How a rainstorm, a mohair hat, and a lot of feeling built Nong Rak—the now Bangkok-based slow-fashion label weaving sensical knits and Thai roots into something entirely its own.
The Beginning Was Rain
Before the mohair, before the wool curls and pastel fuzz, there was just rain. A sudden California downpour, the kind that cracks the light open and forces strangers into shared space. On that day, inside a vintage shop in Los Angeles, one knitter met one dreamer.
The knitter was Elvis—a soft-spoken creative who made pieces not to sell, but to soothe. The dreamer was Wae—a Thai-American with sharp style and a gentler heart. They didn’t mean to start a brand. Nong Rak, like all the best things, wasn’t born of strategy. It was born of feeling.
A hat. That’s how it started. One hat, handmade, mohair and strange, that caught a few eyes. Then a few DMs. Then an order. And then, one day, they realized they weren’t just two people in love making clothes. They were a brand—Nong Rak.
The name means “little love” in Thai. It’s a tribute to Wae’s heritage, but also a promise. To stay small. To stay soft. To stay rooted in love, even when fashion rarely is.
What It Feels Like to Wear Nong Rak
To wear a Nong Rak piece is to feel protected. Their garments aren’t clothes in the traditional sense. They’re more like companions. Some buyers describe it as being hugged by a ghost. Others say it’s like putting on a dream that someone knit just for you.
Colors are usually muted, but not sad. Think powder blues, butter yellows, creams and mauves. The textures are unpredictable—sometimes loose and lacy, other times dense and knotted, like seaweed dried in the sun.
But the real magic is in the imperfection. Threads curl where they want. Edges don’t always align. A sleeve might be too long or a neckline too shy. It’s deliberate. Nong Rak doesn’t make garments for a “perfect” body. It makes clothes that listen to whoever wears them.
There’s a quiet politics to that.
In a world of fast fashion, tight fits, and machine-made sameness, Nong Rak rebels with tenderness. The stitches say, “You are enough.” Even when you’re awkward. Especially then.
Thailand, Memory, and the Ghosts of Grandma’s Clothes
Though the brand was born in California, it bloomed in Bangkok.
Wae and Elvis relocated there during the pandemic, looking to reconnect with family and escape the feverish churn of the U.S. creative economy. Bangkok wasn’t just a setting change—it became a spiritual one.
Here, in the hum of open-air markets and the clatter of temple bells, Wae reconnected with textures and traditions from childhood: waxy cottons, faded school uniforms, woven mats and incense smoke.
There’s a story Wae often tells about their grandmother. She was always mending—never wasting. A shirt might live three lives: as schoolwear, then sleepwear, then a rag to clean floors. Every rip had a reason. Every patch had history.
Nong Rak clothes carry that spirit. Many pieces are made from reclaimed yarns or deadstock fabric. Some contain wool that’s over 30 years old, found in forgotten bins and family closets.
Each item, then, is a resurrection. A memory, given new shape. And while the label never claims to be “sustainable” in the greenwashed marketing sense, its ethos is deeply conscious. Not because it’s trendy—but because it’s ancestral.
Slow Fashion, Slower Living
There is no “drop” culture at Nong Rak. No quarterly runway. No New York Fashion Week spectacles. Just slow, seasonal releases that appear when ready.
In interviews, Wae and Elvis talk about the toll of keeping up—the anxiety, the burnout, the compulsion to perform productivity. Nong Rak is their resistance to that speed.
Their studio is small. Often it’s just the two of them. Elvis knitting by hand. Wae sketching, styling, photographing. Some days they don’t produce anything. Other days, it’s just one hat.
And they’re okay with that.
Slowness, in their world, is not laziness. It’s reverence. A belief that creativity needs room to breathe, and that clothes made with time feel different when worn.
Their audience understands. They don’t chase trends. They wait. And when a new Nong Rak piece appears, it sells out in minutes—not because of hype, but because of intimacy.
Community Over Consumerism
Nong Rak’s followers are more than customers. They’re pen pals. Collaborators. Sometimes muses.
Scroll through their Instagram and you’ll see not just models, but friends. Artists, musicians, herbalists, lovers. People with body hair and stretch marks and wide shoulders and shaved heads. People who look like they live in these clothes because they do.
Wae and Elvis aren’t trying to sell you an aesthetic. They’re sharing a world. And that world is queer, tender, Thai-American, and proudly strange.
There’s no irony in it. No posturing. Just softness. Earnestness. Joy.
They repost fan selfies not for engagement, but because they’re genuinely excited to see their pieces out in the wild. They respond to DMs with care. They offer repairs and encourage DIY.
In a fashion industry obsessed with scarcity and control, Nong Rak is building something open-source and open-hearted.
On Knitting, Gender, and the Radical Act of Care
It’s impossible to separate Nong Rak’s clothes from the people who make them.
Elvis—who knits most of the pieces—learned the craft as an act of self-soothing. For them, knitting isn’t just a method; it’s a survival tool. A meditation. A way to move through grief, anxiety, and joy with their hands.
Knitting, historically gendered as feminine and domestic, becomes a radical act in their hands. It’s a rejection of industrial masculinity. A reclaiming of the gentle.
Each stitch carries intention. A pulse.
When a customer receives a sweater, they’re not just receiving wool. They’re receiving hours of thought. Of pause. Of softness coded into fiber.
Wae once said in an interview, “Every piece is a love letter. Sometimes to each other. Sometimes to ourselves.”
And that’s what Nong Rak is, at its core: love, made tangible.
From Niche to Reverence: The Rise Without Selling Out
In an era where many indie brands burn out or sell out, Nong Rak walks a third path: authentic scaling.
They’ve been profiled by i-D, Dazed, Vogue Thailand, and other major outlets—but the tone is always reverent, never extractive. Editors know not to ask them about growth plans or celebrity placements. That’s not the point.
Their rise hasn’t come from chasing clout. It’s come from staying weird. Staying small. Saying “no” more than they say “yes.”
Celebrities have worn Nong Rak—yes. But only the right ones. The ones who get it. The ones who understand that the value isn’t in the label, but in the labor.
This isn’t merch. It’s emotion.
The Dogs, The Bones, The Backyard Photoshoots
No profile of Nong Rak is complete without mentioning the dogs.
Their two rescue pups, often featured in photoshoots, are more than mascots. They’re family. Proof that Nong Rak’s tenderness isn’t a branding gimmick—it’s a lifestyle.
Photoshoots often happen at home. In the backyard. By a mossy wall. On the kitchen floor. You’ll see Wae holding a bone-white sweater, with one dog snoozing in the background. You’ll see a model in a tangled mohair tank top standing under a papaya tree.
There are no grand sets. No fashion gloss. Just texture. Sunlight. Feeling.
Critics, Copies, and Staying True
As with all niche successes, imitation followed. Fast fashion brands have tried to copy Nong Rak’s style—cheap fuzzy knits, muted palettes, asymmetrical silhouettes.
But the thing is, you can’t fake feeling.
Nong Rak pieces carry energy. You can’t replicate the slight tremble in a hand-knit collar. Or the way an armhole is cut to fit a body that breathes. Or the story behind the yarn.
Wae and Elvis have never clapped back. They don’t need to. Their work speaks. It’s patient. It waits.
And those who know, know.
What Next
When asked about the future, Wae once said, “We’re not building an empire. We’re building a garden.”
That garden includes more than just clothes. Lately, they’ve dabbled in zines, furniture, herbal remedies, even scent. The brand is becoming an ecosystem—a place to be, not just to wear.
They aren’t trying to be the next Supreme. They’re trying to be the next sanctuary.
Impression
In Thai, “Nong Rak” is what you might call your younger sibling. Your pet. Your partner. It’s intimate. It’s endearing. It’s small on purpose.
That’s what makes it powerful.
In a world that demands we scale up, go faster, consume more, Nong Rak whispers something different:
Be soft. Stay small. Feel everything.
And if that message arrives on the sleeve of a tangled mohair vest or a lopsided cardigan that smells faintly of lavender and love, even better.
