It's pretty interesting and also rather disturbing how the things that we were once immensely proud of, wanted to shout from the rooftops, and shaped so much of who we are, are the same things that we start to suppress as we get older and navigate through the world.
When I was a child, you couldn't tell me that I wasn't a full-blown Jamaican. Yes, I was born in Brooklyn, New York but both my parents were Jamaican and everyone else in my family was a born and raised Jamaican. I just happened to come at a time when my family decided to look for better in a new place.
I was often sad that I actually wasn't born in Jamaica, but my family made sure that I grew up understanding my culture, being proud of my culture, and being surrounded by my culture. Fun fact - I used to throw the biggest fits in the airport when it was time to come back to America after spending time in Jamaica with my family.
Being born and raised in Flatbush (aka Little Caribbean), I have always been surrounded by unapologetic Caribbean culture. My elementary school was completely run and staffed by Caribbean women. Throughout my prekindergarten through twelfth grade years, I went to school with other children whose families had only been in America for a few years or had just come over. I was surrounded by beautiful accents, energizing music, flavorful cuisines, and bold, unapologetic personalities.
The women around me always seemed put together and moving with a purpose. They held jobs and they took care of families. They put food on the table, literally and figuratively. They looked out for each other and each other's families.
As I grew older, I noticed even more about these women. There was more to them than what we noticed on the surface. They all had stories and previous lives they kept tucked away. Untold challenges, successes, all around experiences that shaped how they moved in this new world. Once I realized this, I had an even greater love and respect for them.
My own mother was one of those women. She didn't share much about what she left behind when she came to America. But I know that she had a whole life - credentials, a career as a midwife, and an identity she'd built for herself. And then she came here and started all over again. Quietly. Without making it a thing.
As an adult, that sat and still sits with me heavily. She, and so many women like her, walked away from everything they'd built to begin again in a place that didn't always make room for them. And they did it with grace. Heads down, moving forward, building something new, and they usually didn't get to be fully seen for who they were.
I think about that a lot.
Something else also struck me - I realized that, while I hadn't forgotten my roots, I also wasn't putting them in the forefront like I used to. I'd been navigating different professional, educational, and creative spaces and I was unsure of how my cultural identity would be received. I wanted to share who I was, but I held back for fear of being negatively stereotyped. It has taken me years to feel strong enough to say who I am in every space I enter.
The Island Gyal collection is my answer to all of it. To the years I spent holding parts of myself back. To the women who had to start over without anyone acknowledging what they left behind. To the version of me that used to throw fits in the airport because she didn't want to leave.
The Island Gyal collection was inspired by the beauty, strength, resilience, pride, and boldly unapologetic spirit of the Caribbean woman and her native land. The materials used in this collection symbolize those characteristics. The rich, beautiful brown of the bronzite represents their beautiful skin. The blues of the Amazonite and agate represent the majestic waters. The purple/blue/green agate represents the Doctor Bird - the national bird of Jamaica. The baroque pearls symbolize their unique beauty. And yellow - my mother's favorite color - in honor of her life.
Island Gyal isn't a look. It's a feeling. It's the thing you stopped putting in the forefront, and the decision to bring it back.
Every piece in this collection carries a name and a story, because every woman does too. There's Mia - bold, grounded, steadfast in her commitment to her people. There's Maxine, who knows she runs tings and doesn't soften herself for anyone. There's Kerry-Ann, who knows she's cute and carries herself with an air of confidence that's impossible to miss. There's Blossom, bold on the surface but a caregiver underneath it all. There's Shanice - a lot, in the best way, charming once you take the time to actually understand her instead of just reacting to her. There's Faye-Ann, a country gyal who knows there's more to the world and intends to see every bit of it.
And there's Collene. Named for my mother, and made in her favorite color. She was a complicated woman who didn't let people get too close. She gave you just enough of her story before she pulled back, and she carried the rest of it with her — all the way to the end. Family was everything to her, even the parts of herself she never let us fully see.
That's the whole point of Island Gyal. Caribbean women aren't one thing. We're not loud or quiet, soft or hard, simple or complicated. We're all of it, often at once, and none of us owe anyone a tidy explanation for which version shows up on a given day.
We were never meant to suppress the things that shaped us. This collection is my reminder of that. For the women I grew up watching, for my mother, and for the gyal who used to throw fits in airports because she didn't want to leave…
