Many years ago I met a man who walked the earth. He wore it like a coat, its dirt under his nails, its sun captured in his tattooed skin.
He drew close to me and spoke as gently as his gravelled, smokey voice would allow, ‘You’re one of those Mavericks aren’t you. Those wild horses that roam freely, that go to places no one else goes’. It made my heart race with excitement – like a child who wakes to find it is Christmas Day. It was as though this wanderer had looked into my very being and seen my heart’s desire.
Although in my Twenties, I felt like a child in front of this grizzled, rockstar-esque man. My clean, fresh-faced, smart-clothed appearance looked so fake in the face of the truly genuine. I was scared and insecure. He may have hit on my heart’s desire, but here and now, I felt like a boy before a warrior.
That day, he planted a seed. It took many years to break the surface, but in that moment, Cavalli, which is Italian for “horses”, was born.