Born of a Queen

Ce qui est éternel ne se démode jamais. Long ago, by the dark and shining waters of the Nile, there reigned a lady the world hath never ceased to remember. Cleopatra. A queen of many tongues and greater mind, who ruled where men presumed to rule her. History gave her the name of beauty, yet beauty was the least of her gifts. She held power without cruelty. She loved without losing herself. She bowed in humility, and rose a sovereign still. There was about her a mystery that no conqueror could name and no age could dim. Such a spirit doth not perish. It descends. It passeth down the long river of years, from one age unto the next, from queen unto woman, waiting only to be remembered. Diosa Forever is that descent. Her power, her ambition, her love, her grace, carried down through time and given, at last, a European hand. The patience of the atelier. The quiet grandeur of Paris and Milan. Noblesse, sans apology. Yet a goddess need not be commissioned to be crowned. This house was made for the living woman and her ordinary days. Ours are pieces she may take up and wear at once, ready for the morning, the meeting, the evening, the vow. Dresses and co-ords, the ethnic and the everyday, bags and adornments and scent. Real luxury, within her reach, made to be owned and not merely admired. For within every lady there liveth a queen who was never made, only remembered. We do not dress a woman to be looked upon. We dress her to be reckoned with. Diosa, goddess in the old tongue. Forever, that she doth not fade. Semper. In aeternum. Toujours elle. She was always her.