When I was a young boy in Baghdad, playing with my toy soldiers was always a way for me to feel safe in my own little world, and I would do it often. Then everything changed: I went from tucking away my troops for the night to being awoken by painfully loud air-raid sirens. Next thing I knew I was with my entire family rushing to the basement to seek refuge. After a sleepless night of heavy bombardment, we gathered a few necessities, said goodbye to our home and headed out into the unknown. Who knew creating my own fictional war zone would turn into a reality? Part of me feared I had brought it to life.

From then on my childhood felt like a constant stream of newness: new places, new homes, new people. Continuously on the move, I was always having to adapt to change. The only thing that remained constant was my family, my self and my ability to create my own world. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the impact this all had on my identity and how exactly I grew into who I am today. I realize that style had a lot to do with it and it is a part of myself that I cherish. Even at a young age, I knew that no matter what hardships I had been through, my identity would always be my true freedom – and the way I dressed had a lot to do with it.

Style was something of a saviour. I don’t remember paying much attention to the clothes I wore until suddenly it was something we had to think about. From hand-me-downs and charity donations to thrift shopping in Beirut’s Sunday Market (a rare treat I wish I could relive now), I never had a say in what I wore. Then, when I was eight years old, my mum bought me my first pair of camouflage trousers. It was a lightbulb moment for me. I became obsessed with those trousers and refused to wear anything else. I would mix them with shirts and jumpers, and wear them whether at home or on outings with my family. It felt like all of a sudden I had been given control. The keys. A canvas. Around this time I became a Boy Scout and it felt like as if I had made it back to lying on the floor playing with my toy soldiers. Somehow having moved away from the chaos, I could focus on what I could control and sink into the organization of scouts: the uniform, the code of conduct, the reliability. The Scouts, like styling my own outfits, felt like the opposite of chaos. It felt like agency, like freedom.

As I grew into my teens, my love for collecting army figurines morphed into a love of collecting army surplus. I would combine pieces like football shirts, band T-shirts or my school blazer with military wear – it became my signature style. I now have an archive of military wear collected over almost two decades. Mixing the simplicity, durability and functionality of military wear with other clothing still brings me a great sense of comfort. It just rings true. It is how I keep my history and myself close, and it is amazing to me that I unknowingly built this framework at such a young age.

In my early 20s, I visited Japan for the first time and was captivated by a new wave of creativity. Learning about Japanese craftsmanship helped me appreciate a different type of order. I could recognize similar military shapes and patterns, and started to see how they could be more refined, less like a uniform or costume. The kaleidoscope of individuality on the streets of Tokyo made me feel at home in a way I had never experienced. All these people creating and recreating themselves through style. Something about seeing this on such a large scale cemented my desire to be a part of this process for others. I figured that maybe I could design clothing that might resonate.

Starting my label C.O.R. was a natural progression – an extension of myself and yet another chance to create a world of my own that others might relate to. A world without rules and a community in which everyone involved could feel safe and welcome. My creative process mostly entails doing what I have been doing since I was eight. Breaking down what I see around me, processing, filtering, recreating. I look at every experience as an opportunity to create or translate something. Decades later, it is still not simple to make sense of the world, but I’ve realized that collective change always starts with the individual. For me, style is so interconnected with the self that it will always be the focal point of my mission to leave a lasting imprint on people’s hearts – just as it has on mine.