There are brands that build worlds. Bokja belongs to that kind. Founded in Beirut 25 years ago by Huda Baroudi and Maria Hibri, the brand has become a living archive of stories, craft, and emotion — stitched together from fragments of memory, fabric, and time.

The word “Bokja” itself carries history within it. It is a regional term for the bundle of fabric used to wrap a bride’s dowry, a familial tradition embroidered by different generations. In that sense, every Bokja piece continues the same ritual — weaving together personal histories, shared heritage, and the quiet strength of craft.

We would describe Bokja as a voice — loud, curious, and deeply human — speaking through textiles about memory, migration, love, loss, and resilience. We sat down with Huda and Maria to talk about how it all began, the journeys their fabrics have taken, the artisans who bring their pieces to life, and what it means to keep creating beauty in a complicated world.

— Huda, Maria, you started Bokja 25 years ago. What were your lives like before Bokja?

Maria: I was actually a florist. I used to travel often to collect flowers, and I think that is how I learned about colour — how different shades can speak to each other through petals and arrangements.

Later, I started working with antiques — mostly secondhand furniture from New York. It was during the recession, so I would go there, fill a container, and ship it back. I had a beautiful flower shop — a large space with a skylight — where I also held my antique exhibitions. That is where I really learned about form.

Then I met Huda, and our journey began.

Huda: Before Bokja, I was living in Qatar — I spent most of my life there. I earned my MBA and worked at the central banks of Qatar, Kuwait, and Beirut.

But I always had this passion for collecting textiles. I don’t know why — I just did. I had a thing for wandering through old souks in every country I visited, picking up fabrics and kilims. I could literally smell an old textile from ten miles away. It is something I have always had in me.

I used to hoard them — piles and piles of them — and I guess they were all just waiting for Bokja to come to life.

— How did you meet?

Maria: Huda planned to do an exhibition for her textiles in my shop! Then the idea just… happened. We were there, talking, imagining this fabric — and that is when it clicked. I think where we were both reckless and innovative was in deciding to cut up those vintage textiles we had gathered from the Silk Road and reassemble them onto furniture. Nobody had done it before.

Huda: Bokja 25 years now, but we still have that same animated spirit — curiosity, recklessness, the urge to know more. It still feels as if we started yesterday. We carry that young energy, I guess.

You can see it in our work — it is bright, alive. And our work is the work of many. We started as two, but now we are a collective of around twenty-six, twenty-seven people. It is a family now — the Bokja family.

For the first eight years, it was just the two of us. We handled everything ourselves — even shipping containers to the U.S. It was literally two women and two male assistants running the entire operation.

Then came a turning point. A number of embroiderers arrived in Lebanon — not Lebanese, but from the region — displaced for political reasons. That is when our atelier began to grow, slowly but surely. Our work became more complex, more layered. We developed, in a way, our own textile language — a way to express every desire through fabric.

Over the years, Bokja has drawn in so many incredible people from around the world — designers, artists, dreamers — who found us because they felt connected to the brand. They joined us for a while, added their own spark, and then branched out to create their own ecosystems. That has been our biggest blessing. Each person comes in, sprinkles a bit of magic dust, and leaves a trace that stays.

— Could you tell me about the fabric you first started working with? How did you find it — and why choose this one?

Huda: It was pure luck that led us to Uzbekistan, to Central Asia. That trip opened Pandora’s box — it sent us down the entire Silk Road, collecting textiles along the way. But the ones from Central Asia were truly something else. They weren’t like Indian embroidery or Middle Eastern embroidery — they were made by women, for women. Bold motifs, deep colours — there was something utterly mesmerising about them. I had never seen anything like it.

Later, we learned that only German museums had collected them. Otherwise, these pieces were locked away within the borders of former Soviet countries, hidden from the world. That is why they felt so rare, so untouched.

Those textiles we brought back inspired everything that followed. You could frame even the smallest fragment, and something magical would emerge. It felt so natural, almost inevitable, to start working with them — and to do it with Maria. She had this incredible space — bright, playful, unlike anything else.

We also had a third partner then, Cynthia, who sadly passed away. She was the one who first encouraged that trip. Together, the three of us set out to capture beauty — to trap it inside objects, to give it form. That is really how it all began.

— So, in one of your interviews, you said that long before sustainability became a buzzword, you were already working that way naturally. Can you tell me a bit more about that?

Maria: You know, we are actually quite frugal in a way, because we work with vintage textiles. When a fabric has survived decades — hand-embroidered by women for their daughters, for their homes — you simply don’t have the heart to throw away even the smallest piece.

That is how we started assembling — putting fragments together, creating compositions from what was left. The nature of our work has always been inherently sustainable. It is not something we try to be — it is just who we are.

It is so much more exciting for us to work this way — to take something disregarded and bring it back to life. To take an old chair and give it a new story. That is where the challenge lies — and the beauty, too.

Even when we began creating wearables, we were very conscious about materials — using sustainable fabrics, mostly silk, because it is not seasonal. And instead of chasing trends, we focused on making concise collections that feel timeless.

— After the 2006 war, you created a collection inspired by the displaced people you saw around the city, often with mattresses tied to their cars. I wanted to ask — beyond that, were there other moments like this? Have any major events, whether tragic or uplifting, influenced your work or inspired a collection in a similar way?

Huda: One of my all-time favourites is the Migration collection. There is something about it that still feels true today.

Back then, we were in the atelier, and by chance, we had these embroiderers who had come as migrants — from Syria, Egypt, Iraq, and other parts of the region. Each brought their incredible craft with them. It was both a blessing and a tragedy — lucky and unlucky at the same time.

They inspired us to tell their stories through our work. And that season, we created something really special. The collection went to Milan — it included wallpaper, chairs, a sofa with bundles on its back and a drawer to hold precious things, even a travel ticket embedded in the fabric. It was all about movement, displacement, and memory.

Right after that, everything started to shift — presidents were being toppled one after another across the region. So we followed that moment too, creating a collection, Ten Little Dictators, a series of round spheres depicting those fallen leaders. We made one about Imelda Marcos, the former First Lady of the Philippines, and her obsession with shoes. Another about Saddam Hussein, woven with the text of the magazine cover announcing his death sentence.

Those two collections remain the closest to my heart. They were born from a very real social moment, and somehow, they still feel relevant today.

— Maria, what about you?

Maria: For me, I would say Bokja is intrinsically connected to what is happening around us. We don’t design just to design — we don’t even come from design backgrounds. We feel first. We feel something, we sense the need to express it, and then we translate it into form.

One of my favourite installations we ever did in Dubai Design Week was called Let’s Talk About the Weather. It was all about interaction — about engaging with people, reading the atmosphere, and understanding ourselves through the events happening around us.

We come from a very tumultuous part of the world, and we never pretended that what happens around us is separate from our work. If anything, that is where the authenticity comes from. When we talk about Beirut, about August 4th, about resilience — it is real.

Bokja has always been a vocal brand — a brand with a voice. You can’t mute that kind of voice, because it comes from a place of truth. At first, it was Huda’s and my voice. But now, it is the voice of everyone in our team.

When we speak, we speak collectively — through design, through craft, through every tool we have.

— I also read that Bokja gained international recognition — that people like Julia Roberts and Christian Louboutin noticed your brand and even ordered pieces. Could you tell me more about that?

Huda: You have to understand — when we started Bokja, it was a completely new aesthetic. At the time, the trend was all about minimalism. And then we arrived with something bold, colourful, unapologetic. It was the opposite of what everyone else was doing — and that is exactly what made it stand out.

From the beginning, we loved producing pieces with quirky finishes — playful details, unexpected colours, little characters and stories woven into the work. I like that word, “quirky.” It fits us perfectly.

Our approach caught the attention of ABC Carpet & Home in New York. In fact, we started selling internationally before we ever sold in Lebanon. The response from their global clientele was incredible.

Soon after, Christian Louboutin’s architect, David, discovered our work there. He began introducing Bokja pieces into every Louboutin store around the world — right when the brand was expanding internationally.

And yes, even celebrities noticed. The first shipment went to Kate Hudson, Salma Hayek, Julia Roberts… everyone who wanted something unique, something that told a story, was drawn to Bokja.

— Every brand has great minds behind it, but also incredible artisans who bring the pieces to life with their hands. Could you tell me about the people who create your work? And how did you find them?

Maria: I love that you asked this! The first people who come to mind are definitely Sadiq and Omar, both from Sudan. Sadiq has been with us for 17 years — they are like our children, really. Each of them contributes something so special.

We also have Abou Youssef from Iraq — such a deeply cultured man. He is our compass. Whenever we talk about geography, history, or poetry, he is the one who sets us straight. He is the embodiment of the Iraqi soul — thoughtful, sensitive, proud.

Our team also includes people from Aleppo, Damascus, Kurdistan. We have lived through their highs and lows alongside them. I will never forget when the president of Sednaya prison released the prisoners — we found out that Rashid, one of our team members, had his father and two brothers there. He is such a gentle, quiet soul that we never knew. We held our breath with him for two days until he learned they weren’t among the survivors.

These are the kinds of stories we live every day. But there is also warmth and laughter. Every Monday, we sit together for our team meeting — we talk about our weekends, share stories, and make each other laugh. That sense of togetherness is everything.

You asked how we found them — but the truth is, we didn’t. They found us. They came to Lebanon, looking for ateliers, for a place to belong. And from that, we grew — one person bringing another, and another.

Each one of them is a character, an artist in his own right. One of them, for example, we discovered is an incredible painter — he draws like an angel. They all inspire us, every single day.

— Bokja is preparing something for We Design Beirut, right? Could you tell me what it will be about?

Huda: It will be about perspective. Everything you look at, you can perceive it one way or another. Different people see the same thing differently.

The installation is really built around that idea. It is also tied to the fifty years of civil war. What we know for sure is that no one will ever agree on a single narrative of what happened. Everyone has their own version, their own truth.

That is part of why we chose this theme. It is about perspective — not only political or historical, but also visual. The way you look at a tree, for instance: from below, from above, from inside out. Every angle reveals something else. Every interpretation adds richness.

So the installation plays with that — it is a tree, but not exactly a tree. A trunk, but not quite a trunk. You will see. We want to keep a bit of mystery.

— What is next for Bokja?

Huda: We would love to pursue more collaborations with like-minded people — that is something we are actively working on. We already did a very successful one with Azza Fahmy from Egypt. She is such a free-spirited woman who started her company from a single piece of jewelry, and now it is practically an empire. Our collaboration with her was beautiful.

Looking ahead, we are also in talks with a major Brazilian designer, and we are very excited about what might come from that.

Beyond collaborations, we have been thinking a lot about legacy — how to pass on our knowledge, our archives, the way we approach craft and storytelling. We are working on creating a residency program that could open our doors to younger artists and designers.

We are also gathering material for a book about Bokja — something that captures our journey and philosophy.

I would really love to mention here that our community means everything to us. It keeps us grounded, relevant, and connected.

We have worked closely with NGOs and women in difficult circumstances, and we want to continue doing that. What we take from these experiences is always far more than what we give — the joy, the surprises, the human connection.

I remember one project in Tripoli with an NGO, working with women who had never embroidered or worked with textiles before. For months, we drove an hour and a half each week to meet them, teach them, talk with them. And what they gave back — in art, emotion, and spirit — was tenfold what we expected.

The reward was beyond measure.