Federica ‘Kikka’ Cavenati and I swilled in the same world for years before we finally crossed paths. I knew who she was, of course, and had admired her work at16Arlington – the brand beloved and worn by everyone from Lena Dunham to Amal Clooney, Kendall Jenner to Miley Cyrus – but I would never have imagined that she would know who I was. Surely I was too dorky, too tame to be one of 16Arlington’s women?
So when Kikka and her partner, both in the brand and in life, Marco Capaldo asked to photograph me for a project they were working on I was shocked and humbled. Saying ‘yes’ was one of the best decisions I ever made.
Quickly I learned that I shouldn’t have been surprised that she considered me a 16Arlington woman, because that who Kikka was: generous, expressive and gregarious, not just as a designer but as a person. She had that precious and rare ability to make people feel at ease, comfortable, beautiful – and I think you can see that in the designs.
She reminded me that life was still worth showing up for, because people like her can come along and surprise you.
There was no stuffiness, no snobbery with Kikka; she was that most underrated and beautiful thing, kind. Yes the clothes are glamorous – as, indeed, was she – they are good-times pieces made for staying out late in, but anyone was welcome to be in the 16Arlington gang if they wanted to be. She was the type of designer who reminded us that fashion should be fun.
After that afternoon in my flat, Kikka, Marco and I forged a friendship that became deeply precious to me. I met them at the darkest time in my life – racked with grief over the death of my brother-in-law and torn to shreds by heartbreak – and they flooded it with light when I needed it most. You can see it in the photos from the afternoon: me in feather trimmed satin pyjamas and a megawatt grin not put on for the camera but authentic. It was the type of smile that I had thought I would never own again. What a gift! She would go on to tease that smile out again and again in the following months and remind me that life was still worth showing up for, because people like her can come along and surprise you.
Now life has dealt a cruel twist, one so unimaginably awful for those who knew and loved Kikka that it feels too hard to write it down. I can feel that familiar confusion and rage of grief swelling up in me. Because Kikka was so – she sparkled and zinged and fizzed – that to say we have lost her aged just 28 after a short illness feels like a horrible mistake.
Having confronted untimely loss recently, I know that it will never be ok that she was taken from us so young and my heart breaks for her parents, brother, Marco and her friends. But I also know from what she brought into my life, that we will find a way to be ok with the not-ok. You have a choice when confronted with grief: are you going to be someone who shows up or disappears? She showed up for me when I needed it and now I can choose to honour her by showing up for Marco, with whom she shared a love and synergy so natural and strong it was like they were two pieces designed to perfectly fit together, and whose loss in unfathomable. I want to live how she did – in the light.
The love she generated was too bright to be stopped in its tracks.
On one of my first nights out post-lockdown – with Kikka, Marco and our mutual much-loved friend Antonio – I remember thinking how lucky, how incredibly privileged I was to be with them all. Kikka was sat next to me in ridiculous platforms (how she stayed upright will be an eternal mystery to me), laughing her irrepressible, infectious laugh. She was, as always, an electrifying presence and cartoonishly beautiful. But there was a sensitivity, a calm at her core. Fabulously almost camply glamorous, family was vital to her and so she always asked how my sister was doing, she wasn’t scared to talk about it. We spoke about my brother-in-law and how he was so loved that it would never be ‘the end’, just a shift to a different chapter.
We’ve turned the page into this chapter unwillingly and faster than any of us would have imagined. But the love she generated was too bright to be stopped in its tracks. For those who knew her, our lives are darker now but so much brighter than they would have been without knowing her. I love you Kikka and I’ll miss you terribly.
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