Shades of white: Stripping out dyes to reveal the magic of monochrome

Are designer colour names just a clever way to slip marketing copy onto garment labels? Some brands seem to soften the facts of production, composition, and care by using poetic colour descriptions – designed to spark emotion and shape how a garment feels. After all, who doesn't like the idea of a refreshing mist or a fluffy cloud?

Sometimes, a gimmicky name simply helps keep the warehouse organised. The same garment style is often reinvented across seasons, and to avoid confusion, each article number needs a different colour name. So white becomes ivory, and birch turns into Betula – which, yes, is just Latin for birch (I had to Google it).

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Thinking about colour led me to reflect on textile production, and how little time I’ve personally spent learning about the treatments needed to achieve the finishes on my favourite pieces. Textile production accounts for an estimated 20% of global clean water pollution, largely due to dyeing and finishing processes. The type and intensity of bleach used to create pure RTD (ready-to-dye) white garments are particularly toxic. Certifications like OEKO-TEX and GOTS are good indicators of safer treatments that are also gentler on our skin. Conscious consumer choices – such as prioritising slow fashion, repairing, and upcycling –help support a circular economy by extending product lifecycles and reducing environmental impact.

Milk, cream, chalk, bone, snow. These evocative, sensory-rich words carry a natural charm. They inspired me to revisit my pieces in shades of alabaster, pearl, and porcelain – treasured purchases that have served me for years and will continue to be cherished for many more. Photographer Sandra Moreira and I met on a Monday morning, hoping for crisp, slightly cool sunlight to help us capture the inspiring magnitude and versatility of monochromatic, vintage-tinged looks.

An oversized suit jacket by Acne Studios brings a powerful, architectural structure – almost as graphic as the building rising in the background of the photograph. Up close, loose threads soften the sharpness of the fabric. The white tights might seem like an unorthodox addition, but they played a vital role, allowing me to comfortably wear the jacket as a dress without fear of oversharing.

To me, the truest measure of an outfit is how it makes me feel. We paired wide parachute pants with distressed edges and a sheer La Perla bodysuit – lace’s delicate fragility balancing the pants’ laid-back charm, perfectly reflecting my personality. As a model, I’m at ease in my skin, yet I still crave that hint of cover. Our trusty car doubled as dressing room and café, anchoring the entire mise-en-scène.

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Still chasing that feeling of comfort, I’ve enveloped myself in an oversized cashmere turtleneck with exaggerated sleeves. My 2012 H&M × Maison Martin Margiela piece has truly stood the test of time, its premium material and thoughtful construction no surprise. Costume jewellery, by contrast, rarely lasts a lifetime. These Balenciaga beauties were an impulse buy, yet they served me dutifully at every wedding when most of my friends tied the knot; as a guest, a statement accessory felt more worthwhile than another dress. Now, as I sift through my costume-jewellery “shoebox,” the moment has come to decide: pass them on or let them go? They still look magnificent… keep or recycle?

My love for my cloud dress grows in direct proportion to my quiet admiration for Simone Rocha. Designers like her feed my insecurities single-handedly – but it’s worth it. Rocha has transformed fashion with a design language that stays authentic, surprising, and utterly inspiring year after year. The slightly rough streets of Stockholm may clash with Victorian fairy tales, but I relish that cultural collision. Over time, my cloud dress has developed a warm yellow patina – gift of sea air, sun, dust, and nature’s organic touch. I cherish these subtle stains as marks of devotion…and my own personal act of punk.

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Pairing a crisp cotton shirt with buff sleeves and an airy silk skirt felt off-balance: the pointed-toe Céline ballerinas read almost blue, the Lee Mathews skirt carries subtle green undertones, and the shirt is optic white. This piece hails from Opening Ceremony’s NYC boutique, which closed during the pandemic. In the early 2000s, the founders set out to blend high-end luxury with accessible price points – drawing in shoppers intimidated by hardcore designer labels and nurturing their style aspirations. It worked on me: my first OC haul included this shirt, Havaianas flip-flops, and my beloved green Dries Van Noten coat.

WWe shot just three frames of the final look—a textured The Row shirt, SLVRLAKE jeans, and Gianvito Rossi boots. Sandra captured an intimate urban moment, using edgy Stockholm as our playground. Gradually, our styling drifted away from bridal sweetness and the innocence of Studenten, recasting white as something rugged at last.