For months, I couldn’t find my final piece.
If you know anything about the rhythm of a fashion show, you know the last look carries the weight. The message. The emotion. Traditionally, designers close with a bridal look—something symbolic, dramatic, almost ceremonial.
But I knew that wasn’t it for me.
As I prepared for MAS Montréal’s 10-year anniversary show earlier this year, I kept asking myself, what is the right final piece? Not the expected one. The right one.
And nothing came.
So I waited. Not out of indecision, but out of a deep respect for the moment. In a world that constantly demands fast answers, choosing to sit in the silence is an act of trust.
The Day Everything Clicked
Then, I went to the African fashion exhibit with my friend Derek. (If you had the chance to visit while it was in town, you know it was an absolute chef’s kiss).
From the moment I stepped inside, something shifted. The music, the textures, the undeniable movement of the garments, the boldness of the prints, the meticulous craftsmanship. It wasn’t just visually inspiring—it felt grounding. Familiar. Completely alive.
There was a quiet reconnection happening inside of me.
Over the past few months, I’ve been diving deeper into my Blackness, into my community, and into my sense of tribe. Choosing to hold this anniversary show during Black History Month wasn’t a random marketing choice; it was entirely intuitive. But up until that afternoon, I hadn’t yet fully articulated why.
The second I stepped outside the exhibit, it hit me. Not slowly, not subtly. A flash—clear, immediate, undeniable.
I knew exactly what my final piece would be.
The Fabric That Waited
Back in 2024, my family sent me a gorgeous piece of fabric from a family function I couldn’t attend in Benin. They told me to create something beautiful with it.
I didn’t.
Not because it wasn’t stunning, but because I didn’t know where it belonged yet. As a designer, I rarely create pieces just for myself. So, the fabric stayed folded. Waiting. Protecting its time in the dark until the right space cleared.
The moment I stepped out of that exhibit, the fabric spoke. That’s where it belongs.
My finale look would be born from that exact cloth. A piece deeply rooted in lineage, in identity, and in an honest story. Suddenly, the alignment was total: the timing of Black History Month, the internal ancestral work I had been doing, and the desire to close a 10-year chapter with something fiercely honest instead of merely expected.
When You Stop Forcing It
What strikes me most about this experience is not the physical design itself—it’s the medicine of the process.
I didn't force the idea. I didn't rush to fill the empty space on the rack. I trusted that if the piece was meant to exist, it would reveal itself when the body and the mind were ready to receive it.
And it did.
There is an incredible, soft power in allowing clarity to arrive on its own terms instead of trying to manufacture it. As creatives, especially after a decade of building a brand, there is a constant, heavy pressure to prove, to escalate, and to outdo our past selves. But this finale look wasn’t about the spectacle. It was about integration.
It was about honoring where I come from, honoring the hands that gifted me that fabric, and honoring the true, unhurried evolution of MAS.
Full Circle
When I returned to the studio and shared the spark with my friend, the final layer unlocked.
I had already been dreaming of creating an ode to the Black woman—to our presence, our profound softness, and our innate power. And especially to our hair. Our crown. A quiet reclamation of a beauty that has always belonged to us.
To bring this vision to life, I collaborated with the incredible Chanel from Flora a to create an intricate, custom embroidery for the top. What started as lines on paper evolved into a textile love letter. A piece rooted in lineage, created in a true partnership of craft, honoring Black women.
This finale wasn’t just about closing a runway show. It was about opening a door.
Clear Air, Clear Racks
That show marked the beautiful completion of a ten-year cycle. Now, the studio is quiet again, and I am feeling the pull toward a brand new chapter for MAS—one that feels more personal, grounded, and aligned with our well-being than ever before.
To make physical and emotional room for what is coming next, I need to clear the air, and the racks.
From June 4th to 6th, I am opening the doors to my Montréal studio for our SS26 and Archive Sale. I am letting go of past collections and archival samples to make space for the future.
If this story resonates with you, or if you simply want to experience these garments in the gentle studio light where they were dreamed up, I invite you to pass by. Come have a coffee, touch the fabrics, visit our wonderful pottery neighbors Sam & Sarah, and simply exist in the space with us. (They are open June 6 & 7th)
It will be so good to welcome you home.
Avec amour,
Mckenna
