How this Latina designer reconnects with her roots from London: Anciela
"But it doesn't seem like a Latin brand, does it?"
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There is something very particular about Latin designers who establish themselves abroad.
They tend to reconnect with their roots more strongly and create a sense of community with other Latinos, leading to the formation of a new identity outside the region.
This is the case with Anciela, an experimental tailoring and sustainable luxury brand inspired by South American culture, based in London since 2019.
Despite having spent multiple years living outside of Latin America, the designer behind the brand, Jennifer Droguett, has found a way to reconnect with her Colombian and Chilean origins through her garments.
There is definitely something extremely theatrical and beautifully crafted about her collections, inspired by Latin folklore.
Originally, Jennifer made her way gaining experience first at the Amsterdam Fashion Institute (AMFI), and later working with brands like Viktor and Rolf and House of Holland. Since then, her brand Anciela has been featured in international magazines such as Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, L'Officiel, and more.
The sustainable practices within this brand involve the use of deadstock and waste minimization. Additionally, the designer is also an activist in this field, having even been part of Fashion Revolution in the past.
Recently, during London Fashion Week, Anciela collaborated with the Seamm app to create a "phygital" capsule collection, so by downloading this application, you can try on garments from the Latina designer.
In what point of your career did you start to rethink Latin American folklore?
When I was a student, we didn't talk about cultural appropriation, we didn't talk about diversity. Where I studied, it was very Eurocentric. So, everyone was pushed through the same tunnel that, no, references are only relevant if they're European or Japanese. The aesthetic they wanted to push us towards was very specific.
To me, it felt very natural. It's what I knew, and I wanted to bring in new stories, but it was always like, "Oh, but this is too colorful, this isn't right," and they tried to mold us towards a more European aesthetic.
That was my experience as a student, so I always clashed a lot with my professors, who also weren't very diverse, so I understand that for them, the idea of South America was very unknown.
Once I graduated, I came to London to try my luck with an internship at House of Holland, and a couple of months later, I got my first official job. It was a bit weird because I was the only Latina everywhere.
But I noticed that our mood boards had a lot of Latin inspiration. But I thought, it's weird, I didn't know how to name it, but it made me uncomfortable because I thought, this brand isn't Latina, it just has one Latino member in its design team.
On the other hand, I also noticed that there were many inclusion issues, not just in terms of casting, but rather a lack of diversity in the fashion team, whether it was in the design team, manufacturing team, or even the production team for photos, videos, campaigns—it was always very tokenistic in terms of just having one diverse model.
Here, there is a Latino community. I remember working in places near the Latino market, where I would take my friends to eat arepas, and there were shops, quite a large community. So, I thought it was strange that the community still remained very much on the outskirts and in its bubble, but it didn't reach creative places like fashion.
Was it with the first collection of your brand that you decided to reclaim your origins?
I didn't have much of a plan to start my own brand because, in a way, while working for other places, whether it was bigger companies like House of Holland or French Connection, I also worked for more emerging designers. So, I knew how difficult it was going to be. I didn't have connections, I didn't have money, I didn't even know if this could be possible.
It started as an experiment. Like, let's see if it's possible. Those were the beginnings.
It was always the goal for it to have a cultural, sustainable, diverse, and inclusive focus. From day one, those were the pillars and objectives. From the first photoshoot we did at the Latin market in Brixton, where the models were either Latina or had Latin descent, the photographer too, the stylist too. It was always a priority to connect with other Latin creatives who were here in London, to explore the diaspora that exists here and create together.
I'm interested in understanding how the response has been there, how they see you as a Latina, how they perceive your collections. Doesn't it arouse curiosity about Latin America? What have you noticed about that?
It greatly depends on the circle of people and creatives you interact with. At first, I did struggle quite a bit when it came to more traditional press, like Vogue Italy, for example. They perhaps found it too niche, and in fact, they would say things like "but this doesn't look Latin American."
I remember asking an Italian editor something like: "Have you been to Colombia? Or to Chile?" and his response was negative. Then he would say something like: "But it doesn't seem like a Latin brand, does it?" And I would question myself: Why? Because I don't have a poncho or a hat?
I could see there were many stereotypes, and I would tell them that there were indeed brands doing beautiful work with a more Andean or indigenous vibe, but I would explain to them that wasn't my culture. My culture is more creole, more folkloric.
They would say it looked very contemporary. I understood that for them, the idea of a contemporary Latin aesthetic simply didn't exist. There was a bit of ignorance as well, perhaps because not many people were exploring that approach. I'm talking about five years ago when I started, and I see that the perception has changed a bit since then.
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Have you never been to Colombia to present a show? Or to Chile?
What happens is that, well, firstly, it's about money, and also, in terms of other markets, they're places I'm not familiar with. For example, I left Colombia when I was a child, and I spent my adolescence in Chile.
But the industry there still remains very elitist. The brands you know, which have been there for a long time or are very famous, are usually from wealthy families. And that's something I don't identify with; I don't come from those origins. Therefore, I think that, by still being quite an outsider, maybe I couldn't enter that kind of market. It remains very elitist and exclusive.
That’s a shame, because it would be very interesting to see your pieces in the Latin American context. What techniques are you currently using for manufacturing?
It has always been experimental. Since I started discovering this world of fashion, I really enjoy creating. I am a tailor, I love experimenting, draping. The idea is that clothes are a kind of game, an experimentation.
Everything I do, I wear it, I test it, I ride my bike, I use the garments very closely because I love adaptability. I am a person very focused on textures. For me, that obsession with clothing is something I love, having an adaptable garment with rare textures and strange textiles.
You made a collection inspired by Remedios Varo and Leonor Fini, and collaborated with an artist who provided you with deadstock textiles and another who did the dyes. What is that process like of working with other creatives?
I'm always very attentive and receptive to new opportunities. Sometimes it happens that someone mentions an artist who has this vintage deadstock available, and then I have to go across town. It's all about seeing what can be done. Depending on what I find in that season at that time, I adapt it to work with any idea and fit the concept of the collection. It has to be intuitive and use the resources available.
I met Mariana, who is from Mexico, and I realized that she was experimenting with natural dyes and exploring all this sustainability issue with dried flowers, reviving ancestral techniques. So I approached her and asked her how she did it. I wanted to explore if we could do a natural bleaching, and that's how we developed the idea. We started experimenting with these dyes by changing the pH, and it looked almost like bleaching. People thought I was painting, but we were actually modifying the pH of the dye.
I like to challenge other local artisans and work together to solve it, and discuss which pigments we want to highlight. Everything happens very organically, because I love proposing problems and finding solutions. There's a lot of brainstorming involved in this process, and that's something I really enjoy.
There's something very special when you're abroad, isn't there? It helps you connect with your roots, to find that solitude.
It's very curious, especially during the pandemic, we worked with a director who was in Venezuela. We were doing digital fashion shows, short films, questioning the theme of identity, and she would say to me, "How curious, I never question my identity."
It's as if you never question your identity if you don't leave the place where you were born and raised, because you're not the "otherness." But when you're outside, you are the "otherness," and you begin to question perceptions and stereotypes.
From what you've seen of Latin American brands, what is your perspective on fashion here?
On the topic of sustainability, I see that people are turning to ancestral techniques and artisans a lot, trying to revive local economies. However, something that concerns me is that I've seen a lot of greenwashing, like the use of recycled plastic and claiming it's sustainable. Now there's more awareness about this issue. I used recycled textiles before as well, but with studies on microplastics, I realized that using waste from another industry isn't the most sustainable solution either. PET is sustainable if kept in a circular model, like producing more bottles, but simply exchanging waste between industries isn't as sustainable as it seems. We need to be careful.
When I'm abroad, for example, if I go on vacation to Colombia, I try to collaborate with local creatives. However, I see that it's not as easy or as common to collaborate. In Chile, I'm not sure. I still see that creative circles are quite closed, and there's a lot of competition. That's what I've noticed, but obviously, I believe it's changing and depends on the specific situation of each place.
How can Latinx designers avoid cultural appropriation?
We must be honest, create with what you know. It's very easy to get stuck wondering what story is being told and how it will be perceived. It must be personal and honest because it's yours. If you come from strong roots and want to celebrate your family, that will be unique and solely yours. We need more authentic products that speak honestly.
I believe that when inspiration comes from an honest place, it will serve that purpose. Nowadays, what we need most are things with more purpose, not just producing for the sake of it. It's about finding where your purpose lies, and if it's unique and honest, there's no way to go wrong.
Thank you for reading!
*This text was originally written in Spanish and translated using AI.