life as Sila Duduk, our new collection of stools. I love the journey it has taken. An ordinary object became art, and that art has become an ordinary object once again, ready to be part of someone’s home and daily routine.

Sila Duduk, which means “please, have a seat,” is designed to be wonderfully useful. It can be a stool, a side table, a bedside companion, a footrest, or simply a cheerful splash of colour in a room. Small enough to fit anywhere and versatile enough to become indispensable, it’s the kind of object that quietly finds its place in your life.

There’s something deeply satisfying about this cycle. Good design shouldn’t live behind glass or only on gallery walls. It should be touched, used, enjoyed and lived with. The best objects are often the ones that make everyday life a little more beautiful.

Ordinary. Art. Ordinary Again.

It’s a simple idea, but perhaps that’s exactly the point. Beauty is all around us. Sometimes we just have to look twice.

Exclusively available at Kasturi.

The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The cookbook I should have bought

The cookbook I should have bought

5 min read

The cookbook I should have bought

It’s a dangerous thing, putting a bookshop inside a supermarket.

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The other day, while wandering through the beautiful, and eerily empty, Market at the Four Seasons Hotel Kuala Lumpur, I stumbled across a little collection of cookbooks. There weren’t many left, but every single one looked thoughtfully chosen. One, in particular, caught my eye: Your Daily Veg by Joe Woodhouse.

I didn’t buy it but I should have.

Joe Woodhouse grew up on farms in England, became a vegetarian at the age of ten, trained as a chef, and later worked as a food stylist and photographer before turning his hand to writing cookbooks. His approach to cooking is wonderfully simple: let the vegetables do the talking.

This isn’t one of those vegetarian cookbooks trying to imitate meat. Nor is it about complicated techniques or impossible-to-find ingredients. It’s about making everyday vegetables exciting, seasonal, and utterly delicious. Think roasted aubergines, comforting potato dishes, creamy mushrooms, grilled asparagus, and clever little combinations that make you wonder why you never thought of them yourself.

The skirt that thinks it is a painting.

Even Nigella Lawson is a fan, describing the food as joyful, seasonal, and full of flavour without being fussy. That’s probably the best way to describe the whole book.

The irony isn’t lost on me. I found one of my favourite discoveries of the month in what might be the loneliest beautiful supermarket in Kuala Lumpur. I still don’t know how the place is surviving. During my visit, I was the only customer. Nobody came in. Nobody left. But perhaps that’s exactly why it’s worth a detour.

You might discover a beautiful ingredient, a wonderful bottle of olive oil, or a cookbook you didn’t know you needed. And if you’re lucky, perhaps you’ll even persuade them to give you a little discount.

As for me, I think I need to go back. Hopefully the supermarket will still be there.

And hopefully, so will the book.

The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
Some things just Klic

Some things just Klic

5 min read

Some things just Klic

Some projects are complicated.
Some take endless meetings, revisions, and second-guessing.

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And then there are those rare occasions when everything simply… klics.

A few years ago, I met Chris while working on The Campus. What started as a project turned into a friendship and a creative partnership built on trust, good ideas, and a shared ambition to create beautiful spaces.

So when he invited NALA to work on his newest venture, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Introducing KLIC, a brand new tennis destination behind Putra World Trade Centre.

We’ve had the privilege of working on the branding and interior identity, helping to shape a place that’s modern, welcoming, and full of personality. It’s one of those projects that reminds me why I love design so much. It’s never just about logos or colours. It’s about creating places where people want to spend time.

The courts are ready to play.
The café is still on its way. The reception is still being built.

The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.

But I rather like that.
There’s something wonderfully optimistic about opening the courts first. Play the game now. Finish the details as you go. Don’t wait for perfection to enjoy the journey.

Working with Chris has been an absolute pleasure. One of the nicest things in business is finding people you genuinely enjoy creating with. The second project is always special because it’s built on trust, and trust is one of the most valuable things you can earn.

I’m incredibly proud of what we’ve created together, and I can’t wait for everyone to see it.

So if you’re looking for a beautiful new place to play tennis, watch this space.

KLIC is opening soon.

And sometimes, the best things in life simply… klic.

The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.
The skirt that thinks it is a painting.