A Winter in New York and the Warmth of Asaali

When I landed in New York City for my first winter internship, I had no idea what I was getting into. The cold was sharper than I expected, and the city moved at a speed that left no room for hesitation. I came to work at a small creative agency in Brooklyn, hoping to break into the fashion world. What I didn’t know was that my biggest inspiration wouldn’t come from the runway—but from the streets, wrapped in the raw truth of Asaali.

It started with a subway ride.

I was bundled in a basic coat, shivering on the L train, when a guy across from me caught my eye. He wore a black hoodie with bold red stitching that read: “Born from broken ground.” I couldn’t stop staring. The message was hauntingly beautiful. I gathered the courage to ask where it was from. He smiled, nodded, and said just one word: “Asaali.”

That night, I looked it up.

Asaali wasn’t just a brand—it was a story. A movement born out of hardship, expression, and survival. Each piece was created not to impress, but to represent. Their hoodies, tees, and sweatshirts were less about fashion trends and more about lived experience. Real people. Real voices. That authenticity spoke louder than any designer label.

The next day, I visited a local boutique in Soho that stocked a limited drop of Asaali clothing. The moment I stepped in, I felt it—the mood, the energy, the purpose. The walls were lined with stories printed on fabric. Sweatshirts with stitched poetry. Tees with hand-drawn maps of forgotten neighborhoods. I bought a charcoal-grey hoodie that read, “Don’t fix the scars. Wear them.”

Wearing Asaali was like armor.

On days when the city felt too big, too harsh, that hoodie reminded me why I was there. I wasn’t just trying to make it in fashion—I was trying to make it in life, in a world that often overlooks stories like mine. People began noticing. Coworkers asked questions. Strangers nodded in recognition. It was like being part of a hidden tribe of truth-tellers.

The founder’s story moved me even more. A child of immigrants, raised in a part of the city that fashion forgot, they built Asaali from pain and poetry. Their goal wasn’t profit—it was healing. Every design was a page from a journal. Every collection, a love letter to struggle and resilience.

In a world filled with fast fashion, Asaali was slow, intentional, and soulful.

I started journaling again—something I hadn’t done in years. The brand didn’t just influence what I wore; it shaped how I thought, how I created. My final project at the agency was a pitch for a campaign centered on authenticity in streetwear. I used Asaali as my core inspiration. The creative director nodded through my presentation. At the end, she said, “You found something real. Hold on to it.”

I did.

I brought Asaali back with me—physically and spiritually. The hoodie hangs in my closet, worn and warm, a reminder of that season of self-discovery. I often find myself recommending the brand not because it’s stylish (though it is), but because it tells the truth. And in fashion, that’s rare.