I grew up watching The Devil Wears Prada and deciding, quietly, that when I grew up I would have that lingerie closet. The one in the opening credits. The one that felt like a woman had made very deliberate choices about who she was.

When I got there — when I was finally old enough and earning enough to start building that wardrobe—I couldn't find what I was looking for. Not in Milwaukee. Not without flying to Chicago or ordering online and waiting and returning and starting over. I wanted quality that you could feel. Cuts that actually fit. A space that felt like somewhere worth going, not just somewhere to transact.

So I started asking a different question. Not where is that store—but what would it take to build it?

I grew up in Wisconsin. I live in the Third Ward. I'm obsessed with the South of France—the light, the ease, the way women there treat beautiful things as a natural part of life, not an indulgence. I wanted to bring that feeling here.

What started as curiosity became research. Research became obsession. Obsession became the morning I woke up and thought: I could actually do this.

When I was touring spaces, I walked into the room that is now MICHAL and knew within minutes. The natural light. The bones of it. I could already see exactly how it would feel—open, airy, romantic. Not crowded racks and fluorescent lighting. A space that felt like a private wardrobe, not a store.

The name came the same way. I had registered a different one. But as the space came together, it stopped feeling right. One morning it hit me: use my middle name. Michal. Unique enough to stand alone. Personal enough to mean something.