When I first began Corito, I thought much of the work would be about deciding what to make.
I am discovering that there is another question that matters just as much:
What makes something a Corito piece?
I recently found myself asking that question while looking at a simple towel.
The original Corito Vanity Towel was one of the pieces I made early on. The idea was practical—a dedicated towel to use after removing makeup and cleansing your face, helping keep cosmetic residue away from your everyday bath towels.
I embroidered it with the words Make Up Towel. It was useful. It was finished.
And yet, as Corito began to take shape around me, I looked at it differently.
There was nothing wrong with the towel. But I realized that simply being able to make something did not necessarily mean I had finished thinking about it.
That distinction has become increasingly important to me.
I want the pieces that leave my sewing room to feel considered. I want the fabric, embroidery, construction and finishing details to feel as though they belong together. I want there to be a reason for the choices I make—even in something as ordinary as a towel.
So I returned to the Vanity Towel.
This time, I slowed down.
Instead of embroidery that explained what the towel was, I began looking for something that simply made it beautiful. Eventually, I chose a delicate lavender botanical.
Lavender has quietly begun finding its place throughout Corito. I love its softness and timelessness, and the small botanical felt especially beautiful against the black cotton towel.
When the embroidery was finished, I knew.
This felt like Corito.
That experience taught me something I suspect I will carry with me as Corito grows.
Handmade does not automatically mean meaningful.
The fact that I can make something does not automatically mean it belongs in the Corito collection. And finishing a piece does not mean I cannot look at it again, reconsider a detail, or decide that I can make it better.
Perhaps that is part of becoming a maker with a point of view: learning not only how to make things, but also how to recognize when something truly belongs to you.
I decided to keep the few original Vanity Towels exactly as they were and call them the First Edition. They represent an early moment in Corito's story, and I don't want to pretend that those early moments didn't happen.
The lavender botanical will carry the Vanity Towel forward.
And I suspect this won't be the last time something from my sewing room teaches me to slow down, look again, and ask:
Does this feel like Corito?
Because I am beginning to understand that the answer to that question may be one of the most important parts of making anything here.
From My Sewing Room to Your Home.