Cormio

It is with great pleasure that we present to you CORMIO PEARLY GATES, a twisted tale of lucid dreams, of ecstasy and intrigue; a cooky quest into our very own world of wonder.

Before we dive in, for all you first-timers and aficionados alike, let’s start with the ABC’s of our brand.

CORMIO is formally quite simple. We offer a foundational wardrobe for the fearless girl who relishes in intellectualizing her cuteness and sexuality. It is a coming-of-age story born at the intersection of tradition and rebellion, done dressed in bon-ton daywear with a deranged twist. She is as playful as she is cunning, a living, breathing subversion of “the neoliberal expectation that hyper-feminine qualities can’t be intellectually substantive”*. We make clothing that boys want to steal from their sisters, mothers, friends or girlfriends, daring to go where no mini-skirt has gone before.

Our aesthetic explores the final frontiers of the bourgeoisie fantasy, evolving old-world signifiers to give them new-world context.

Each collection is a fresh concoction of clever juxtapositions sprinkled with a dash of youthful irreverence; a post-modern cut-up with a splash of Chianti, the demented drone of techno-yodelling echoing in the distance.

At CORMIO we are dutifully conscious of the world around us, conducting a tight-knit community of artisans and creatives who are dedicated to working towards a brighter tomorrow. We produce each piece with the highest standards at heart, working hand in hand with small Italian factories to embrace sustainable methods of manufacturing. We are committed to perfecting our practices with each passing collection. Our eyes turned firmly towards the future of our field, CORMIO invites one and all to experience the fantasy.

So without further ado,

The wise words of Stephanie Deig, PhD researcher specializing in feminist philosophy and gender studies at the University of Lucerne. 2021 is the Year of the Bimbo, Roisin Lanigan, i-D, 19 January, 2021.

Lola got up so fast the chair behind her toppled backwards.

Bypassing the elevator, she barreled down the stairs, skipping every second step in her flight.

She burst through the front doors of the building just as a bright yellow Ferrari sped past her, headed in the direction of Loreto. Ripe for adventure, Lola followed it wistfully into the night.

Lola sauntered through the busy neighborhood past bustling bars and nightclubs, each one more blandly hellish than the last. The dizzying labyrinth of streets was beginning to daze her. Wandering over to a much welcome bench that had been erratically draped with garlands of jasmine flowers, she settled down in hopes of catching her breath.

A melodious voice called out from behind her. A blond-haired boy in a blue knitted cardigan emerged from the shadows.

Lola was skeptical.

He said, winking.

Giordano reached into his pocket and miraculously pulled out a ragged-looking doll that was holding its own microscopic handbag.

Lola could hardly utter a word before Giordano shushed her, pressing his finger to her lips. She pointed down the dark alley before them where stood a door Lola hadn’t noticed before.

The door was ancient looking, a peacoat wearing rabbit painted ornately on the front. Mesmerized by its charm, Lola pushed the creaking door open and climbed down what seemed like a bottomless ladder towards the gloom that beckoned below.

Lola opened her eyes to find herself slumped over an oak church pugh next to a man in a sharp blazer who appeared to be conducting a group of school children, standing in rows at the alter.

He silenced the choir with a whip of his hand, pausing their roaring rendition of Dolly Parton’s ‘9 to 5’.

He said, incredulously gesturing at the singing students.

Lola was speechless.

The man turned to the group.

Lola guffawed, baffled yet intrigued.

The glitter-heavy letters reading “CORMIO PEARLY GATES” flashed on the plush invitation he produced with a simple snap of his fingers.

The choir continued.

She walked over to the confession box which appeared minuscule against the vaulted church ceiling. Sitting down inside, something sharp pricked her and she jolted in pain; a giant fluorescent Smiley-face pin was glowing beneath her. On the back was carved:

Her eyes fluttered to the hypnotic beat she knew all too well…

Lola awoke on the cold misty grass of a stadium, the night‘s stars glittering back at her approvingly. All at once, the stadium lights blasted on - blinding her momentarily. She guessed at silhouettes in the distance, a flock of balloons hovering over them like a demented cloud.

As she approached the group, she noticed a legion of knitting machines and tailoring posts positioned around the sprawling football pitch. A roaring voice abruptly came over the loudspeaker just as the Jumbotron above flickered to life.

The screen broadcasted the face of a proud woman who seemed to have appeared out of thin air at one of the stations.

The crowd all cheered in unison.

With super-powered precision, Valeria produced garment upon garment, complete with tiny embroidered details. Rising from her seat to salute the crowd, she pumped her fists in the air triumphantly.

Lola couldn’t believe her eyes. The field was packed with fans desperately fawning over their favorite manufacturers. Some were snapping photos, others were waving flamboyant flags from different regions. She even thought she saw a couple comparing trading cards.

As the competition raged on, she took the chance to approach Valeria who was now packing up her station.

She realized she had no idea what time it even was.

Valeria pointed to a couple of stations over where two competitors were preparing for the next round. For some reason, a pack of tiny fluffy chickens and rabbits were circling their table.

Lola asked as she approached the athletes, referring to their furry entourage.

Marco winked as Rory handed Lola a beautiful hand-embroidered cardigan.

Lola slipped on the cardigan. It fit like a glove. Reaching into the pocket, she felt the smooth outlines of a heart-shaped locket. She opened it apprehensively in the privacy of her palm.

A rolled-up scroll sprung out. It read:

Wandering over to a lone pile of freshly-knitted garments, Lola felt her eyelids become heavier as she dramatically collapsed into their pillowy softness. Dreams of a Strawberry Moon flashed before her eyes, its pink glow shining brighter in intervals, as if beating to the sound of an unsung melody.

Lola felt warmth on her cheek, wet and urgent. Deep, groaning snores drew her from her slumber. She opened her eyes to see two pugs waiting patiently in the snow.

Said the stout one.

She followed the colloquial pugs in disbelief, the penetrating pulse of techno reaching deep into her skin. A Disney-worthy castle stood triumphantly before her.

She had finally arrived.
Everywhere Lola looked, something delightful was happening. This club had everything:

Everyone was there!

And was that a Dolly Parton impersonator dressed in a pink patterned terry cloth dress singing Britney Spears songs? It was all too much and somehow exactly enough at the same time.

The two pugs waddled over, followed by Jonathan and a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and inquisitive eyewear.

He yelled over the music.

She grinned gleefully as they disappeared into the reeling crowd.

An overwhelming sense of belonging washed over her. She was exactly where she needed to be.

Lola went up to the bar to find herself standing next to an effortlessly nonchalant girl in a red knitted dress.

She said coolly.

Two pink drinks appeared on the bar as if conjured by some bartending witch, the brunette handed Lola the second one.

Shimmying her way to the front of the DJ booth, the vibrations thumped metronomically in her chest. Beyond it was a panoramic window that looked out at a snow-capped mountain, hula-hoop clouds hanging low on its flanks. Closing her eyes, Lola gave in to the music and danced like everyone was watching.

coLola awoke to the sound of birds chirping, the sun rising slowly over the empty streets.
The satisfying burn of a night well-lived scorched her temples. It was pure bliss. A gleaming yellow road home stood before her - she barely noticed herself skipping, or the soft tear rolling down her cheek.

Her greatest creation to date, her daughter Leonilde, was born in November 2020 just about a week after filming the brand’s short film for Gucci Fest which aired the same month. Cormio lives and works in her design studio in Milan and produces everything she creates in Italy.