Instagram Story Viewer

Golden Cream Candle.

It all started with the desire to create a hand-dipped taper candle.

This one-of-a-kind piece is a modern beeswax candle, handcrafted into an unexpected form, slowly changing shape as it melts. It’s created using the most traditional techniques.

Found in France, made in Germany.
Available @ Centerpiece’s living room.

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

Mothering. Mom-ing.

The ones who gave birth to us, the ones who raised us. The chosen ones. The almost-mothers. The women who mother without ever being called “Mom”.

You care, love, heal, worry, protect.
Sometimes loudly. Sometimes imperfectly. Sometimes in the only way you know how.

You have fears and doubts too. “Will I be a good mom?”
And that’s part of mothering too, loving while improvising, protecting while still learning yourself.

You carry this strange power, to remember who we were before the world touched us. You remind us that there is still a self underneath survival.

We grow up, we leave, we become adults with jobs, responsibilities, damage, ego, distance. And somehow, we still find our way back to the first place that ever felt warm.

Because in your eyes, we’ll always remain unfinished children. An engineer, a cashier, a teacher, a cleaner, an artist, a rockstar, it never really matters. You still ask: “Don’t forget to call me when you get home.” “I bought this for you.” “Did you even eat today?!”

And at some point, the roles begin to shift.
You grow older while insisting you haven’t. And we become softer with you. More patient. More protective.

What never leaves us, though, is that quiet need for your approval. That instinct to look for you in the crowd.
To say, silently: “Mom, did you see me?”

Even when you’re the only one watching.

Happy Mother’s Day to all our Moms.

Illustration by @barbaramariani__
Text by @monasarr_

💌

If you have to zoom in to understand the fit, that means we did something right.

Sarah, in full Rick layering & a high touch of Versace at her feet.

Available @ Centerpiece’s dressing room.

If you have to zoom in to understand the fit, that means we did something right.

Sarah, in full Rick layering & a high touch of Versace at her feet.

Available @ Centerpiece’s dressing room.

If you have to zoom in to understand the fit, that means we did something right.

Sarah, in full Rick layering & a high touch of Versace at her feet.

Available @ Centerpiece’s dressing room.

If you have to zoom in to understand the fit, that means we did something right.

Sarah, in full Rick layering & a high touch of Versace at her feet.

Available @ Centerpiece’s dressing room.

Certaines viennent dans le dressing pour tout éteindre. @azurasmind & @badgalbambyyy quel duo 💅🏼

Certaines viennent dans le dressing pour tout éteindre. @azurasmind & @badgalbambyyy quel duo 💅🏼

Certaines viennent dans le dressing pour tout éteindre. @azurasmind & @badgalbambyyy quel duo 💅🏼

Certaines viennent dans le dressing pour tout éteindre. @azurasmind & @badgalbambyyy quel duo 💅🏼

Bad catering is a crime we don’t commit.
Ask us to cater your work days 💅🏼

@sitalaure behind this delicious insolence.

Bad catering is a crime we don’t commit.
Ask us to cater your work days 💅🏼

@sitalaure behind this delicious insolence.

Bad catering is a crime we don’t commit.
Ask us to cater your work days 💅🏼

@sitalaure behind this delicious insolence.

Bad catering is a crime we don’t commit.
Ask us to cater your work days 💅🏼

@sitalaure behind this delicious insolence.

Bad catering is a crime we don’t commit.
Ask us to cater your work days 💅🏼

@sitalaure behind this delicious insolence.

Bad catering is a crime we don’t commit.
Ask us to cater your work days 💅🏼

@sitalaure behind this delicious insolence.

Bad catering is a crime we don’t commit.
Ask us to cater your work days 💅🏼

@sitalaure behind this delicious insolence.

Bad catering is a crime we don’t commit.
Ask us to cater your work days 💅🏼

@sitalaure behind this delicious insolence.

Bad catering is a crime we don’t commit.
Ask us to cater your work days 💅🏼

@sitalaure behind this delicious insolence.

Bad catering is a crime we don’t commit.
Ask us to cater your work days 💅🏼

@sitalaure behind this delicious insolence.

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

For this Les Flammes edition, our focus was the Mothers.

The ones we need the most in our biggest moments,
and the ones we choose to protect more than we share.

Thank you @maccosmeticsfrance for the talented makeup artists, and @aidoratnk @x.blvcksvgar @azurasmind for bringing @levisparis archive pieces into the dressing room ✨💘

Rick Owens, Sand Tank Top.

I found it where light first meets skin.
A beige tank, almost invisible, like it was always there.
It clings softly, like a quiet second skin.
You never really know where it comes from… but it stays.
Maybe it only appears when you’re ready to reveal yourself.

Available at Centerpiece’s dressing room.

Archive drop at Centerpiece.

A selection of rare magazines sourced by KD Presse, from the first i-D issues to iconic Vogue covers, to Levi’s or Acne collectibles.

Small fragments of fashion history, living in the library.

Archive drop at Centerpiece.

A selection of rare magazines sourced by KD Presse, from the first i-D issues to iconic Vogue covers, to Levi’s or Acne collectibles.

Small fragments of fashion history, living in the library.

We Life Design summer hangout at Centerpiece. Heavy creative energy in the room. Pulling pieces from @reneasplace to bring back.

🫂

We Life Design summer hangout at Centerpiece. Heavy creative energy in the room. Pulling pieces from @reneasplace to bring back.

🫂

We Life Design summer hangout at Centerpiece. Heavy creative energy in the room. Pulling pieces from @reneasplace to bring back.

🫂

We Life Design summer hangout at Centerpiece. Heavy creative energy in the room. Pulling pieces from @reneasplace to bring back.

🫂

We Life Design summer hangout at Centerpiece. Heavy creative energy in the room. Pulling pieces from @reneasplace to bring back.

🫂

We Life Design summer hangout at Centerpiece. Heavy creative energy in the room. Pulling pieces from @reneasplace to bring back.

🫂

We Life Design summer hangout at Centerpiece. Heavy creative energy in the room. Pulling pieces from @reneasplace to bring back.

🫂

Rick Owens archives.

Early Rick Owens leather leggings, circa 2007–2009, washed black leather with a cracked, time-worn patina, cut ultra-slim to sit like a second skin.

Signature Rick Owens stretch denim, circa 2018–2022, subtly flared with a controlled gradient fade from deep black to dusty beige.

Available @ Centerpiece’s Dressing Room

Not all project makes it out to the world.
Some creations stay quietly in the archives.

Art work by @barbaramarianiparis 🎨
Menu by @sitalaure 🍽️

Not all project makes it out to the world.
Some creations stay quietly in the archives.

Art work by @barbaramarianiparis 🎨
Menu by @sitalaure 🍽️

Not all project makes it out to the world.
Some creations stay quietly in the archives.

Art work by @barbaramarianiparis 🎨
Menu by @sitalaure 🍽️

Not all project makes it out to the world.
Some creations stay quietly in the archives.

Art work by @barbaramarianiparis 🎨
Menu by @sitalaure 🍽️

Not all project makes it out to the world.
Some creations stay quietly in the archives.

Art work by @barbaramarianiparis 🎨
Menu by @sitalaure 🍽️

Not all project makes it out to the world.
Some creations stay quietly in the archives.

Art work by @barbaramarianiparis 🎨
Menu by @sitalaure 🍽️

Jessika, the mind and hands behind @jessikamunozofficial , trying on a full Rick Owens leather outfit in our dressing room, reminding us every designer is also a muse in someone else’s world.

Available @ Centerpiece’s dressing room !

Jessika, the mind and hands behind @jessikamunozofficial , trying on a full Rick Owens leather outfit in our dressing room, reminding us every designer is also a muse in someone else’s world.

Available @ Centerpiece’s dressing room !

Jessika, the mind and hands behind @jessikamunozofficial , trying on a full Rick Owens leather outfit in our dressing room, reminding us every designer is also a muse in someone else’s world.

Available @ Centerpiece’s dressing room !