MANOLO CARO
Tatiana has little patience for the typical vernacular of fashion. In a landscape often diluted by ubiquitous buzzwords, her perspective—honed through a literary background and an editorial tenure at British Vogue and Moda Operandi—tends to favor the visceral and abstract. She is a writer who treats her wardrobe like an archive with strict entry requirements and a Hotel California exit policy: once a garment is in, it rarely leaves.
Yet, for someone so adept at translating the physical weight of a silhouette into sharp narrative, when it comes to turning the pen on herself, she is wary of tidy phrasing. Asked to define who she is in her own words, she offers a brilliant evasion: "Someone who could absolutely never answer this question, which, for a writer, is either very honest or very lazy.” It is exactly that tension—between wry self-awareness and a refusal to be easily categorized—that makes her voice so arresting.
In this edition of VOICES, she invites us to read between the lines and discover her world.
DANCASSAB (DC): With your background in literature and your time at British Vogue and Moda Operandi, you’ve always approached fashion through narrative. How has the art of storytelling in luxury changed, and what makes a brand’s story feel genuinely compelling today?
TATIANA HAMBRO (TH): The art hasn't changed. The principles that make any story engaging are the same as they ever were. But the telling has. It's a lot more democratic, or at least it appears that way. It used to be very controlled, very insular: you had the editor, or the magazine, holding the reins. Then the power shifted to the brands. Now it's shared with influencers — splintering across millions of perspectives—and, increasingly, with the very platforms they depend on, Substack, Instagram, and TikTok.
There's a real tension now between the story a brand wants to tell, in the way it wants to tell it, and the narratives that play out on social media. If the latter echoes the former, I think you can consider yourself pretty successful. Storytellers and brands need to become fluent in that tension, and that includes knowing when to step out of the conversation entirely. Think of how powerful it was when Bottega Veneta left Instagram.
DC: We live in a culture obsessed with micro-trends. How do you define timelessness in your own wardrobe, and how do you build a personal style that resists the noise?
TH: I don't try to resist the noise. I embrace what speaks to me and ignore what doesn't. The noise can be very inspiring: it helps me see pieces in a different way, or revives my interest in something I haven't touched for years. I don't subscribe to the idea that “timelessness” has a specific aesthetic. I very rarely part with my clothes, because I often fall back in love with them years later. Obviously, space can become a problem, so I'm careful about what I acquire. In that sense, I define timelessness by quality. Will it endure—literally?
DC: Having a close connection to both fashion and the art world, where do you draw the line between a garment as a functional piece of clothing and a garment as a work of Art?
TH: There’s no right answer here. I think art is subjective—and highly relational. For me, it’s about transmission: something has to move from creator to viewer, like a current. It’s communication. When it comes to the medium of clothing, one moment jumps out. It was a Vetements skirt from what I believe was from the Fall ‘16 collection. It’s a pretty humble garment: cotton navy and burgundy plaid entirely devoid of hardware–a wrap silhouette, but something about the way it was cut, a little wonky so it revealed a flash of thigh in a way that was both sexy and awkward, even a little aggressive, stirred something in me. I still have it.
DC: Fashion writing tries to translate a visual, tactile experience into language. How do you find the right words for a texture, a weight, or a silhouette that feels almost non-verbal?
TH: I like fashion writing best when it's visceral. It depends on who or what I'm writing for, but I enjoy words and images that sit outside the typical vernacular. Jessica Joffe said something the other day on Instagram about a recent runway look: she said it reminded her of a dirty thumb. It's such an abstract image, and yet it made complete sense once you looked at the garment in question. Brilliant.
DC: Some people collect art; fashion lovers collect moments. What is your personal criteria for deciding which pieces enter your permanent archive versus what eventually gets passed on?
TH: My archive is less a curated collection than a refusal to let go. As I said, I'm careful about what I buy. So rather than deciding what leaves, I decide on what’s currently in play. I recently adopted a "working rail" in my closet, and it has changed my life. I move pieces onto it that feel seasonal, or exciting to me for some reason—new, newly relevant, or part of a particular palette or mood—and that becomes my daily rotation. I switch it out every two to three months. It's been extremely helpful and is extremely satisfying. I highly recommend it.
DC: If you were to curate a slow, perfect afternoon in London for a friend visiting from abroad, what is one non-negotiable place or ritual on that list?
TH: Oysters and a lobster cocktail at Wilton's. Ideally with my dad.