7 years ago I took up a friend on a dare and then this happened...

Seven years ago, a friend dared me to rent a tiny shop space down the road in Dayboro for just one day.
What happened next completely changed my life.

But before we get to that, I need to take you back to where it all really began.

The heartbeat of The Handmade Closet was born from a very personal project I started in early 2018 — a decision to stop feeling uncomfortable in my own clothes, and to challenge myself to make whatever I needed using only the skills, tools and materials I already had. At the time, so much of who I was as a maker had been gently packed away while life took centre stage. This project quietly invited all of that back.

You might wonder, why clothing?

Because every morning I was having the same silent conversation with myself.
“No, you don’t want to wear that — it’s uncomfortable.”
“Not that either — it’s actually too small if you’re honest.”
“And that? You didn’t feel like yourself in it last time.”

Opening my wardrobe had become a joy-sucking ritual. I would choose something because I had to, not because it felt right, and then get on with the day feeling vaguely unsettled. I was endlessly shopping, wasting time and money trying to find “the right thing,” and making do far too often. Deep down, I knew there had to be a better way.

At the same time, my body was changing. What worked one week didn’t work the next. Some days I felt comfortable, other days I didn’t. It felt like a quiet, exhausting merry-go-round of never knowing which body I would wake up in. My priorities were shifting too. We had moved to a peaceful rural place where the night sky was full of stars, and something about living closer to the land made me more conscious of how I was consuming — and what I was choosing.

I reached a point where enough was enough. I wanted to make different choices.

So, on a random day in January 2018, I made a deal with myself and took action.

The first step was actually a leather tote bag… but that’s a story for another time.
The second step was setting up my sewing machine and starting to make my own clothes again.

And that simple decision is where everything quietly began.

Once I began making my own clothes again, something shifted almost immediately.

Not only in my wardrobe — but in how I felt within myself.

For the first time in a long time, I was wearing garments that didn’t argue with me. They didn’t pinch, pull, gape or demand I stand a certain way to feel right. They moved when I moved. They adjusted when my body did. They let me breathe. And something subtle but powerful happened: I stopped thinking about my clothes… and started living in them.

I began to understand something I hadn’t been able to put into words before — that comfort isn’t just about fabric or fit. It’s about permission. Permission to exist as you are today, not as the version of yourself you think you’re supposed to be.

I wasn’t trying to look “better” anymore.
I was trying to feel more myself.

The pieces I made were simple. Honest. Practical. Linen dresses with room to move. Soft tops that didn’t cling. Layers that worked together instead of competing. They weren’t trend-driven — they were purpose-driven. They were designed for school drop-offs and grocery runs, long lunches, garden walks, travel days, and quiet mornings at home.

And something surprising happened.

Every time I wore one of those early pieces, someone would ask about it.
“Where did you get that?”
“That looks so comfortable.”
“I love how that sits on you.”

At first, I brushed it off. But I started to notice that what people were really responding to wasn’t just the clothes — it was the way I looked at ease inside them.

When you feel comfortable, you carry yourself differently.

Then came the dare.

A friend suggested I rent a little empty shop in Dayboro for one day — just one — and share what I was making. I almost said no. I didn’t think what I was doing was “a business.” It was just me, solving my own clothing problem.

But I said yes.

And that single day changed everything.

People walked in and stayed. They tried things on. They told me their stories. They spoke about bodies that had changed, wardrobes that didn’t work, clothes that made them feel invisible or uncomfortable or not quite right. I listened. I fitted. I adjusted. I stitched.

And for the first time, I realised this wasn’t just my story.

It was theirs too.

These women didn’t want more clothes.
What they told me was, they wanted clothes that worked.

They wanted garments that respected their bodies. That didn’t punish them for having curves, or softness, or life experience written into their shape. They wanted to stop the endless cycle of buying and settling. They wanted to open their wardrobe and feel relief instead of frustration.

That day turned into another day.
And then another.
And then into The Handmade Closet.

What I design and make now is still guided by the same question that started it all:
“How will this feel when someone puts it on?”

Not how does it look on a model, or as a pretty picture on a website or social media.
But how does it feel when you are standing in your kitchen, or walking through town, or meeting a friend for coffee, or packing these for a trip?

Every garment is made one at a time because the truth is every person needs something different.  If they want to feel comfortably themselves. 

That’s why I ask how you’ll wear it. That’s why we often start with a conversation.  We adjust lengths, shaping, or proportions so that your piece is just right for you. That’s why nothing is rushed. Clothing made for you should feel like it belongs to you.

And seven years on?  Well,  I still feel quietly amazed that something born from discomfort became a place of comfort for not only myself but also for so many others.

The little shop in Dayboro was the doorway.

But this, Handmade Closet gig is a continuous exciting journey... its gently offering women a choice.  A way to buy clothing that always feels good, literally from the inside out.