Making your first product is hard. There are so many little details to consider, things you may not notice at first, but become important once you actually start carrying a bag every day, out into the world, again and again.
It took me a year from deciding to start a bag brand to completing my first design. Most of that year, honestly, I didn't feel like I knew what I was doing.
At nearly every decision point, I had two voices in my head. One kept telling me to trust the pull I felt toward this, to keep going, that the decision was right even without proof yet. The other asked me, gently and then not so gently, to just cut the cord. To let the idea go before it cost me more. I silenced the voice of fear every time.
I think your first product always carries more than its own weight. It's not just an object. It's a conversation about who you're going to be. I wanted that first sentence to mean something. I wanted it to come from something true.
The idea for Evara came from something I had lived through myself. I carried a leather work bag, and while I loved how it looked, it was already heavy before I had even put my laptop inside. Add a charger, wallet, water bottle, all the ordinary things a day asks of you, and suddenly you're not just carrying a bag, you're carrying a decision you regret every morning.
You feel it during the morning commute. You feel it standing on the train after a long workday. And you feel it again, running errands you didn't have the energy for.
So when I designed Evara, the starting point was simple: it needed to work for work and everything in between, but it also needed to be light.
Every Detail Has a Purpose
I was particular about every component that went into Evara. A large bag naturally gives you more capacity, but the weight can quickly compound depending on what you carry inside. I wanted to be mindful of that from the very beginning.
Evara is made from full-grain leather, but designed to remain lightweight.
Its folded sides are one of my favourite details. They let the bag sit more compactly on lighter days, then open up when you need more space. It's a small detail, but one you only think to design after standing in front of a mirror wondering why your bag looks bigger than what's actually inside it.
I added a shoulder pad too, because a bag can be beautifully made, but if the strap digs into your shoulder, you won't want to carry it for long. I know that discomfort well; it was one of the reasons I started designing Evara in the first place.
And the mirror charm, I insisted on that one even when it put me through iteration after iteration, because it kept cracking, kept being too brittle to survive real life. But there are just days you need one quick look at yourself before you walk into a room, before you sit down at a table with lipstick on your teeth you didn't know about. Living through that myself is probably what makes me a better designer for it.
Then there are the smaller details.
The clasp style was specifically chosen for ease of opening and closing. This came from my own frustration, fumbling with a carabiner-style closure while holding a coffee and my phone. Anyone with long nails will understand it even more.
I added a key loop for the same reason. There is nothing particularly luxurious about standing at your front door and digging through a large bag for your keys.
I use a digital lock myself, so I clip my hair ties there too. Small things that I want quick access to that would otherwise end up rolling around the bottom of the bag.
These details may not be the first things you notice when you look at Evara. But they are the things you notice when you live with it.
Designed Around Real Life
I didn't want Evara to be a bag that only looked good. I wanted it to work on a Monday morning with a laptop inside, through a full day at work, and into the evening when you're no longer carrying just your work essentials, but the rest of your life besides.
Polished without feeling precious. Spacious without becoming unnecessarily heavy. Structured enough for work, but relaxed enough for everything that happens after.
A year of decisions went into getting here. Some were big. Many were incredibly small, almost invisibly so.
That, to me, is what a considered piece means. Thinking about how it will look, how it will feel, and most importantly, how it will live with you.