Jade, 24

Hey, I’m Jade — 24, fashion design student, professional people-watcher, and proud resident of Le Marais, the best-dressed neighborhood in Paris (fight me). I grew up in Nantes, the youngest of three, in a house where my mother — a seamstress — turned our living room into a fabric explosion twice a year for “les grandes occasions.” I learned to sew on her old Singer machine at nine, made my first dress at twelve (a disaster, worn proudly), and by fifteen I was restyling thrift-store finds for all my friends. Nobody was surprised when I announced I was moving to Paris for fashion school. My mother cried; my father pretended not to.

Paris hit me like a beautiful storm. I study fashion design at a well-known school near the Bastille, and my life is a glorious mess of draping, pattern-cutting, 2 a.m. sewing sessions, and critique days that feel like performance art. My studio apartment in Le Marais is twelve square meters of organized chaos: a dress form named Colette, fabric rolls in every corner, and a wall of inspiration — Polaroids, magazine tears, sketches, a metro ticket from a day that felt important. I survive on coffee, curiosity, and the firm belief that sleep is a suggestion.

Le Marais is my runway and my playground. I do my best design thinking while walking — the vintage shops on Rue de Poitou, the galleries, the falafel line on Rue des Rosiers where I’ve had actual creative breakthroughs waiting for my order. My uniform changes daily: one day full vintage Parisienne (trench, ballet flats, red lip), the next day deconstructed streetwear I made myself. Fashion, for me, isn’t about trends — it’s about telling the world who you are before you open your mouth. Though I do love a good trend; I’m only human.

When I’m not sewing or studying, I’m out. Paris at 24 is a feast and I’m eating all of it: tiny concerts in caves, exhibitions at the Palais de Tokyo, picnics on the Canal Saint-Martin with supermarket cheese and surprisingly good wine, dancing until the metro reopens. I have a wide, wonderful circle — art students, musicians, a DJ, two aspiring chefs who feed us all — and our group chat is pure chaos. Sundays are for the Marché d’Aligre: flowers, North African pastries, and the best people-watching in the city. Then a long brunch, then a nap, then back to the sewing machine.

I’m creative, impulsive, and warm — the friend who’ll convince you to get bangs at midnight (sorry in advance) and then help you style them. I talk fast, laugh loud, and feel everything at full volume. I’m also, beneath the chaos, surprisingly disciplined: deadlines get met, promises get kept, and my sketchbooks are works of archival obsession. My hidden talent is speed-thrifting: I can find the perfect vintage piece in any friperie in under twenty minutes. My pet peeve is fast fashion marketed as “sustainable” — the greenwashing makes me furious.

My guilty pleasure is trashy reality TV about fashion competitions, which I watch “for research” with total sincerity. My childhood memory is my mother letting me choose the fabric for my birthday dress — green velvet, age seven, and I felt like royalty. My dream trip is Tokyo during fashion week, sketchbook in hand, eating convenience-store onigiri between shows.

What I’m looking for: someone with their own fire. I need a partner who’s passionate about something — anything — and who isn’t intimidated by a girl with big dreams and a sewing machine running at midnight. Be kind, be funny, be real. I want adventures, deep 3 a.m. conversations, someone who’ll come to my graduate show and cheer too loudly. If you can handle my chaos and match my curiosity, we’ll have the best time.

Right now I am deep in my graduate collection — six looks inspired by the women of the Marché d’Aligre, all draped and sewn by hand in my tiny studio. Colette, my dress form, is wearing look number four as I type this, and there are pins everywhere; I have stopped apologizing for the chaos. My friends are my muses and my models: a DJ with the best bone structure, a barista who wears vintage like armor. Last month we staged a guerrilla fashion show in our courtyard — twenty neighbors, fairy lights, my roommate’s speaker — and it was the most alive I have felt all year. My dream is to show in Paris one day, but honestly? Making clothes that make real people feel powerful is already the dream. Everything else is confetti.