I’ve been thinking a lot about melancholy lately. Not the sharp kind that arrives like a sudden storm, but the gentle, familiar one; the one that appears the moment the air turns colder, when the light grows softer, when life slows down just enough for old memories to knock on the door. A few years ago, I moved to a different city. Everyone said a new place brings excitement, possibility, a chance to reinvent yourself. And that was true. I felt my heart waking up, stretching,

Prickly Pears, for me, is more than just a brand. It represents the places and people that have shaped my life. The textures of my childhood, the women who taught me patience and care, and the rhythm of Anatolia itself are all woven into its essence. I believe textiles carry memories. Every thread, every knot, and every woven detail serves as a quiet act of remembrance. Cultural sustainability is at the heart of my dreams. I want the crafts born on our soil to continue thrivi

Sustainability is often spoken about in broad, universal terms. But for us, it is personal. At Prickly Pears, sustainable crafting is not a concept we adopted; it is something we were raised within. We were born and grew up on the same lands where our textiles are woven. We have witnessed the rhythm of Anatolian life, the challenges artisans face, the fragility of traditional crafts, and the quiet strength required to keep them alive. Our difference begins here: we are not ob