Issue no.16
The Island Issue
June 1, 2025

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To Be an Island
The idea for The Island Issue didn’t actually start on an island — but in a city that never stops. Looking at the pace of modern life — the constant race we’re pulled into, often without knowing if it’s even the right one — brings back the familiar thought: what if we could simply pause, pack a bag, and escape to an island?
And now that summer is here, this thought becomes even sharper — because let’s be honest: there’s nothing better than summer on an island.
The island rhythm — slower, quieter, lighter — made us wonder whether it’s possible to experience that kind of pace outside of an actual island.
In this issue, we visit Atlantis, the city that disappeared under the sea; explore why island artisans often create more inspiring work than anywhere else; how lace connects to the meaning of “little world”; what you actually need to pack for an island; and how to be an island inside the chaos.

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The Islands' Craft
Art- Article by The Standard Sister
Islands have long been havens for craft- shaped by isolation, necessity, resilience, and beauty. Cut off from the mainland, island communities preserved traditions that faded elsewhere, passing down skills by hand and heart, and creating what they needed from what they had. Surrounded by nature and steeped in ritual, they turned scarcity into artistry. From volcanic cliffs to sun-washed coastlines, these places don’t just offer beauty — they hold memory. We set out to find artisans whose work still pulses with heritage. Women and communities who have woven, carved, dyed, and shaped their way through centuries of solitude and change — creating not just objects, but anchors of culture.
Mundillo Lace Makers – Moca, Puerto Rico
Nestled in the northwestern hills of Puerto Rico, Moca is a small inland town known as the "Capital of Mundillo." Puerto Rico itself is a Caribbean island with over 3 million residents, a complex colonial history, and a vibrant culture shaped by Indigenous Taíno, Spanish, and African roots. Though globally celebrated for its music and food, in Moca, lace reigns.
Mundillo — meaning "little world" — is Puerto Rico’s traditional bobbin lace, a craft brought by the Spanish and embraced as a local art form. Artisans weave delicate patterns using wooden bobbins and a round pillow also called a mundillo, often to adorn baptismal gowns, wedding veils, and linens. Passed from mother to daughter, mundillo is both ornamental and deeply emotional — lace that tells stories through thread.
Across the Atlantic, another lace tradition thrives in the Mediterranean: bizzilla, the Maltese art of bobbin lace-making. Especially rooted on the island of Gozo, bizzilla shares structural techniques with mundillo but carries its own visual language, often featuring floral and symbolic motifs. Both crafts reflect how islands protect and preserve delicate legacies across oceans and generations.
Yaeyama Jōfu Weavers – Ishigaki Island, Okinawa, Japan
Ishigaki Island lies in the far south of Japan, part of the Yaeyama Islands in Okinawa Prefecture. With a population of just under 50,000, it’s closer to Taiwan than to Tokyo — surrounded by coral reefs and turquoise water. Historically, Okinawa was its own kingdom (the Ryūkyū Kingdom), with distinct cultural and artistic traditions that continue today.
One of its most exquisite crafts is Yaeyama Jōfu, a handwoven textile made from ramie fiber, known for being light, airy, and nearly translucent. The process is intricate — from harvesting and fermenting the plant fibers to weaving fine, gauzy cloths, often used for summer kimonos. Each piece is a whisper of island breeze, preserved in thread.
Threads of Life Textiles – Bali, Indonesia
Bali may be best known for temples and tourism, but beneath the surface lies a rich textile culture rooted in spirit and ceremony. Indonesia is an archipelago of over 17,000 islands, and Bali — home to 4.3 million people — remains one of the most culturally preserved.
Threads of Life, a fair trade initiative based in Ubud, supports over 1,200 women weavers across multiple Indonesian islands, including Bali, Flores, and Sulawesi. They work with traditional looms and natural dyes, creating heirloom-quality textiles for both ceremonial and everyday use. Each piece is more than art — it’s a map of lineage, environment, and belief, keeping ancient patterns alive in a rapidly changing world.
Cape Verdean Pottery – São Nicolau Island, Cape Verde
Off the western coast of Africa, Cape Verde is a volcanic island nation made up of 10 islands. São Nicolau, with a population of about 12,000, is one of the least visited — a stronghold of traditional culture and slow living. While Cape Verde is often celebrated for its music, another tradition lives quietly in its soil: clay pottery.
Women on São Nicolau shape everyday vessels and ceremonial pieces from the island’s earth using techniques passed down orally for generations. Without formal kilns or machines, they fire the pottery using open flames, giving each piece a smoky, elemental beauty. These vessels are used for cooking, storage, and ritual — practical yet sacred, rough yet timeless.
Kalinago Basket Weavers – Dominica
Tucked in the eastern Caribbean, Dominica is often called the “Nature Island” for its lush rainforests, hot springs, and volcanic terrain. With a population of around 70,000, it is also home to the Kalinago Territory — the last remaining Indigenous community in the Caribbean.
The Kalinago people have preserved many ancestral traditions, one of the most enduring being basket weaving using larouma reed. These handwoven baskets, often adorned in natural tones of black, brown, and beige, are both functional and symbolic. The tradition is passed from one generation to the next, representing resilience, identity, and an unbroken link to pre-Columbian Caribbean heritage. Today, Kalinago artisans continue to weave not just baskets, but their future — thread by thread.
Each of these artisans brings forth more than a craft — they carry the history of a place.
In thread, clay, reed, and dye, they offer a glimpse into the past lives of their communities — into rituals, routines, heritage, and the quiet rhythm of daily needs. A slower way of living that could only exist in isolation. When you are, in a way, your own island.

Be an Island in The Chaos
Wellness- Article by The Standard Sister
When wellness trends, life coaches, and lifestyle gurus — some excellent, some less so — fill our feeds, it’s worth asking: how are we even supposed to process this much information? Even when this information is supposed to help us.

iצשעק נטUntitled (Buried Alive ) Harry Lapow, 1973
Human nature wasn’t built for the volume of input we handle today. Emotionally and neurologically, we evolved in small, local communities with limited exposure to outside events. Today, most of us wake up and scroll through more content before breakfast than people once encountered over weeks — sometimes months.
Our brains naturally create filters. We learn to tune things out, disconnect emotionally, move past irrelevant details. Physically, the brain processes incoming information through our senses — mostly sight, sound, and touch — which send signals through neural pathways. The prefrontal cortex handles focus, planning, and decision-making. The amygdala and limbic system regulate emotional reactions. Normally, the brain filters, prioritizes, and processes information in context. But those filters have limits. The input is constant, too fast, and too much. We shift rapidly between emotions, images, and opinions — without fully processing any of them. Eventually, the brain registers everything as background noise. When overwhelmed, that balance breaks. The prefrontal cortex becomes overloaded, and faster, instinctive systems take over. The result: reactivity, quick judgments, emotional swings, decision fatigue, and a chronic, low-grade sense of overwhelm. Depth gets replaced by speed.
We’re constantly connected. Work, news, updates, images, opinions — all demanding mental space. This isn’t stimulation. It’s saturation.
But Instagram isn’t the problem. Neither is work. The issue is the pace we’ve normalized: constant engagement, endless comparisons, and the pressure to show visible results. It makes presence harder. Satisfaction even harder.
Being an island doesn’t mean disconnecting completely.
It means setting clear rules that act as self-filters. Deciding what gets in, what stays out, and — most importantly — when. Recognizing what drains you, both in the moment and long-term, and what helps you stay steady.
You don’t need to delete your apps or quit your job. But you do need to create a strong core system that gives you breathing space. Small daily adjustments help rebuild control over your time:
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Don’t check your phone first thing in the morning. Before your day even starts, scrolling brings in thoughts and emotions too early. Take at least an hour before you dive into the little devil.
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Walk sometimes without headphones — even if it means giving up music or podcasts. When was the last time you walked with your own thoughts, or simply with the street noise?
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Focus on one task at a time. Don’t answer messages immediately — instead, ask yourself: am I actually available to answer this right now?
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Say “no” when you mean it. Fully understanding the real reason behind your yes or your no is crucial for setting healthy boundaries.
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Pay attention to how much time you invest in distractions instead of the most important thing: your own evolving — as a human, a woman, a female.
Being an island in the chaos means having a center — and protecting it so it can protect you. You stay informed, stay involved, but hold your own rhythm.

Paramahansa Yogananda, early 20th century
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What to Bring For a Deserted Island
Wellness- Article by The Standard Sister
The question “what three things would you bring to a deserted island?” has become a kind of game — something people ask at dinners, on first dates, or as icebreakers. But behind it, there’s always something a little more curious: we’re trying to learn something about the person answering. What do they value? What do they need? What feels essential when everything else is stripped away?

Roberta Chirko by Gilles Bensimon for ELLE France- June 1988
But if we ask ourselves this question — not as a game, but as a small personal check — it can teach us something. Are you the survivor type, always planning for every scenario? Or the kind of woman who prefers to relax and enjoy whatever situation life presents? Either way, packing always forces choices: what actually makes you feel comfortable and at home?
Not like home-home. Whether you're packing for a vacation with friends, a first getaway with a lover, or a family trip — a getaway demands edits. There’s no space for overpacking. You’re not bringing the backup version of yourself — only the essential one.
– A journal or notebook
Our number one rule: bring a notebook and a pen. And seriously — we wouldn’t even bother going anywhere without one. Not for productivity — for observation. Your notebook gives you a private space to release whatever you feel, see, hear, or smell. And in a new place, there’s a lot of it. That’s why it’s crucial to have somewhere to spill it all. Write in the morning before your day begins, or again at night. On the beach, in a café — wherever you need a moment with yourself.
– One outfit you’ll actually wear every day
Something that works in any situation: beach, dinner, walk. The ultimate oversized white linen shirt. Clothes that look good no matter what — but more importantly, make you feel comfortable. This shirt can become your white flag. A quiet reminder, every time you feel a little overwhelmed or insecure, that things have a habit of being okay — and looking good.
– A book you’ve already read — or that reminds you of yourself
Packing a book you trust is a small act of grounding. A plot or story that reflects your values, passions, and essence — especially when you’re in a new place, experiencing new emotions for the first time. Something you know and love, not to finish, but to revisit. You’ll notice details you missed before. Maybe even discover a different perspective.
– A speaker
Nothing compares to music and its power to shift your mood, uplift your day, or calm you before bed. Don’t underestimate how much the right playlist can change the entire atmosphere of your trip.
– A pair of sneakers
Even if your plan is to lie on the beach all day with a margarita in hand, sneakers allow flexibility. If you feel like hiking or taking a long morning walk while everyone else is asleep, they’ll make sure you can. They don’t need to be trendy — they just need to work.
We tend to overthink it. We pack for scenarios that probably won’t happen. We try to predict every possible version of the trip, instead of focusing on what will actually help us feel good while we’re there. The goal isn’t to cover every situation — it’s to bring the few things that remind you who you are, when you need it most. And then: just arrive. Let the rest unfold.
Atlantis
History- Article by The Standard Sister
First described by Plato in 360 BCE, Atlantis is one of history’s most persistent stories — an island civilization that rose to power, lost its way, and vanished beneath the sea.
There are endless YouTube videos and web pages trying to prove or disprove its existence. But at The Standard Sister, we tend to prefer the romantic version over the real one — and if Plato said it, we’re going with it.
In Timaeus and Critias — two of Plato's dialogues, presented largely through monologues by Critias and Timaeus — he places Atlantis beyond the Pillars of Heracles, what we now call the Strait of Gibraltar. He describes a vast and advanced society: rich in resources, architecturally grand, and politically ordered. But eventually, it collapses under its own arrogance. The gods send floods and earthquakes. Atlantis disappears in a single day and night.
For centuries, the debate has continued: Was Plato referencing a real place? A memory? A metaphor? Some say it was a warning to imperial Athens. Others see fragments of older flood myths. But whether or not Atlantis ever existed has become less important than what it represents.
Atlantis became a symbol — of lost ideals, of a world in harmony with itself, and of how quickly even the most advanced societies can unravel. It’s a story about the limits of human ambition in contrast to nature’s power. About the fine line between progress and excess.
We chose to highlight this lost city because its story feels increasingly familiar. In recent years, the world feels like it’s drifting. Climate change is disrupting sea life and ecosystems. Industries like fast fashion and industrial agriculture are replacing biodiversity with efficiency. Plastics have become part of nearly everything we touch.
We’re exposed to more information than we were ever meant to absorb. Why should I care about the outfit of a stranger in Paris? And yet, this is how the loop begins — a constant feed of what we don’t have, and what we need to consume to feel better. How much money we need to make to feel alive. A bottle of water now costs seven dollars. Money feels as essential as air.
Governments grow more corrupt — and it starts to feel normal. We romanticize balance and wellness, yet both have been swallowed by global markets. We talk about peace, but we organize our lives around performance.
That’s the paradox.
We say we want stillness, but we’re uncomfortable with it. We want to feel whole, but we’re addicted to progress. Atlantis reminds us what gets lost in the chase: perspective, humility, and the very sense of harmony we’re trying to create.
Whether or not it ever existed, Atlantis remains one of our most powerful fictions — because it reflects a truth we haven’t outgrown.

