Дизайнер Sandy Liang выпустила книгу о своем пути от подростка до мамы

Sandy Liang loves to scrapbook. She started as a kid, but after getting married in 2023 and getting pregnant, she says she “became obsessed with memorializing everything,” from her growing belly to bringing her baby home. Now that she’s a mom, she’s making little scrapbooks for her 2-year-old son, Rainier, to commemorate moments of his life so far. When he’s older, she hopes he can look back at them and “feel so loved.” That’s kind of what Liang does best: preserve memories, especially of childhood, and bring them back to life in charming ways. Her eponymous line is known for its signature bows and ballet flats, symbols of girlhood inspired by things she loved growing up: princesses, Sailor Moon, Polly Pockets, Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette. That nostalgic ethos is at the heart of her first book, Dressing Up: Sandy Liang. Out this month from Rizzoli, the book traces the evolution of her brand—and her life—since she founded the company in 2014. Photos are arranged like, of course, a scrapbook; runway shots and studio scenes appear next to images of Liang cooking with her grandmother (“Paw Paw” in Cantonese), her wedding, Miyazaki characters who inspired her, and many, many mirror selfies. “I wanted it to feel very personal…and not just a fashion archive,” Liang says in her Lower East Side studio, among racks of clothes, rolls of fabric, mood boards, and shelves of satin shoes. She’s wearing a navy dotted dress with a gray zip-up hoodie and black Chanel flats. Her mini Australian shepherd, Tim, is sprawled on the shiny white floor beneath my chair. Liang’s memories of fashion weren’t always pleasant, though. “Growing up, if I cared about makeup or clothes, it was a sin. It was like, ‘Oh, you want to have no morals and be a bad person,’” she jokes. (Immigrant daughters can relate.) Her mom was frugal, supplying her with hand-me-downs and clothes from clearance racks that she was embarrassed to wear. If ever they did go shopping, it felt special. “I remember going to Old Navy like it was Disney World,” she says. “It made me feel like clothes had this magical power.” Now Liang’s designs are a response to that complicated time. “My clothes are very much rooted in practicality and just seeing how my mom dressed when I was growing up, which I hated. I was so ashamed of her.” But she has since embraced comfort-forward pieces from her mom’s wardrobe, like low heels, sneakers, and fleece jackets that evoke the padded cotton versions worn by Chinatown grandmas. Liang was born in New York, but when she was 1, she moved to China and lived with her grandmother for two years while her parents and older brother stayed behind. When she returned in time for pre-K, she wasn’t fluent in English because she was speaking Hakka and Cantonese. She remembers being incredibly shy and reserved. Her mom and her dad, who owns the Chinatown mainstay Congee Village, moved from China to the States when they were in their mid-twenties. Liang grew up in Bayside, Queens, before moving to the Lower East Side for college, but she remembers spending time in the basement of the restaurant, watching TV with her brother, while their dad worked upstairs. She started drawing after her grandfather gave her an issue of Sailor Moon, and she would sketch the characters’ outfits. She was the kind of girl who was wowed by the clothes she saw on MTV, at awards shows, and in magazines at the checkout aisle. She used to put photos of street-style stars like Olivia Kim and Jen Brill in the front slip of her binder. She bedazzled her TI-83 calculator with Chanel ballet flats. Still, it took young Liang time to be comfortable with fashion and her appearance. “I didn’t feel very confident in myself, and so I leaned into the tomboy vibe because then it was acceptable for me to not be pretty,” she explains. “I’ve always, always loved princesses and that fantasy and the ruffles and the frills and the satin. But I never saw myself able to wear that stuff. It was not until I was in my later twenties and early thirties that I felt like I could just wear whatever I want. Who cares?” That freedom is present in the clothes she makes, too. “My whole brand is about connecting back to my childhood and helping people just feel that happiness that they felt without being a jaded adult.” It just so happens our interview takes place days after discourse about Olivia Rodrigo’s babydoll dresses has begun to spread online. “I think it’s so silly, and people just need stuff to talk about and get angry about. And that’s why I hate social media,” Liang says with a laugh when I bring it up. “It’s just stupid.” The designer has faced similar backlash with her work. “I had this one really mini skort, and people were upset about it….It was the same criticism of, it’s something that a young person wears and it’s way too short. And I’m just like, well, this is not made for a little girl. This is made for a woman, and I’m a woman designing clothes for myself. So you’re telling me I can’t wear a short pleated skort? That just made no sense to me.” She also acknowledges that girlhood is not limited to bows and Barbie pink. “Embracing girlhood could be wearing oversize jeans and an oversize sweatshirt. To me, it’s just being honest about how you feel and being okay with feeling vulnerable or strong.” She adds, “So much of who you are as a person grows from who you were as a young girl. And I think it’s just taking care of her and being a truer version of yourself.” Motherhood, on the other end of the spectrum, has been revealing for Liang, too. She enjoys seeing the world through the eyes of her son, and having him has given her a new sense of confidence and brought her closer to her family. “Also, giving birth to him and then having postpartum [depression]....It’s been such an emotional roller coaster,” she adds. “It’s also just dealing with a change in identity and real, darker emotions.” But when Liang flips through Dressing Up, seeing her journey over the past 12 years on the page, a different emotion comes up. “For the first time in a really long time, I felt really proud of myself….It made me really happy and hopeful for the future.” Her devout customer base would probably say the same. When there’s a sample sale, shoppers line up for hours outside her Orchard Street storefront (some have even flown in for the occasion), and her collaborations, like the one with Gap, are quick to sell out. Liang still pinches herself seeing the response. “I honestly don’t believe it. I just feel so thankful that people care enough to show up—and I’m happy that they get what they want.” A version of this story appears in the September 2026 issue of ELLE.