From Street to Skin: What Our Murals and Jackets Have in Common

Scene 1: Mumbai

It’s 4:46 PM.

The traffic sounds like chaos having tea with urgency.

Someone’s yelling. Someone’s laughing. A pressure cooker whistles like it’s auditioning for a jazz band.

A wall near Chapel Road stares back at us—peeling, blank, ignored.

We pull out cans. Brushes. A playlist.

The city doesn't ask permission.

So neither do we.

First comes color.

Then attitude.

Then the shapes that feel like language.

A lioness with headphones. A god in sneakers. A poem in graffiti script that says,

"You are still soft. You are still fire."

People gather. Phones click.

The wall wakes up.

This is what it feels like to start a mural.

Scene 2: Nairobi

The air smells like red dust and something about to bloom.

We’re at a studio table, surrounded by fabrics that haven’t yet found their story.

Outside, the matatus flash neon decals. Inside, we’re sketching patterns inspired by beadwork, rain clouds, rebellion.

A cropped jacket waits quietly.

We paint a Nairobi skyline on the back—but in pink.

We add an abstract zebra made of drums.

We write one word in gold:

“Move.”

The jacket crackles with energy.

It doesn’t scream fashion.

It screams freedom.

This is what it feels like to make wearable art.

So what do murals and jackets have in common?

Everything.

Both start with a blank space that dares us to do something about it.

Both demand emotion, rhythm, and guts.

Both belong to public spaces—even if one is a wall and the other is your body.

And both say something before you do.

Murals = Public Feeling

Jackets = Personal Protest

Our murals cover cities.

Our jackets cover skin.

But they come from the same place: urge + colour + truth.

You don’t ask a mural to be subtle.

You don’t ask our jackets to be polite.

You let them be bold.

Because cities need beauty.

And so do you.

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From Nairobi’s Walls to Mumbai’s Shoulders

We’ve painted murals on crumbling buildings and polished cafés.

And we’ve turned those same motifs—faces, shapes, symbols—into hand-painted bags, scarves, jackets.

You saw that mural design on a cafe wall in Bandra?

The abstract mural art on Nairobi’s cafe?

We move ideas from the studio to the streets, from the streets to the skin.

Art doesn’t stay still. Neither do we.

Both Are Made to Interrupt

A mural makes people pause mid-scroll.

So does a jacket with wild brushwork down the sleeves.

Both are designed to intervene—to be noticed, felt, remembered.

It’s not about decoration.

It’s about declaration.

Mumbai teaches us urgency.

Nairobi teaches us rhythm.

Both cities give us language, pattern, friction, flavour.

We don’t copy culture.

We collaborate with it.

And when that mural finally dries…

When that jacket finds its owner…

When that perfume clings to someone’s collar…

You realize this was never about product.

This was always about presence.

Whether it’s a wall or your back—when you wear art, or walk past it, or breathe it in—you feel seen.

You feel louder.

You feel like a piece of this messy, poetic, rebellious world finally makes sense.

From street to skin—same brush, same fire.

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