
How to Care for Silk So It Outlives You
Silk is generous if you treat it as a living fibre, not laundry. The house protocol for washing, drying, pressing, storing and rescuing a silk slip, camisole or knicker.
Notes on craft, slowness, and the private hours a woman keeps for herself.

Silk is generous if you treat it as a living fibre, not laundry. The house protocol for washing, drying, pressing, storing and rescuing a silk slip, camisole or knicker.

No piece we make is drafted from nothing. Each begins as a block — a plain, shapeless, perfectly fitted master pattern that exists only to be departed from.

Fewer bows, fewer appliqués, more engineering. On the weight of tulle, the strap that stays, the band that never rides — and the confidence that comes from a garment that asks for nothing.

Inside a made-to-measure corselette: coutil, spiral steel, the float layer, and the reason a garment that holds a body should never grip it.

Silk is natural, biodegradable and long-lived — but lingerie is never one fibre. Water, the moth, peace silk, the elastane problem, and why longevity is the real metric.

A deliberately narrow frame — five colours, three cloths, one base silhouette — makes the drawer interchangeable, the dye lots consistent and the pattern archive cumulative. Restraint as an engineering decision.

Not a demographic and not a mood board. A description of the woman our patterns are actually corrected against, and what she has taught the fitting room.

Lingerie is the most disposable category in a wardrobe and has no reason to be. What actually determines whether a piece survives ten years, and how the cost per wearing really works out.

Slow fashion is not a style but a refusal — to rush the making, to chase the drop, to treat the most intimate layer of a wardrobe as the most disposable.

A step-by-step account of how a bias slip is drafted — from measurements and the rotated grain line to the shaped strap, the hip ease, and the hem that cannot be drawn.

Lingerie is the clothing you wear most and show least. An honest look at what makes a bra expensive, what fails first, and how the numbers actually fall.

Why the finest hand-finishing happens in near-silence, what that quiet does to the tension on a thread, and how patience becomes part of the garment itself.

A wire end, a flat seam, a bartack, a hook plate, a label sewn to the yoke instead of the side seam. The details that decide whether lingerie is worn for an hour or for years.

Bodies change and commercial sizing lies. Of all the garments a woman owns, the one against her skin is the one where being measured properly changes most.

GINA HF exists to make a specific case: that the garment closest to the body deserves the most construction, not the least. The argument, stated plainly.

Cultivated silk is bred for perfection; wild silk is gathered from the forest with all its character intact. A study of tussar, the two textures, and where each belongs on the body.

Luxury once meant excess. We argue it should mean responsibility — and that in the most intimate category of all, the honest questions are harder than most houses admit.

The women who dress best beneath their clothes own the same three pieces many times over. On sister sizing, the two-finger test, buying in multiples — and the evening version of the same uniform.

Grading a cup is not scaling it. Why a 30E and a 36E share a volume but not a shape, what sister sizing really means, and where mathematical grading stops working.

Everything that gives a piece of lingerie its shape is invisible from the outside. A field guide to the structural materials — what each one does, where it belongs, and how it fails.

How a pencil line becomes a cup, a band and a strap — the mock-ups in cheap mesh, the corrections in red chalk, and why the first version is meant to be wrong.

Silk returns light, lace absorbs it, tulle holds it in suspension. How the house designs for the lamp beside the bed, not the shop window.

A guide to travelling with silk, lace and structured pieces — what to roll, why a cup is packed upright, the arrival ritual, and washing a slip in a hotel basin.

Embroidering a garment that must weigh nothing and touch skin all day. On Chantilly appliqué, the tambour hook, and why the back of the work matters most.

A guarantee is only worth what it costs to honour. What GINA HF commits to on fit, materials, repair and lifespan — and what we deliberately refuse to promise.

Lingerie lives a shorter life than a coat — and that is exactly why construction matters more, not less. What separates five years of wear from five months.

Heat, humidity and three days of celebration. What to wear beneath a thin dress by the water, what to pack it in, and the one piece kept for the last night.

Six millimetres decides whether a seam can be sewn, felt against the skin, or altered in five years. The least glamorous line on a pattern, and one of the most consequential.

Polyester has learned to shimmer. Here are the senses and small tests that still separate true silk from its clever imitations — and why the difference is felt first against skin.

Made-to-measure lingerie is not one appointment but three. What happens at the toile, at the first silk, and at the finish — and what you should be looking for at each.

Why the sewing tables face north, why we fit at dusk, and how a bad lamp can hide a ridged cup seam until the garment is already against a woman's skin.

The small, considered collection of things that lets you care for fine intimates at home — from the right soap to a mesh bag and a spare hook-and-eye — and what to leave on the shelf.

A lingerie collection does not begin with a bra. It begins with an image, a temperature, a private hour. Inside the long, quiet passage from moodboard to moulage to the drawer you open at midnight.

Every made-to-measure piece begins as a toile — a plain cotton ghost built to be marked, corrected and destroyed. What actually happens across three fittings.

Silk, heat, humidity and a century of hand-finishing. On why those four conditions make Bangkok an unusually honest place to build an intimate atelier.

Transparency is a discipline, not a slogan. The full chain behind a single silk and lace slip — mulberry grove, reeler, dyer, narrow loom, trim maker, atelier.

Some shapes cannot be calculated. Draping calico directly onto a bust form is how a house finds a line it could not have drafted — and how that line becomes a pattern.

A full drawer is a drawer that goes unused. How to edit lingerie honestly, how to store it so it survives, and why restraint is what makes the ritual possible.

A city of silk merchants, trim suppliers and patient hands. Why a house devoted to what is worn closest to the skin makes it here, and nowhere else.

The practice of making intimates last — rotating rather than repeating, repairing early, washing cool, and the honest answer to how often a bra really needs replacing.

Standard sizing assumes a woman who does not exist. What asymmetry, root width, tissue density and the monthly cycle really do to fit — and how a house builds for them.

The band carries eighty per cent of the load and is cut fifteen to twenty per cent shorter than the body. Cup grading, strap angle, sister sizing, gore height, wire width — the real numbers behind a good fit.

Thread count belongs to cotton. Silk has momme — the single measure that reveals weight, opacity and how a slip will fall over the hip. Here is how to read it.

An intimate atelier is divided in two. One bench works in silk that must fall; the other builds structure that must hold. They are different crafts entirely.

Five neutrals, read against skin and against the fabric that carries them. Why silk returns light and lace absorbs it, which shade disappears under which clothing, and how to choose without a season chart.

The woman who runs the room chooses her first layer before anyone sees her. On why the garment nobody photographs sets the tone for the entire day.

Someone always pays for a low price — a maker, a river, a landfill, and often the woman wearing it. An unsparing look at the bill that never reaches the counter.

Fabric is a plane; a body is a set of compound curves. The whole of patternmaking is the negotiation between them — and nowhere is it starker than in a bra cup.

A clear-eyed guide to when dry cleaning is truly necessary for lingerie — the few pieces that need it, the many it quietly harms, and how to choose a cleaner worth trusting.

Cutting silk and lace is irreversible, so we treat it as ceremony — resting the cloth, truing the grain, placing the motif, and pausing before the blade closes.

Before fit, before finish, a garment must hang true. What balance means in a bias slip and a bra band, how it fails, and why a hem that dips is never a hem problem.

A complete guide to caring for fine knit intimates — the cashmere bed jacket, the wool-silk base layer, the knitted camisole. Why you wash rather than send out, and how to defeat pilling.

Chantilly against Leavers, the two faces of charmeuse, the picot on an elastic. In a house without colour, the surface is the whole content.

Turn any piece of lingerie inside out and it will tell you the truth about itself. Eight things to look for, and what each one reveals about the maker.

In Thai ikat the design is dyed into the thread before a single line is woven. A reading of mudmee — its blurred edges, its mathematics, and how one band of it is used in a robe.

A snagged lace, a slack band, a slipped strap — none of them is a verdict. On the quiet dignity of repair, and the specific techniques that keep a piece in the world.

The house names its foundation pieces after the unwatched hours — the ones a woman spends entirely in her own company. On why those hours, and not the spectacle, are our subject.

Lace shears, size 60 needles, the flat machine, the bust form, the wire gauge — a guided tour of the humble, exacting tools behind every piece we make.

The dart is the oldest way of making flat cloth curve, and in lingerie it rarely survives as a dart. Follow it as it rotates, splits and finally becomes the seams of a bra cup.

The bias-cut slip is the most fluent thing a woman owns — worn beneath everything by day, worn as itself by night. On grain, momme, hems that must hang, and what goes underneath.

A strap that digs is telling you something, and it is almost never about the strap. How weight is distributed in a bra, where the anchor points belong, and how to read the marks on your shoulders.

How to take the creases out of silk, lace and a folded slip without damage — when to steam, when to press, what must never meet an iron, and the bathroom rescue.

Where the band sits, where the cup ends, where the leg is cut — the three lines that decide a body before a single stitch is sewn.

The cutter, the elastic hand, the cup setter, the finisher — every piece we make passes through several pairs of hands, and each leaves a mark you can read.

Corsetière, bustier-maker, lingère. The made-to-measure underlayer is older than couture itself — and every couture technique that matters was invented on it first.

Quiet luxury in lingerie is not the absence of decoration. It is a set of expensive construction decisions that a wearer feels and a photograph cannot show.

Turn the pattern forty-five degrees and cloth stops behaving like cloth. What the bias actually does to silk, why it is so difficult to cut, and why nothing else drapes like it.

Not all silk is one fibre. A field guide to mulberry, eri and muga — three moths, three temperaments, and which one belongs against skin at which hour.

Silk is beautiful but it is not weightless, and neither is a French lace. An honest account of what the two materials at the heart of this house actually cost.

The piece nobody sees is the final proof that you do not dress to be seen. A close reading of the signals — the sewn label, the selvedge edge, the hand-finished cup.

A cup can be built from seamed panels and interlining, or pressed into shape by a hot tool. The two methods feel different on the body from the first hour, and age in opposite directions.

How to keep silk, lace and structured pieces so they survive the years — why a bra is never folded inside itself, why plastic is the enemy, and how lace is stored without snagging.

Indigo, ebony pods, lac and mango leaf — how silk destined for lingerie is coloured by hand, why the shade moves in the light, and what natural dye asks of you in return.

Weave, weight and finish decide how a silk behaves on a body. A working guide to crêpe de Chine, charmeuse, georgette and habotai — and how to tell real silk from its imitations.

Noir, Ivory, Porcelain, Smoke, Charcoal. Five neutrals, three materials, and the production discipline hidden inside a palette that looks like restraint.

An ordinary working day inside the GINA HF atelier in Bangkok — cutting silk at dawn, the elastic hours, the fitting held in the last honest light.

A step-by-step method for hand-washing silk intimates — water temperature, the right soap, and how to dry a slip and a bra so both return to you unmarked.

The difference between a made-to-measure piece and an excellent ready-to-wear one is not luxury. It is which party absorbs the variation between bodies.

The house began not with a vision but with a complaint heard too many times: that the garment closest to the body was the worst-made thing a woman owned.

The pattern is where a garment is actually designed. What lives on those paper shapes, why lingerie patterns are worked in millimetres, and why the sketch decides almost nothing.

Six pieces that fit, against twenty that almost do. Why buying less and buying better is the most luxurious decision a woman can make about her first layer.

Twelve pieces that carry a woman from a desk at nine to a room lit by one lamp at midnight — the anchors, the rotation, and what to leave out of the drawer.

A bra is the most engineered garment a woman owns. A guided tour of its parts — cradle, wing, band, bridge, cup seams — and what each one is quietly doing against your body.