In the world of fashion, there are designers—and there are masters who turn craftsmanship into art. Tetiana Kibkalo is a tailor, pattern maker, and designer with over twenty years of experience, creating bridal and stage costumes where every detail carries meaning. Over the years, she has journeyed from couture ateliers in Ukraine to boutiques in Egypt and the United States, working with clients for whom clothing is not merely an outfit, but an extension of identity. Today, she develops collections of bridal peignoirs and helps international brands refine their business processes, while remaining true to the philosophy of handcrafted work.
Tetiana, what does it mean for you to be a master in a world that is becoming increasingly digital and fast-paced?
— To be a master today means to resist speed. Craft does not tolerate haste. When you create a dress by hand, you are not simply sewing—you are building a dialogue with the fabric, the form, and the person. It is like a conversation in which listening is essential. Handcraft is the breath of time. I always say that a dress must live: move, respond, become part of a woman rather than simply be worn on her.
Modern technologies help—modeling software, online order platforms, even artificial intelligence. But without human hands, without emotional energy, fabric remains lifeless. For me, being a master means preserving humanity in fashion.
When did you first feel that your work went beyond simple tailoring?
Probably the moment a bride came to me and said, “I want the dress to help me believe in myself.” That was when I realized we are not creating things—we are creating states of being. After the first fitting, she cried—not because it was beautiful, but because she saw herself differently. Since then, I have treated every order as an individual story.
For me, tailoring is a form of psychology, where fabric becomes a means of dialogue. A woman does not come only for a dress—she comes for confidence, harmony, and a sense of beauty.
Your career spans several countries and cultures. What has each of them given you?
Ukraine is my school of precision. There I learned to respect form, construction, and discipline. Egypt is expression, color, and dance. I worked there with oriental dance performers, and it was a completely different language—the language of movement and sparkle. It required considering not only aesthetics but also physics: the costume had to be spectacular yet safe, never restricting the performer.
America is about scale and responsibility. Here, you cannot be just a master—you become an entrepreneur, an analyst, a strategist. You must speak the language of brands and understand how to structure processes, logistics, and deadlines. At the same time, handcrafted work is especially valued here. Manual labor is a luxury, and I am glad to remain part of it.
Your clients often have very specific requests. How do you balance creativity with their expectations?
It is always a search. There is a client with a clear vision, and there is me—the person who must realize their dream while maintaining professional taste. My task is not simply to fulfill a request, but to translate it into the language of couture. I explain that fabric must sound, lines must breathe, and the image must live.
A dress is not a stage costume—it is an extension of character. Sometimes you need to gently guide the client, show how light falls on drapery, how color reveals the skin. And when a smile appears in the mirror, you know everything has worked.
You have gone from Ukrainian couture to American business. How has your professional philosophy changed?
Before, I saw myself purely as an artist. Everything had to be perfect: the stitch, the corset, the hem. Now I understand that perfection is not always in symmetry, but in energy—in how a person feels in the garment.
The American market taught me rationality. There is no room for unnecessary details here. Everything must be thought through—from the cut to the cost. I began to think more broadly, as a designer-entrepreneur. But what remains unchanged is respect—for the fabric, the client, and the process. This is my inner ethics.
Which project has been a turning point for you in recent years?
My collaboration with the Sufel boutique in Egypt. It was the first time I worked with performers for whom the costume was part of their profession. I created stage dresses covered in crystals and rhinestones, each of which had to withstand dozens of hours of performances. That experience made me realize that fashion is not only about aesthetics—it is also about engineering.
Now, in the U.S., I am involved in developing the Morning Bride collection—a line of bridal peignoirs that combines comfort and luxury. I worked not only on design, but also on optimizing production processes, selecting fabrics, and building patterns. For me, this is not just a project, but a synthesis of all the experience accumulated over 20 years.
How do you see the future of bridal fashion?
It is becoming more intimate. Today’s bride does not want a dress “like everyone else’s.” She wants an image that reflects her story, her culture, her emotions. And that is beautiful. I see a return to bespoke tailoring, to handcraft, to the value of uniqueness.
Technology will continue to evolve—3D fittings, digital catalogs, virtual stylists. But behind all of this there will still be a person holding a needle. And that person must be able to feel. The fashion of the future is a synthesis of technology and craft, but the soul will remain with the master.
If you could give one message to young designers, what would it be?
Do not rush. Beauty is not born overnight. Respect the material, respect the process. Learn from the old masters, because in their movements lives the history of the profession. And do not be afraid of mistakes—they shape your style.
Fashion today demands speed, but true elegance is always timeless. If you put your soul into your work, it is felt—even without words. Let your creations be alive.
