Currents: Fatma Elshabbi

Currents is our new interview series spotlighting contemporary creatives shaping today’s visual and cultural landscape. Each conversation explores their background, inspirations, challenges, and lessons — an honest look at creativity in motion. The name Currents reflects movement and connection: the flow of ideas and energy that defines the present.

For the latest installment, we speak with Fatma Elshabbi, a Libyan fashion designer based in Geneva whose work transforms memory, nostalgia, and fragments of home into expressive garments.

A 2025 Fashion Trust Arabia finalist, Elshabbi’s practice is shaped by the experience of leaving Libya in the aftermath of the 2011 revolution. Holding on to memories of her childhood home and her grandparents, she reconstructs intimate domestic details through design — curtain tiebacks reimagined as belts, chandelier forms echoed in metal bag hardware, and flowing silks that recall the comfort and elegance of family interiors.

Memory as material.

Raised in Tripoli and coming of age in Geneva, Elshabbi creates at the intersection of displacement and belonging. Her designs draw from contrast, softness and structure, intimacy and urgency, translating personal history into clothing that feels both protective and timeless.

Across her collections Dekrayart Trablus and Bintebladi, she reimagines Libyan domestic and ceremonial culture as something living, carried, reshaped, and worn, as she prepares to launch her brand in 2026.

If you had to sum up your creative identity in one sentence, what would it sound like? I create from memory, fragments of home, nostalgia, and emotion into garments.

You grew up in Tripoli and came of age in Geneva. How did living between those two worlds shape the way you see and create? Growing up in Tripoli taught me texture, warmth, and the colors and everyday details I was surrounded by. Moving to Geneva gave me distance. Here, I started creating and began to feel new things, but also question where I really belong. Living between these two places made me very aware of contrast: softness and structure, chaos and restraint, nostalgia and the present. All of that shows up in my work.

“I create from memory, fragments of home, nostalgia, and emotion into garments.”

Nostalgia is a big part of your visual language. What does that feeling mean to you, and how does it show up in your clothes? Nostalgia, for me, is about honoring what shaped me while also recognizing what has been lost along the way. In my clothes, it appears through small, familiar gestures. Things are sometimes a bit clumsy or imperfect because they are made by hand, so the shapes feel like memories being re-created. A color might come from an old family photo, a texture from something I grew up with, or the way a fabric wraps the body can feel protective. It is subtle, almost like a memory you recognize without knowing why. My work is about turning those fragments of memory into something physical.

“Dekrayart Trablus” came straight from childhood memories. What is one memory from home that still drives your creativity today? One memory that stays with me is from 2014, when we were driving to Tunisia after the airport was bombed. We were leaving home and so many memories behind. I remember quietly telling myself how much I was going to miss the afternoons at my grandparents’ house, especially going through my grandmother’s wardrobe. It had a dusty smell mixed with old perfume, soft, familiar, and a little sad. The feeling of holding on to something precious at the exact moment you are losing it still shapes the way I create today.

Your work carries a sense of urgency shaped by Libya’s revolution. How do those emotions translate into your silhouettes and construction? My work reflects the intensity and tension I experienced during Libya’s revolution. I like to use fabrics that convey both rigidity and fluidity, capturing movement and stillness at the same time. I recreate gestures from those nights of bombing, waking up, layering clothes, taking my blanket and pillow with me, not knowing if we would have to leave. I also use the colors of home, both the muted tones from months spent locked inside and the fun, vibrant colors that made those spaces feel alive, and drape fabrics like the curtains in our salons. These memories shape both the silhouettes and the way I construct each piece.

“A color might come from an old family photo, a texture from something I grew up with, or the way a fabric wraps the body can feel protective.”

With “Bintebladi,” you reimagined Libyan ceremonial dressing. What pulled you into that world, and what did you want to reframe for a new generation? This collection is inspired by the rituals I grew up watching, my family preparing for weddings, draping meters of silk fabric around their bodies, and adorning themselves with traditional jewelry. I remember these moments framed by layered curtains and devoré velvet sofas in our salons.

Bintebladi was a research into proportions, materials, and the visual language of my surroundings, from the textures and drapes of garments worn in Tripoli to the colors that filled everyday life. I translate these memories into ready-to-wear pieces that blend tradition with reinterpretation.

I use lost-wax techniques to make jewelry pieces, knitting to echo the graphic lines of ceremonial fabrics, and hand-drawn devoré patterns to mimic the placement of jewelry and the fabrics of furniture I have always loved. Each piece is a memory translated into form, honoring the rituals and textures that shaped me.

How do you keep the balance between honoring heritage and pushing your own modern vision forward? Heritage lives in the memories my family created, care, and patience that my grandmother passed down to me. I do not see heritage as something fixed to be preserved in glass; I treat it as something living that I can hold, reinterpret, and carry forward. I work with the textures, gestures, and belongings that surrounded me growing up, the prints of traditional jewelry, the frames and fabrics from home, the soft velvet that reminds me of the devoré sofas in our living room. By hand-drawing these elements, printing them, and recreating flowers in wax using the lost-wax technique, I transform familiar motifs into new forms.

I am not simply repeating the past. Each piece becomes both a tribute to my grandmother, whose memories shaped me, and a celebration of my Libyan heritage.

Your research is deeply personal. What does exploring memory and culture look like in your process? Exploring memory and culture means looking through family photos, revisiting objects, and hand-drawing patterns. I experiment with textures and use materials from home, reinterpreting the feeling of nostalgia and translating it into the shapes and silhouettes I create.

“I am not simply repeating the past. Each piece becomes both a tribute to my grandmother and a celebration of my Libyan heritage.”

Your grandmother is woven into your work. What influence of hers still lives in your practice today? My grandmother’s influence is everywhere in my work. From her, I inherited a sense of care, patience, and attention to detail, the way she moved, dressed, and surrounded herself with textures and objects that felt alive. I carry those memories into my practice through hand-drawing patterns, recreating fabrics, layering materials, and honoring small gestures that make a piece feel personal. Every time I work with textures, colors, or forms that remind me of her, I am keeping a part of her alive in what I create.

As a designer in the diaspora, how do you navigate carrying a culture with you while creating far from home? Creating far from home makes me more aware of contrast, nostalgia, and the fragments of memory I want to preserve. It pushes me to translate them into pieces that speak to both my roots and my present.

What moment so far has felt like the toughest challenge, and which one felt like the breakthrough? The toughest challenge for me was leaving Libya and carrying all those memories into a completely new context in Geneva. Starting over, learning a new language, adapting to a different culture, and trying to find my place made it difficult to hold onto my heritage while also discovering my own voice as a designer.

My breakthrough came when I created Dekrayart Trablus. For the first time, I found a way to translate memories, textures, and rituals into garments that felt not only deeply personal and meaningful, but that could speak to many people in different ways.

“I translate memories, textures, and rituals into garments that feel deeply personal and meaningful, yet speak to many people in different ways.”

In an industry obsessed with speed, what does “lasting” design mean to you? Lasting design is about creating pieces that carry memory and meaning. I focus on hand-made work, celebrating craftsmanship and collaborating with artisans so that their skills and knowledge are valued. I want my garments to reflect care and intention, for women who appreciate the way they are made. Even as trends change, these pieces hold stories, textures, and gestures that connect to heritage and personal history.

What do you hope women feel when they step into one of your pieces? I hope women feel a sense of comfort, confidence, and connection when they wear my pieces. I want the garments to wrap them in memory, texture, and care, like a familiar gesture or a piece of home. At the same time, I want them to feel seen and empowered. It is something I love offering to women who recognize themselves in my designs.

Looking ahead, what direction do you want your brand to grow into next, and what stories are still waiting to be told? After my two graduation collections, Bintebladi and Dekrayart Trablus, the next step is launching my brand in 2026. I plan to start with small seasonal capsules that continue to explore nostalgia, memory, and the textures and gestures that inspire me. At the same time, I want to begin developing the business side of the brand, learning how to make garments that are meaningful while reaching the women who connect with my work. Looking ahead, I am excited to keep telling stories of heritage, home, and personal history, while exploring new ways to translate those memories into clothes that are both intimate and wearable.