A note from me: I wrote this letter at the beginning of December before the Bondi terrorist attack that shattered all of our hearts. I struggled to decide whether I should still share these words, but I decided to move forward with it because I think it captures the pillars we cling to most in devastating times; family, home, and the power of love. My heart remains with my beautiful Bondi community, our Jewish friends in Australia and across the world, and all of those impacted by this tragedy. I’m in the Bay of Islands right now, but I can’t wait to get home to Bondi.
I think homesickness, under the veil of nostalgia, creeps up on a lot of us at this time of year. You see the Christmas decorations at traffic lights or hear Bing Crosby in a department store and you realise you’re longing for home. Pregnancy, I’ve found, has a similar effect. Maybe it’s primal: Your hormones start to shift as you transition into the role of “mother” and it makes you long for your own. I’m so grateful for the life I’ve built in Sydney with my two beautiful boys, but being pregnant makes me homesick. When I was younger, I used to dream about leaving the Bay of Islands and getting on a plane to the other side of the world. Yet when I found out I was pregnant this year all I wanted was to be barefoot in my parent’s kitchen.
In a kind of divine timing I can only credit to the Universe, MM had one of its most stable and successful seasons while I had one of my wobbliest. Eleven weeks of unabating vomiting, nausea and exhaustion that pushed me to the brink of insanity. I told people I was pregnant far earlier than was probably appropriate, because I was so paranoid they thought I was constantly hungover or just antisocial. When you’re pregnant the second time around you become a master at holding opposing truths; you’re overcome with excitement and gratitude, but you’re also daunted by the knowledge of what lies ahead. In my case, I had the added balancing act of growing a business alongside a baby. Both require energy you don’t have and a kind of resilience that only develops when you’re already halfway through and quitting isn’t an option. I said to a girlfriend the other day, I wish we could have our 20s and 30s to focus on our careers, and our 50s to raise our babies, it all feels so back to front.
It’s a universal truth that you can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking back. And as a nostalgic person, I have the tendency to look back a lot. Maybe that’s why I felt the pull to start our tenth year in business by re-launching the original Longing For Home Jacket. When I designed it four years ago, for a collection inspired by my childhood, sailing clubs, and those who frequent them, there was no way of knowing the impact it would have on our business. A cream coloured windbreaker with red and navy contrasts, and a retro-looking “Marilyn” embroidered where the name of a men’s sports or fishing brand might have been. It was intentionally tongue-in-cheek, but it was also deeply personal and the most nostalgic piece I’d ever made. Reminiscent of a jacket that had meant so much to my sisters and I, stored in the centre console of dad’s fishing boat, fought over on cold journeys back to shore, and forever covered in grease, sea spray, and sunscreen. Yet something about it connected with customers new and old immediately; loved by those who hadn’t grown up on coastal roads and had never stepped foot in a sailing club. Four years later, it’s still the piece I see more than any other of ours out in Sydney. I’ve seen it on the bus with Ralph and on the shoulders of guys queued outside Baker Bleu. I’ve seen it on shivering bodies after winter swims and around the hips of girls walking the Bondi to Bronte loop. Designed by a younger version of me who was brave enough to believe fashion could create a better world (and naive enough to say it out loud), the Longing For Home Jacket is now proof that - ten years in - stamina has morphed into stability, and a reminder that whenever I’ve felt lost I’ve always found the answers by coming home.
As luck would have it, about three weeks ago the nausea lifted. I was carrying Ralph to the beach for a swim, his wriggling body perched atop his little sister, and I realised that I felt like myself - just as the tectonic plates of my life prepare to move once more. Next year my business will turn ten, my firstborn will turn two, and I’ll give birth to my daughter. I don’t feel “ready” for any of it, but that’s what going home is for. You stand barefoot in your parent’s kitchen and let your soul recalibrate, preparing you for whatever comes next.
Have a safe and happy holiday, and I’ll see you at our place soon.
With love,
Maggie
