St.HROUDA meant the world to me.
Not just the store.
The name.
It was my grandmother’s, Barbra Hrouda.
My maternal anchor. My constant light. The woman who made the ordinary feel sacred.
When I opened the boutique, it wasn’t just retail. It was devotion.
I had stepped away from designing because I needed space. My brain was tired. My heart was tired. I wanted to build something that felt bigger than me. So I built a world instead.
A small, beautiful one in Park Slope.
Independent women-owned brands hanging on the racks.
Art rotating on the walls.
Conversations between strangers who became friends.
Collectors discovering artists for the first time.
It felt alive.
The only thing missing — the only thing — was the atelier I used to imagine in the back office. A cutting table. A dress form. A place to return to myself. I always knew I would design again. I just didn’t know when.
To the few women who own a Nicole Bell original, you have no idea what that meant to me. You kept the ember alive. You kept the flicker going in my brain. The quiet whisper that said: don’t stop. Clothes are still your language.
Because clothing, for me, has never been just clothing.
It’s who I am that day.
Or who I am becoming.
The right outfit can shift something cellular.
It can ignite something ancient and electric inside of me.
It can make me braver. Softer. Louder. Untouchable.
When I closed St. HROUDA in December 2023, I knew it wasn’t a goodbye. I kept the LLC alive. I paid GoDaddy every year. I held onto the name like a promise.
Because I wasn’t finished.
But I have evolved.
St. HROUDA was a space.
Saint Hrouda is a voice.
It doesn’t need to be loud.
But it does need to be heard.
Saint Hrouda is womenswear for every version of you.
For saints and sinners.
For the woman fighting the patriarchy and the woman who finds power in quiet.
For the rebel. For the romantic.
For the one who thinks, I wish I could wear that. If you’ve ever had that thought — it’s for you.
As a designer, I have a thousand ideas. Twelve past designs I want to resurrect and rebirth under this new clarity. But every story needs a beginning.
So I started with the core.
The pieces you put on first.
The pieces that set the tone.
A bralette.
Boyshorts.
Worn alone at home — for yourself.
Worn as armor underneath — a private secret.
Then, the pants.
If you knew me in 2015 or 2017, you know. High-waisted. Structured. Flattering in a way that makes you stand differently. Pants that don’t apologize. Pants that hold their own.
Paired with the bralette — that’s the look.
But I also made room for the tomboy in me. The one who grew up in oversized tees. The one who wants chic without trying. So there is the boyfriend tee, classic, cool, unfussy. The piece you reach for without thinking.
Four pieces.
That’s it.
But they multiply.
Three looks if you’re bold.
One refined silhouette if you’re understated.
Endless repetition, worn over and over until they mold to you.
This is Saint Hrouda.
Not a restart.
A return.
A quieter power.
A clearer voice.
Clothing that feels like memory.
Like becoming.