Is it just me, or is everyone suddenly dating someone? When did you all collectively decide to find significant others? And when, exactly, were you planning on telling me? Even on my way to Fantastic Toiles—London’s chaotic, brilliant, two-day pop-up where emerging designers hawk dreamy, one-of-a-kind pieces—love was top of mind.
Maybe it was the weather. The first day of the Bethnal Green pop-up landed on a sweltering Saturday. Hot girl summer had officially begun. The only problem? The same friends who were screaming “Hot girl summer!” last month are now staying in with their situationships instead of going out. Freaks. Whatever happened to class and decorum? (Kidding… I’m so happy for you guys. Obviously, I’d be doing the same. If it were me. But it’s not. Not that I’m jealous or anything.)
Anyway, once I arrived at Fantastic Toiles, romance was the last thing on my mind. I’m a professional on assignment, okay? My anxiety about being single was temporarily outmatched by my anxiety about impressing my very smart, very sexy editors. Overheated and overstimulated from the tube ride—Dante forgot to mention London’s underground as the tenth circle of hell—I was also mildly intimidated by the sweat-free East London cool kids smoking outside. But inside? A full-blown fantasy.
Fantastic Toiles is what happens when you mix fashion school grad shows with a rave, then stuff it into a gallery space and add air conditioning. Founded six years ago by designer Nasir Mazhar, the nomadic pop-up gives independent designers a chance to sell directly to shoppers—no buyers, no compromises. That means exclusive, experimental pieces at semi-affordable prices. (Translation: actual fashion, not quiet luxury clones.)
I made a beeline for the legends: Paolo Carzana’s ethereal, hand-dyed confections and Jawara Alleyne’s shredded tops and upcycled knit skirts. The kind of clothes that look like they were unearthed from a stylish swamp—and I mean that in the best way. Then, across the room, I saw them. Not too tall. Gorgeous. Hairy. Just my type. It felt like someone threw a bucket of ice water on me. I had to get closer. I circled the display carefully—didn’t want to scare them off. And then, we were face to face. Silver kitten heels with pointed toes and grassy green flocking. I’d never seen anything like them. Otherworldly. Slightly cursed. Perfect. They were surrounded by equally sublime fuzzy skirts with sheer paneling and sporty joggers laced with feathers—everything designed by Paula Einfalt. “My designs are really weird,” Einfalt laughed. “I like bringing the elegance of the ’30s and ’50s back into the 21st century.”
After a stint at Alexander McQueen, Einfalt launched her own label and made her Fantastic Toiles debut this year. She was thrilled to be selling directly to buyers—for once, no middlemen, no mass production. “A lot of department store pieces are made by someone else and just stamped with a name,” she said. “But here, you’re buying something from the maker’s own hands. It’s like a signature.”
Einfalt’s in good company. Other new vendors included Jacek Gleba, Gary Card, Frankie Staples, Jess Maybury, and Jack Appleyard—each one pushing fashion somewhere weird, beautiful, or both. I fell in love again—this time with Gleba’s sheer bandanas stitched from ribbon scraps, and his floaty jersey dresses that felt like soft armor. “I wanted to make a collection for everyday life,” said the recent Central Saint Martins grad. “Something for the bus, for reading a book, for seeing your friends.”
Frankly? I’d take those dresses home to meet my parents. And again. With Gary Card’s utterly unhinged masks made of masking tape—ugly-hot in a way that made my heart ache. Count Orlok core. Drag clown eleganza. All of the above. “I made these mad faces really instinctively—aliens, clowns, devils, drag queens,” Card told me. “There’s not enough of this kind of energy in London anymore. That’s what Fantastic Toiles is about. It’s a real community.”
They say love finds you when you least expect it. I wasn’t looking—now I was in three committed relationships. Maybe four, if you count the T-shirt I bought for a friend and might “accidentally” keep. And I wasn’t the only one getting lucky. The space buzzed with stylists, students, and other designers flipping through racks. Outfits ranged from slouchy jeans tucked into boots to kaleidoscopic patchworks layered within an inch of their lives. Proof, amid all the algorithmic doomscrolling about fashion’s creative death, that originality is still alive—you just have to know where to look.
That was the whole point for Mazhar, who launched Fantastic Toiles after pulling his namesake label out of wholesale hell. “Everyone just wanted logos and T-shirts,” he said. “I used to make historical headwear and weird, experimental stuff. But once you go wholesale, you’re just a production manager. And I didn’t want to manage—I wanted to make.” So he did—under his revived label Nasir Mazhar Fantastic Toiles—and brought others with him. “It’s about inviting people doing something really special, who need a platform,” he added. “A lot of students graduate and break down. They’ve been in school six or seven years—and suddenly, they’re just… alone.”
Why waste time on a male manipulator when you could fall in love with a skirt made from recycled organza and carpet fibers? Some might call it consumerism—I call it cheaper than therapy. (And if you’re unfamiliar, i-D is proudly pro-shopping-to-fill-the-void. Haven’t you read Alex Kessler’s life-changing Labubus piece yet?)
Seriously though: there aren’t many places like Fantastic Toiles. Most pieces are made in small runs, often from upcycled materials, by artists who believe in their work—and they cost a fraction of what you’d pay in a boutique. Even if you don’t buy a thing, it’s worth visiting just to feel the creative energy. The sense of community. The excitement of watching something new take shape in real time.
As I left—interviews done, notes messily thumb-typed into my phone—I started thinking about love again. Unfortunately. But this time, it hit me: I was already in a relationship. One that actually fulfills me. One that’s lasted longer than my last three situationships combined. I’m in love with fashion. I know, cheesy. But it’s true. And if I’m lying? Let’s go shopping anyway.