There are moments in business when nothing changes on the outside, but everything changes on the inside.
This Matariki has been one of those moments for me.
For years I have been building this business, this kaupapa. In the early 2010's i started writing, blogging, documenting and sharing my fashion and family life. Before I even knew i could or would start a business. From Kids Korowai, to Korowai & Co then to Korowai by Hiria. Today, we drop all the trmmings and go by KOROWAI. The word that i was just to afraid to put out there. I thought I was creating contemporary korowai designs. Then I thought I was building a retail store. Then I thought I was growing an e-commerce brand.
Each of those things is true. But none of them are actually what we're creating. Over the past few weeks, something has quietly clicked into place. I've stopped asking, "How do we sell more korowai?" and started asking, "How do we invite people into our world?"
It's a subtle difference, but it changes everything. The studio isn't simply a place to purchase something. It's a place to visit. To create. To learn. To connect. To celebrate. To feel proud. To remember where you come from. What we make s important—but its no longer the destination. They're one expression of something much bigger.
As we've refreshed our Instagram feed, introduced our signature Tāniko bands, photographed quiet moments around the studio, and started telling stories instead of simply announcing products, I've realised we've been uncovering our identity rather than reinventing it.
Nothing about this feels forced. In fact, it feels like we've finally stopped forcing it.
The annual rhythms we've been dreaming about now make sense. Matariki becomes our New Year and reset. Christmas becomes our Heritage Collection and markets. The studio becomes a place with seasons, traditions and stories that people can return to year after year. It feels more like culture. More like community. More like home.
For a long time I worried about the financial side of the business. I questioned whether there was enough demand to take care of my family or keep it as a side hustle. A kaupapa that filled my heart but not my pockets. Whether people would understand the vision. Whether we would make it through this season. Those questions haven't completely disappeared. But they don't feel as heavy anymore. Because when your vision becomes clear, your decisions become clearer too.
I know what we're building now. We're creating meaningful experiences through creativity, culture and community.
That's what every korowai represents. That's what every workshop will become. That's what every conversation in the studio contributes to. That's what every social media post is inviting people into.
I've spent years learning the business side—cashflow, marketing, pricing, systems, forecasting, compliance. Those things still matter. But I don't have to search for the vision anymore. The vision was already there. I just hadn't found the words for it.
Maybe that's what Matariki has given me this year. Not a new dream. Just the clarity to finally see the one that has always been waiting for me.
This feels like the beginning of a new chapter. Not because we've become someone different. But because we've finally become ourselves.
Mānawatia a Matariki,
— Hiria