The Curtains
I found them in a pile destined for the trash.
Vintage curtains, heavy and worn, with this incredible print. Bright orange and cream, Roman architecture and classical scenes woven into fabric that had hung in someone's window for decades. Imperfect. Faded in places. The kind of thing most people would pass by without a second glance.
But I couldn't stop looking at them.
There was something about the way the pattern told a story. Ancient columns and ornate details, like wearing a piece of history. The orange bright ~ it was warm, sunset-colored, the kind of shade that makes you think of golden hour and old photographs.
I took them home with a half-formed idea and absolutely no confidence I could pull it off.
The Illusion
Here's the thing about making something with your hands: it requires you to believe you can before you actually can.
And I didn't believe it.
I'd sketch ideas, stare at the fabric, imagine what these curtains could become. But every time I got close to actually starting, the voice in my head would kick in. You don't know what you're doing. You'll mess it up. Why even try?
The illusion wasn't in the design. It was in my own head. The belief that I couldn't. That showing people my work meant opening myself up to judgment, to failure, to being seen as someone who tried and didn't quite make it.
Being vulnerable isn't exactly comfortable. Especially when you're making something from scratch, something that didn't exist before, something that requires you to say "I made this" and stand behind it.
But I had friends who believed in me before I believed in myself. Who talked me through the fear. Who helped me figure out construction and measurements and all the technical stuff I didn't know. Who reminded me that making things is supposed to be messy and imperfect and a little bit terrifying.
So I cut into the curtains. Mapped out a pattern. Started sewing.
And slowly, piece by piece, the pants came together.
The Breakthrough
There's a moment in every creative process where it clicks. Where the thing you've been working on stops being a project and starts being real.
For me, it was when I tried them on for the first time.
The way the print fell across the legs. The pleats at the waist. The way the pattern shifted and moved with every step, like the fabric was alive. The fact that they fit, that they worked, that they were exactly what I'd imagined and somehow better.
I stood in front of the mirror and thought: I made this.
Not "I tried to make this" or "I sort of made this with a lot of help." I made this. From curtains headed for the trash to wearable art. From fear and self-doubt to something tangible and real.
And the scariest part? Showing them to people. Putting them out into the world. Saying "this is mine, I made it, and I'm proud of it."
Turns out, bearing your soul isn't that scary after all. Or maybe it is, but it's worth it.
Why Elyse
These are named Elyse for a reason.
Elyse is a goofy unicorn who spent too long trying to be perfect, trying to fit into what she was supposed to be, afraid to show people who she really was. And then she stopped pretending. Started being herself ~ crooked horn, snort-laugh, all of it.
These pants are my Elyse moment.
They're made from imperfect curtains. They're not mass-produced or cookie-cutter. They're one of a kind because the fabric is gone ~ once these are sold, they can't be replicated. They're proof that you can take something destined for the trash and turn it into art. That you can be afraid and do it anyway.
They're proof that the illusion, the one that says you can't, that you're not good enough, that it's safer to stay small, is just that. An illusion.
The Details
Size: 25
Fabric: Vintage curtain fabric, bright orange and cream with classical Roman/Greek architectural print
Fit: High-waisted with pleated front, wide leg, statement silhouette
Care: Dry clean or gentle hand wash (this is vintage fabric, treat it with love)
One of a kind: These cannot be replicated. The curtains are gone. This is the only pair with this fabric
Because these aren't just pants.
They're wearable art. They're a story about transformation, about taking something imperfect and making it beautiful. They're proof that creativity matters, that handmade things have soul, that vulnerability is worth it.
They're blood, sweat, tears, and a whole lot of unlearning the belief that I couldn't do this.
They're my breakthrough. And now they can be yours.
Please email: ashley@vankappell.com for price/information.
I did take them to Paris. <3