Rue Saint-Homère

The place before the brand.

I grew up in the mountains — weekends spent hiking up to paraglide, eating fresas con crema and peaches, picking moras along the road, crossing rivers on the way home. Cold every morning.

Some winters, the fog rolled straight through the front door, thick enough that you couldn't see the houses below. You were simply inside a cloud.

We wore sweaters over shorts because the weather asked for it, not because it looked good. Afternoons meant coffee or hot chocolate, butter cookies, whatever my mother had baked that day.

Green mountains that never turned yellow. Red clay roofs, white walls, stone facades. A childhood spent outside — bikes, trompos, soccer in the street, building casa clubs in the hills, before phones existed to pull us indoors.

That place has a name:

Rue Saint-Homère.

It's where GEDLER comes from — not a slogan, but a street I actually grew up on.

Long before I understood fashion, those surroundings were already teaching me about color, texture, function, and comfort. About dressing for the life around you. About the difference between what you wear and how something makes you feel.

Today, those memories remain part of the vocabulary of GEDLER — sometimes visible, sometimes not. In a color, a weight, a texture, a proportion, or a detail that brings me back to where it began.

This isn't nostalgia dressed up as branding. It's the actual weather, the actual colors, the actual mornings that shaped what quality and comfort mean to me.

The street belongs to my past.

What it taught me moves forward.

New York, 2026.