Our Story

No one could quite place Eleanor Mayfair.

A half-familiar face — on the steps of a townhouse in Mayfair, then a season later on a terrace above the Aegean. Always at ease. Never announced.

We never learned her name, so we borrowed one — hers, and the pale Shelby always parked a little too perfectly nearby.

Everything we make is cut to her quiet standard: easy, considered, never loud.

You already know an Eleanor. Some mornings, she’s the woman in the mirror.