I photographed a single pair of pants: striped McQueen flared trousers, gifted to me by my mentor, Barbara Hulanicki. They were her favorite; she lived in them for years before passing them on to me with one instruction: “Wear the pants until you can’t.” Let them soften, fray, and gather the marks of a life fully lived. I photographed the trousers across different people and locations, treating them not as clothing but as a subject in motion. Working with one piece gave me clarity; the project is about time, impermanence, and how fashion becomes a vessel for memory. My relationship to fashion began early. At seven, I was fascinated by how clothing shapes identity and wanted to design for women because nothing felt more powerful than womanhood. My mother took me to her seamstress, where I taught myself to drape and sew using discarded fabrics, including black taffeta curtains from Goodwill that I turned into a gown. One afternoon, as I worked quietly on that gown, a woman walked in: Barbara Hulanicki. I was fourteen; she was eighty-three. She invited me to her Miami Beach studio and became my mentor, teaching me not just construction but how to dismantle perfection. Photographing the trousers she gifted me finally showed me what she meant: the story is what the fabric survives.