Entry No. 03 — A Place at the Table
I’m the oldest of four girls.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the one who went out first. I tried things, figured them out the hard way, and then came back and told my sisters what I learned so it could be a little easier for them.
Not because anyone asked me to. It just felt natural.
And I think that instinct followed me into the rest of my life too.
I’ve spent a lot of time carving my own way into the life I wanted. Not just in the big obvious ways, like moving countries or building something of my own, but in the quieter ways too. Figuring out what I actually like. How I want to live. What feels like me.
And the truth is, as expected, that process is rarely as confident as it might look from the outside.
There are a lot of moments where you’re questioning everything. Wondering if the thing you’re working toward is even possible. Wondering if you’re on the right path at all.
Dreaming about a life you want and not always being sure you’re allowed to have it.
I think anyone who has tried to build something for themselves knows that feeling.
And because I know how heavy that can feel sometimes, I’ve always wanted the people around me to feel a little less alone in it.
Not by pretending it’s easy. It’s not.
But by creating spaces where people can experiment, try things, and grow into themselves without feeling like they have to have everything figured out.
Studio Gestern comes from that place.
It’s an extension of how I already move through the world. Sharing things I believe in. Encouraging people to try something new. Creating a space where curiosity is more important than perfection.
Because sometimes it only takes one small moment; trying something on, seeing yourself differently, feeling a little more like the person you’re becoming- to remind you that you’re allowed to build your own path too.
And if my experiences can make that process even a little bit easier for someone else, then that’s something worth building.
I think the first time I really understood that instinct in myself was when I started high school.
Until I was fourteen, I had gone to the same private Catholic school since kindergarten. My aunt was the principal. The kids around me were the same kids I had known since I was five years old. My whole world was familiar. Safe. Small in a way that felt normal at the time.
When it was time to choose a high school, my parents told me I could go wherever I wanted. And for some reason, I chose public high school.
I think I just wanted to know what it felt like to be part of something bigger. To go from being a fish in a small pond to a fish in the ocean.
The first few months were terrifying.
I woke up at five in the morning just to pick out what I was going to wear. I didn’t know how to talk to people. I didn’t know how I was supposed to act. I didn’t even really know who I was yet. I was constantly embarrassed just to exist.
I know that feeling isn’t unusual for high school. A lot of people feel that way.
But for me it was the first time I had ever been somewhere where I didn’t have anyone around me who already knew me. My sisters weren’t there. My childhood friends weren’t there. There was nothing familiar to fall back on.
I remember eating lunch outside on the concrete blocks because I didn’t really have a place to sit yet. Just that deeply uncomfortable feeling of realizing you’re completely on your own in a new space.
And it was the first moment where I understood something; if I wanted to build a place for myself there, I was going to have to do it.
I was going to have to talk to people. I was going to have to introduce myself. I was going to have to let people see who I was before I even fully knew it myself.
It was scary. But it also changed me.
Because once I went through that, I never wanted the people around me to feel that same kind of loneliness if I could help it.
When my sisters eventually came to that same high school, I was already there. I already had friends, people who knew me, places to sit. And it mattered to me that when they arrived, they didn’t have to go through those first few months the way I did.
The same thing happened later when I was in university.
By the time my sister moved to this new city for school, I had already been living there for a few years. I had my life, my friends, my routines. And I remember organizing a big dinner with a group of people she had grown up with who were also moving there for their first year.
I wanted them all to sit together, eat together, remember that they had each other.
I remember telling them something simple; this is your group. You know each other. And no matter what happens while you’re here, you can always come back to this table.
Because starting somewhere new is exciting, but it’s also deeply uncomfortable.
And no one should have to feel like they’re doing it completely alone.
I think that instinct is still the thing guiding me now.
Studio Gestern isn’t just about clothes.
It’s about creating something that feels a little bit like that table. A place where people can show up as they are, try things, experiment, and slowly figure themselves out without feeling like they have to get it perfect right away.
Because I know what it feels like to walk into a space and not know where you belong yet.
And I know how much it can matter when someone makes room for you.
So in a lot of ways, Studio Gestern is just an extension of how I’ve always tried to move through the world.
Going first when I can.
Figuring things out along the way.
And then leaving the door open behind me so someone else doesn’t have to walk in alone.
Published March 2026
Vienna
