Textile, Memory, and Everything in Between.
Tala Khalidy Barbotin works in a landscape where “craft” is often reduced to marketing vocabulary, yet she treats it like a verb — something alive, practiced, breathed, carried. Her pieces aren’t nostalgic replicas of the Levant, nor are they ironic reinventions. They’re something trickier: garments that feel simultaneously inherited and entirely new, stitched slowly by hands that know their worth.
Across borders, time zones, and a choreography of artisans from Baalbek to the Chouf, she’s building a label that insists on slowing down just enough to listen — to the fabric, to the craft, to the people who keep both alive.
KHAMSA meets Tala as part of its ongoing series spotlighting the voices shaping contemporary creativity, craftsmanship, and cultural imagination. She unravels how she does it: one stitch, one archive, one improbable journey at a time.
All images are courtesy of Tala Khalidy Barbotin
١. How did those early memories (wandering through your grandmother’s shop) shape both the emotional core and creative direction of your label today?
I think it comes from being surrounded by the fabrics I now work with!
Textiles were everywhere, and my grandmother was already working with artisans in Lebanon and Syria to design clothing, but also glasses, jewelry, furniture, and more. My favorite activity was playing salesperson – I would hide in baskets of scarves, treating it like a playground. No wonder those same textiles and the idea of artisanal work evoke so much creativity for me today! Even as I explored design directions during my time at Parsons in New York, I kept getting frustrated by the quality of fabrics I could find there and would end up bringing fabrics back from Lebanon. Today, I pull from the shop’s archive pieces for constant inspiration.
٢. How do the Tark and Aghabani techniques, both rooted in regional history, find a place within your modern clothing designs?
Tark and Aghabani are both incredibly time-intensive, precision techniques. That intensity translates into the richness of the textile’s texture, so they naturally pair well with pure materials like cotton or silk. I’ll apply Aghabani patches directly onto raw denim jeans, or place Tark gold work on the back of a jacket or throughout a scarf.
The key is respecting the technique while changing its context.
These methods don’t change: our artisans in Baalbek still punch that metallic thread in one stroke, and the Damascus artisans still hand-stamp then fill with colored silk embroidery. But now instead of home textiles, they’re on pieces you can actually wear. Sometimes the juxtaposition is deliberately contrasting, but we’re particularly intent on ensuring the finishings and sewing are impeccable and clean, which, combined with the richness of the textiles, creates elevated contemporary ready-to-wear.
٣. You embrace slow, small-batch, pre-order production. How do you feel this model changes the way people relate to their clothes, and to the stories and values they embody?
It’s definitely a learning curve for everyone. I think as customers it’s sometimes challenging to wait, but that waiting period becomes part of the garment’s story. When someone commits to a piece before it exists, they’re investing in an idea, in the artisan’s time, in a relationship. It transforms clothing from disposable commodity to considered commitment. Customers tell me they treat these pieces differently because they know whose hands made them, they understand the time involved. It creates this beautiful accountability on both sides.
٤. Can you share how stitching acts both as cultural preservation and personal healing?
Stitching has been proven extremely effective as occupational therapy, but it also addresses one of the main challenges textile craftsmanship faces: transmission. People are no longer trained in these crafts, and they’re undervalued in today’s society – they take “too much time,” which doesn’t fit the capitalist mindset instilled in us.
Through embroidery, people get a tactile experience that grounds them while developing genuine appreciation for the craft. As they learn, they understand viscerally why these techniques matter and what we lose when they disappear, the same repetitive motion that soothes someone’s nervous system also connects them to an ancestral practice.
٥. How do you choose which materials and motifs to pair, and what stories do they tell?
I love juxtaposing fabrics together and playing on their duality.
I have a lot of patchwork in my collections for this reason! We will have designs incorporating denim alongside silk scarf trims, or Aghabani embroidery sleeves, crochet with tulle or Sayye silks. As for motifs, once I’ve settled on a collection’s concept, I generally have a motif palette in mind that I expand on. I run them through my list of materials and techniques and see where they might transform and make sense. Some motifs come from my personal interpretation of the collection’s theme, others from archival research of traditional motifs and applications across mediums from screen printing stencils to truck paintings, passing by courtyard tiles.
٦. As someone rooted in both the West and the Levant, how do you balance respecting cultural authenticity while crafting garments that feel relevant to today’s fashion world, and to people reclaiming their SWANA identity?
I think my dual heritage helps with this. To actually be of Levantine heritage means my understanding of the culture is directly tied to how I design in relation to it – I have a lived experience of how it is traditionally used. I grasp that it’s always a delicate balance because we never want to use a cultural craft or a silhouette in a way that perverts it. Rather, it’s about understanding the concept behind its traditional contextual usage, and whether that spirit can be applied through a different material lens. If so, how? Sometimes particular silhouettes have a reason for being that makes sense with the textile or its use (zero waste cutting, unisex applications, weather considerations…).
My approach is to honor the intelligence behind traditional design while acknowledging that culture isn’t frozen.
We all need pieces that can move and weave themselves between worlds – that can be worn to a gallery opening in Paris or a wedding in Lebanon without feeling like costume in either space.
٧. What challenges have you faced in sourcing materials and collaborating with artisans, and how have you navigated them?
With recent developments in Syria, it meant for months we couldn’t get any new fabrics into Lebanon. Between currency collapses, conflicts and border closures, we have to anticipate everything and get creative. Whenever we can order fabrics, we order in bulk, sometimes one or two collections ahead of time. If something’s interesting, we’re getting it! It becomes its own form of logistical constraint, but it also directs the creative process in an interesting way that I have become accustomed to.
We also don’t work with a centralized factory, our artisans are spread out. We might have a panel freshly embroidered that needs to travel to be sewn onto its body, and those are two different sets of people. If you look at our artisan map, they go from Jounieh to the Beqaa to Beirut, passing through the Chouf, with our fabrics coming by car from Damascus, amongst other locations. It’s a complex choreography, but this decentralized approach means we’re not dependent on any single point of failure.
Each challenge has pushed us to build stronger, more flexible networks that really focus on the human aspect.
At the end of the day, our artisans are so skilled at their craft and the textiles are so exceptional that I personally believe the quality speaks for itself and makes logistical complications worth it.
٨. What’s your vision for the future of your brand, and for the crafts and communities you uphold?
We launched our permanent collection and plan to continue adding to it, these signature pieces keep our artisans in steady work, and let us experiment even more elsewhere.
Honestly, I’m following where the work leads. I’m curious about pushing these techniques into unexpected places: what happens when Aghabani embroidery meant for tablecloths or silk scarves from Aleppo ends up on sneakers for instance? I’ve also moved back to Paris from New York, and have it as my base, I now go back and forth between Paris and Beirut. We just presented our newest collection during Paris fashion week, and we are planning on developing the brand to reach across continents. We already sell in stores in the US and Japan, and our customers are very international, so expanding into Europe, East Asia, and the Gulf markets makes sense.
What excites me is that people are starting to understand the value of this level of craft. They understand why it takes three weeks to make a jacket, why the irregularities in handwork are what make it luxury.
We’re building a language around Levantine craft, and I want us to become the definitive reference for Southwest Asian contemporary to luxury ready-to-wear that remains accessible where we become the obvious choice.
The future probably looks like staying small enough to maintain quality but established enough that these techniques don’t disappear with the current generation of artisans.
