Asata Maisé: The Designer Who Believes in Slowing Down

Photography by Lauren Daccache.

One wall panel in Asata Maisé’s studio is collaged with handwritten notes: encouragement from friends, reminders for herself, thank you notes from customers. “Sometimes I’ll read these to remember that people value me and my work. That picks me up. I like making pretty things for people. I would probably die if I couldn’t make things.” It’s a balance, the delicate art of running a business while maintaining integrity, self-assurance, and some sanity. “Slowing down is vital. Designing pieces that are not for anyone but myself also helps. My focus used to be, ‘How are we going to make a sale?’ Now, I stop and say, ‘I’m going to make this even though I don’t know how it’s going to turn out.’ And that keeps me going.”

There is something to be said about creating on behalf of passion and community while fielding the pressures of producing work quickly, gaining external praise, and, well, paying the bills. It’s the conundrum many makers face: How do you preserve the preciousness of making things for internal pleasure when external validation is what drives income? For Asata, the answer lies in her iPhone background: an image of a snail, a hermaphrodite. The snail is adaptive and can become whatever it needs to be, it embodies both yin and yang, and of course, despite moving slowly, it knows what direction to move towards.

It makes sense, then, that Maisé is methodically moving toward designing pieces she loves rather than chasing the allure of big-name recognition. For her, that validation feels fleeting compared to the joy of making something for herself, for a friend, or just for the sake of it. Over the last decade of designing, she’s had several jobs in the restaurant industry, worked for designers Michael Costello and Diane von Furstenberg, built her own namesake brand, and learned that she cares most about designing quality pieces and connecting with like-minded designers. “It took me a long time to get here, but I’m way more excited by small creators. People working within their communities. They still have a job. They do this because they really love to do this.”

Asata designs from her Delaware home, in a light-filled living room she’s converted to a studio space. On a warm afternoon, she greets us there wearing a gauzy ivory dress—one she made herself. “I wanted a birthday dress, but knew I wouldn't be able to find what I wanted.” The same story holds true for all of her designs: She makes what she likes, and each piece is inspired by something personal—a memory, an idea, an occasion. Inside, a clothing rack is lined with more one-of-a-kind garments: patchwork dresses, knitted sweater suits, a matching pant and top made from a fabric that she printed herself from a photo of a Santorini sunset. Most of these pieces are made from deadstock or repurposed fabric, yet they don’t look like anything that’s existed before. Her Patchwork Baguette bags are made from a variety of donated and sourced vintage fabrics, take hours to hand stitch, and consistently garner a long waitlist. Each Baguette holds over a dozen past lives within its patches. And still, it’s something completely new.

“Someone recently asked me how I have a successful business model. I don’t know if it’s successful, but it is sustainable for my lifestyle. I have to rest in order to create.” Asata moved back to her hometown in January 2020, just ahead of the pandemic. Before relocating, she was working at Nobu in New York City. “The money was great. The lifestyle… I only had time to get up, eat, and go to work. Drug culture was real. I saw myself in a pattern I didn’t like. I wasn’t doing what I loved. I had to take a moment to think about my future, my next move.” She had her eye on the Vogue Fashion Fund, a CFDA award for emerging designers. But in order to apply, she needed time to create a collection. That’s when Asata decided to move back to her mom’s in Delaware to focus on what she really wanted to do: make things. “I set the intention to make a line from fabrics I already have. I spent months developing a few products, and then boom, COVID hit. No fashion fund. For me, it really was divine timing.”

The first few months in Delaware—and everywhere else—were filled with uncertainty. Asata was living on unemployment, working on her collection, and staying home. “Every day, I would wake up in the morning and put my feet in the grass. I started to develop the patchwork bag and my bucket hats, and I would just add whatever I made to my website.” Soon enough, her work caught traction. In June 2020, Vogue Market Editor Naomi Elizee bought a Patchwork Baguette, her Vintage terry cloth bucket hat was featured on Vogue.com, a few Instagram posts gave Asata a new audience, and she won a grant after tweeting a well-known singer-songwriter regarding a black creators funding initiative. By July, she had her own studio space.

But here’s the thing about big names: Sometimes, things fall through. The stylist that pulled Asata’s pieces never returned them, which cost her business, and the famed musician’s promise for a genuine relationship proved empty. “Although these moments help me, they also hurt me. They remind me to focus on myself and to keep moving.” Asata explains. “There was a time when I was so taken by those moments. And now I’m like, I don’t care. I want to create really good things. And travel. And have peace of mind and some security. Because I didn’t grow up with that. I had a single mom and never had a lot of money. My dad was inconsistent in our lives. Security is very big. Living here is very important to me. My hope is to pay it forward. Rather than focusing on being recognized, I’m focusing on myself and other creators.”

Since her come up, Asata has been highlighted numerous times as an emerging designer with a focus on originality and sustainability. And while the headlines can impact her business positively, Asata prefers to focus on the process.“One thing I’ve been thinking about lately is the disillusionment these accolades create,” she explains. “I get messages from people saying, ‘I want to do what you do,’ but they don’t necessarily see that I’ve been doing this for fourteen years. I always tell people that it takes time. Everyone’s path is their own. What matters the most is that you make something you like. There is no rush to make something out of it. Stop rushing.”

In fact, that advice is similar to what she would tell her younger self: an eighteen year-old busing tables at Nobu Malibu. “I would tell a younger me to stop being so hard on herself. Mastery of craft takes time. I really used to think I was failing. But when I look at the bigger picture, I see something different. It’s cool to look back and see everything I’ve done over the years, to see how I’ve grown.” After ten years of growing, Asata confesses that maintaining balance is not a destination where one simply arrives. Rather, it’s a journey. It takes reminders—even if that small reminder is found in the steady yet dedicated momentum of a shelled gastropod, a snail.