I've always been very interested in feelings. Why we feel what we feel, where it comes from, and why we're so quick to tell ourselves or other people not to feel it.
Especially kids.
I've never really understood why children are expected to be happy, giggly and well-behaved all the time. They're humans. Tiny ones, sure, but humans nonetheless.
They can be excited. Angry. Quiet. Dramatic. Sensitive. Loud. Affectionate. Weird. Completely unreasonable.
And that's okay.
So, how did Gulabi Baby happen?
Well. It wasn't supposed to.
For years, I had another name in mind for the brand. I was attached to it. I had imagined the logo, the clothes, the whole little universe around it.
Then I went to trademark it. And found out it was already taken.
I was genuinely heartbroken. Not because I couldn't think of another name, but because I had spent so long imagining my brand with that name. Suddenly, I was back at zero.
So I started looking. And looking.
There were lists. There was research. There were names I liked, names I hated, names that sounded nice but felt like they belonged to someone else's brand.
Nothing felt like mine. Until one day I thought, maybe that's the problem.
If this is something I'm building from scratch, why am I trying so hard to find a name that already exists somewhere in my head?
Why not make it personal? So I started asking people what colour they thought of when they thought of me.
9/10 said pink.
Which honestly made perfect sense. I've had pink hair, pink bags, pink hairbrushes. I've loved pink since I was a kid. I don't think I've ever really had a phase where pink wasn't somewhere around me.
So I started playing with it.
Pink. Gulabi. Gulabi Baby.
And suddenly, it clicked. It felt personal without being too serious. Colourful without trying too hard. And very, VERY me.
So after losing the name I thought I'd have for years, I ended up with one I probably couldn't have planned better.
Turns out, maybe I just needed to stop looking for a name and start looking for a little bit of myself.
So, why kidswear?
Honestly, I don't think I chose kidswear. I think it just kept finding me.
I always knew I wanted to work in fashion, but I wasn't sure where I'd end up. At NIFT, I interned in both womenswear and kidswear, and somehow I kept finding myself more excited about the kids' section.
Maybe it was the tiny armholes and tiny seams. Maybe it was freedom.
Kidswear can be colourful, playful, and a little weird. You can put colours together that technically shouldn't work and somehow they look perfect on a four-year-old.
I also never understood why kidswear had to look like miniature adultwear, or why “fun” had to mean putting a giant cartoon character on a t-shirt.
Kids already have personalities. Let the clothes have one too.
And I suppose I've always felt that way about clothes.
I was ten when I got into an argument with my grandfather because I was wearing a backless top.
My response was, “This is the fashion nowadays. You wouldn't understand.”
At ten.
So yes, I had opinions. I also had very strong opinions about comfort. My mom is the victim here.
If something felt even slightly uncomfortable, I wasn't wearing it. Scratchy fabric? No. Tight neckline? Absolutely not. Something that felt weird? Goodbye. Still the same, by the way.
So when I design, I care just as much about how a garment feels as how it looks. Fabric, construction, fit, seams. Everything has to work.
Because I don't want to make clothes a child merely tolerates because their parent likes them.
I want to make the ones they reach for themselves. “I want to wear that one.”
That's the whole point.
I want them to run around in it. Get dirty in it. Jump in puddles in it. Play with the dog in it.
And then, when guests come over, casually start a fashion show in the living room. Because obviously.