Why Are We Romanticizing the Old When the World Keeps Racing Forward?

In a world where everything promises to move faster, smarter, sleeker, there is a quiet counter movement gaining ground. Instead of chasing the newest, many of us are reaching backward: toward the vintage, the worn, the handmade, the imperfect. Flea markets are thriving, vinyl is back, and even digital platforms are dressed up to look like aged film reels. The question is: why?

Time and Space as the Real Luxury

The most precious commodity today is not money, it is time and space. Our lives are crowded with alerts, meetings, and obligations. Every corner of our day feels occupied. In this atmosphere, the idea of slow living has become its own form of wealth. We long for mornings without noise, afternoons that stretch without deadlines, and evenings free from the constant tug of technology. There is a nostalgia for living slowly, not because it is old-fashioned, but because it feels almost impossible now.

Holding On in a Hyper Digital Age

This shift is not only nostalgia. It is a way to survive in a culture that is always updating, always erasing, always replacing. A chipped cup, a handwritten letter, or a handwoven textile becomes more than an object. It is resistance. It is proof that not everything has to vanish just because something newer exists.

Stories That Endure

The power of vintage is not only its texture or form. It is the story that clings to it. Every worn surface and every faded thread carries memory. Choosing to keep and use old things means choosing to live with stories. That is why a cracked mug feels warmer than a polished one pulled fresh from a store shelf. It holds a trace of continuity in a world that rushes to forget.

The Weight of Speed

The longing for the old exists everywhere, but it is strongest where progress is moving the fastest. In rapidly advancing societies, people often feel that change outpaced their ability to hold on. Industrialization, urban expansion, and digital acceleration strip away traditions before they can be preserved. This produces a very modern kind of nostalgia: a longing for cohesion, rhythm, and continuity. It is not sentimentality, it is a human response to the exhaustion of constant acceleration.

I grew up in Lebanon, a country where development moved more slowly, so fragments of heritage still survive, fragile but present. Living now in the Gulf, I see another story. Here, the pace of change has been extraordinary, yet there is also a remarkable effort to keep heritage alive and embed it into everyday life. Both reveal the same truth. The faster the future arrives, the more urgent the past becomes.

A Living Dialogue

Heritage is not a museum piece. It is a dialogue across generations. Choosing vintage or handmade is not a rejection of progress, it is a way of reclaiming time and

space. Lighting a candle that smells like a grandmother’s kitchen, placing a handmade tile in a modern home, or playing a vinyl record is not only an aesthetic decision. It is a way of making room for memory, of refusing to let stories disappear, and of anchoring ourselves in a world that rarely slows down.

At There to Wear, we hold on to these moments of continuity. Not to escape the present, but to remember that the past is still with us, quietly shaping who we are. Every story carried in a thread, a scent, or an object is an invitation to live more slowly, more fully, and more connected to the lives that came before ours. And we learn, and we keep learning.

Aghabani: The Craft That Weaves Time

Walk through the old markets of Damascus, and you will see them hanging like captured light – cloths embroidered with gold and silver threads, their motifs curling in perfect harmony. These are Aghabani fabrics, known across Syria and beyond, yet their story runs deeper than market stalls and table settings.

Aghabani is not just embroidery.It is a blueprint of heritage.

It begins with a simple cloth – cotton, silk, or organza. Onto this, artisans stamp patterns using carved woodblocks dipped in washable blue ink. The process is meticulous: each block pressed firmly, leaving behind designs of roses, almonds, clocks, arabesques, and vine scrolls. These motifs are not mere decorations; they are visual languages telling stories of Damascus gardens, Ottoman courts, and village feasts.

Then the real magic begins. The printed outlines are handed to embroiderers who bring them alive with threads of gold, silver, or soft white viscose. They use chain stitch embroidery, layering each loop until the motifs seem to float above the cloth, catching light with every movement.

Historically, Aghabani was reserved for nobility and scholars. Its shine adorned wedding garments, ceremonial robes, and home textiles that marked celebrations. But over time, it found its place on tables and cushions, in wardrobes and trousseaus, becoming part of daily life while never losing its air of prestige.

Its roots run especially deep in Duma, a town northeast of Damascus. Here, families passed the craft down like an heirloom. Embroidery machines were part of dowries. Stitches were counted like days, marking time not in hours but in patterns completed and pieces delivered. Entire generations grew up listening to the hum of machines and the quiet concentration of mothers and aunts at work.

Then war came. Homes were abandoned, machines left behind, threads cut short.

For a while, Aghabani embroidery teetered on the edge of disappearance. But heritage, like a resilient vine, finds a way. Many artisans smuggled out their machines, restarting their work in neighbouring villages or in Damascus itself. When Duma reopened in 2018, they returned, bringing with them not just cloth and thread, but a craft that had refused to die.

Today, each Aghabani piece you see carries this journey – from Ottoman courts to village homes, from conflict zones back to markets. It carries centuries of design innovation, colour theory, and textile science. It carries lessons in geometry, patience, and quiet perseverance.

Heritage is not static. It breathes, migrates, falters, and rises again – just like Aghabani embroidery.

At There to Wear, we honour this craft not as a relic of the past but as a living art – a design language that continues to evolve, adapt, and adorn life with meaning.

Because when you run your hand over its golden threads, you touch more than beauty.You touch a story that refused to fade.

Cane Weaving, an Intertwined Journey

The cannage weave is more than just a decorative design—it's a centuries-old craft that has evolved across cultures, leaving its mark from ancient civilizations to modern luxury. This enduring technique, with its lattice-like patterns, has woven together history, tradition, and innovation, making it an icon in furniture, fashion, and design.

Origins in Southeast Asia

The roots of cane weaving can be traced back to Southeast Asia, where artisans began crafting with natural materials like rattan and cane. These materials were prized for their strength, flexibility, and breathability. Weaving techniques were passed down through generations, creating functional objects like baskets, mats, and containers essential to daily life.

Spreading Across Continents: Patterns of Cultural Expression

As the art of cane weaving spread across Asia and Africa, each region infused the craft with its own patterns and unique touches. Cane and rattan were woven into not only everyday objects but also ceremonial items, reflecting the cultural heritage and traditions of each region. From intricate patterns in African baskets to Southeast Asian furniture, the craft became both a functional and artistic expression of local identity.

Cane Weaving in Europe

By the 17th century, cane weaving had made its way to Europe, where it underwent significant transformation to suit European tastes. French and English artisans began incorporating cane weaving into furniture design, particularly for chair seats and backs. The cannage pattern, characterized by its geometric, lattice-like design, became a hallmark of elegance and refinement, famously seen in the chairs of Napoleon III’s court.

Michael Thonet and the Revolution of the Bistro Chair

One of the most pivotal moments in the evolution of cannage came in the mid-19th century with Michael Thonet’s iconic No. 14 chair. The use of a caned seat in this bentwood chair revolutionized furniture manufacturing, making it lightweight, affordable, and elegant. Known as the “bistro chair,” it became a fixture in cafés worldwide and remains a symbol of chic, minimalist design to this day.

Pierre Jeanneret Modernism and Chandigarh

The mid-20th century saw another reinvention of cannage with Pierre Jeanneret’s contributions to the modernist movement. His designs for Chandigarh, India, incorporated the airy, light weave into sleek, minimalist chairs that blended traditional craftsmanship with modernist aesthetics. These chairs not only embraced the practical qualities of cannage but also brought it into the realm of architectural and design innovation.

Cannage in Fashion

Perhaps the most famous reinvention of cannage occurred in the world of fashion. In the 1940s, Christian Dior spotted the pattern on Napoleon III chairs in his Paris boutique and was inspired to bring this centuries-old craft into haute couture. Dior’s application of the cannage weave on the Lady Dior handbag transformed the ancient technique into a symbol of luxury. This reinvention forever linked the craft to the world of fashion, making it a lasting icon of refinement and elegance.

Cannage in the Modern World

Today, the cannage weave continues to endure in modern design, from classic Thonet bistro chairs to high-end fashion collections. Its versatility is its beauty—whether woven into a chair, a handbag, or a piece of architecture, the pattern remains a timeless connection between ancient craftsmanship and contemporary aesthetics.

The Future of Cane Weaving: Preserving a Heritage Craft

Despite its iconic status in luxury design, the traditional handmade cannage weave faces challenges in the modern world. With the rise of mass production, the number of skilled artisans trained in traditional weaving methods is in decline. However, efforts are being made to preserve this craft, ensuring that the artistry of cane weaving continues to thrive in both heritage and contemporary contexts.

A Symbol of Tradition and Innovation

Cane weaving is not just a pattern or a design element—it’s a testament to the endurance of craftsmanship through time. From its humble beginnings in Southeast Asia to its status as a symbol of luxury in furniture and fashion, it represents the perfect balance of tradition, innovation, and elegance. As long as we continue to value the art of weaving, cannage will remain woven into the fabric of our history and design.