"...I never met my grandmother. She passed away before I was born.
All that remains of her are bundles of homespun fabric, carefully stored and passed down—first to my mother, and now to me.
The textures feel soft, but strong—woven by hands I never held.
As I sit quietly, I picture her: a woman with silver hair, bent gently over a loom. The wooden frame creaks, threads move back and forth. Slowly, patiently, she weaves.
I don't know her voice, but somehow I feel her presence in every thread. "
” imperfect
deeply human “
“ When I worked at Liberty, I noticed something special.
Many people came looking for fabrics that reminded them of their grandmothers — a dress she once wore, a print she used to sew with.
It made me realize: fabric can hold memory. “
That’s how Bōlife started
a wish to shape life through fabric, woven with memories of grandmother