Vesper Obscura Makes Jewelry to Last

Who wouldn’t want a Victorian-era edge to their look?

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In a world so painfully minimalist, populated by mantras like ‘‘less is more,’’ few pieces of jewelry really catch one's eye. Having mastered the art of ‘‘more is more’’ beautifully, designer Mia Vesper — whose mother was an antique collector and textile designer — stands at the vanguard of challenging this. Founded in 2017, Vesper Obscura is the type of brand that tries to defy industry norms.  Although the founder started with clothing, her defiant and timeless jewelry is its true star. But whether they’re garments or ornaments, Vesper is dedicated to making relics that flirt with the past, the present, and ultimately the future as well. 

Ahead, we sit down with Mia to discuss Vesper’s newest collection, her creative process and influences, and how she continues to build a company that stays unapologetically true to its values in an era ruled by fleeting trends and relentless speed. 

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

ANA BEATRIZ REITZ: I’m very curious about how all of this began for you. Could you walk me through the founding of the brand? 

MIA VESPER: Vesper Obscura was founded the way a lot of honest things are founded: out of necessity; mild terror, really. The clothing line was burying me financially, and I needed an escape hatch that didn’t feel like surrender. Jewelry offered salvation. The margins are real, the object is permanent, and the ethical math is different. I started making jewelry in 2024, during one of the most difficult periods of my life. But it was followed, almost immediately, by a far better one. Jewelry didn’t just change the business; it changed my nervous system. For the first time in years, the work felt viable.

ABR: Now, Vesper Obscura feels like a breath of fresh air amidst the same staleness that rules fashion. Did you set out in the very beginning to position the brand with that slowness, sustainable charm so different from the current speed, or did that ethos reveal itself naturally over time?

MV: Made-to-order began as a financial constraint. I didn’t have the luxury of making inventory and praying for conversion. But it also turned into a kind of discipline, because it forced me to treat each piece like it had to earn the right to exist. And yes, the rejection of sameness is intentional. I’m not interested in half-hearted design integrity, especially not in a world already overflowing with objects. In a capitalist society, making something is a moral act. If I’m going to produce, it should be good, it should be considered, and it should feel scarce for a reason, not for marketing theater.

ABR: How would you describe your creative process, from the first spark of inspiration to a finished piece ready to be sold?

MV: I start with a sketch. Sometimes I’ll prototype, but usually my job is to draw the idea clearly enough that it can be translated into a real, wearable object. Then I work with production partners to engineer it into something that has weight, structure, and presence. I’m not precious about the mythology of suffering – my part in the assembly line is fairly low lift to be honest – I’m precious about the object.

ABR: What guides your choice of materials when developing a new collection? 

MV: Materials are chosen for integrity and endurance. I’m drawn to metal and stone because they’re stubborn materials, old materials. They refuse to be disposable.

ABR: Your work feels both ancient and futuristic at the same time. How do you manage to create and equilibrate this tension, and why is it relevant for you?

MV: Because I’ve spent so much time looking at what already exists, I’m interested in the gaps, the missing artifacts. I’m trying to design things that feel like they should be found in a velvet-lined drawer in 1890, or unearthed in 2090. Ancient and futuristic aren’t opposites to me; they’re the same impulse, just aimed at different directions in time.

ABR: For so long, jewelry has been connected to power. Do you see your designs as a form of armor of their own?

MV: Yes. Everyday armor. Not costume, not occasionwear. The kind that changes your posture.

ABR: Vesper Obscura’s latest collection has a distinctly Victorian style with a modern twist. Which aspects of the Victorian era interested you most in reinterpreting them through a contemporary lens?

MV: I’m obsessed with body jewelry because it’s still strangely underexplored, and when it is explored, it often gets trapped in a bohemian vocabulary that I personally cannot tolerate on my own body. I wanted to take something that’s usually coded as “earthy” and make it feel architectural, sharp, and intentionally styled. The Victorian influence shows up in restraint, intimacy, and a kind of ornamental severity. But I wanted the end result to feel now: clean, sporty, slightly confrontational. I always want a jarring juxtaposition, and then I edit it down until it becomes wearable instead of theatrical.

ABR: Many of the pieces feel truly like talismans, with a life of their own. When creating, do you imagine histories or characters or this is something that comes later?

MV: The character is me, which sounds unbearable, but it’s simply honest. I design what I want to wear. I’m a purveyor and obsessive appreciator first, and a designer second. I like objects to a slightly dangerous degree. The histories come later, or sometimes they arrive automatically. If something is built like an artifact, it starts generating its own mythology whether you write one or not.

ABR: What do you hope someone feels when wearing one piece from this collection?

MV: Cool. So so so cool. 

ABR: In an industry obsessed with speed, slowness can be a radical act. How intentional is that pace for you, and what does working slowly allow you to protect?

MV: If I’m honest, the slowness has mostly been structural rather than ideological. It’s what happens when you don’t have unlimited cash. In clothing, sustainability felt like a constant ethical negotiation. With jewelry, the moral math is cleaner for me. I avoid questionable stones, I work in materials meant to last, and I’m making objects that can actually be kept. Working slowly protects quality control, cash flow, and my sanity. Creatively, though? I’m not attached to scarcity as a personality trait. If I had unlimited resources, I would design constantly. I don’t worship slowness. 

ABR: As the brand continues to grow, how do you protect its integrity and values while allowing it to evolve?

MV: The integrity is the design rigor. As long as I’m still making things that feel necessary, I know the brand is alive. The moment I start repeating myself, I’d rather stop. I never want to make the white t-shirt of jewelry. Growth is exciting if it supports the work instead of sanding down its edges. I’m very at peace with the vision.

ABR: Why do you think there’s a deep appetite for ornament, nostalgia, and symbolism right now?

MV: Because reality has become aggressively unromantic. Life feels a little hellscape-adjacent, and people are hungry for atmosphere. We don’t write letters beside a babbling brook. We have Slack. We have doomscrolling. We have the bright fluorescent lighting of modern existence. Ornamentation is a way of taking your life back aesthetically. It’s cinema you can wear.

I also think we’re watching individualism get morally complicated. We’re watching a shift in how people relate to status and identity. There’s a growing desire to flatten hierarchies and question what matters, but we still want beauty, theater, and self-mythology. Jewelry is one of the places where it’s socially permissible to be the main character.

ABR: What advice would you give to emerging designers who feel caught between honoring their vision and keeping pace with the algorithm?

MV: It’s a terrible predicament. Not everyone is built to be a content machine, and treating that as mandatory is a great way to kill art. If you’re naturally suited to posting constantly, leverage it. If you aren’t, don’t force it. Build alternative engines: trunk shows, email, collaborations, a collector base, real community. There are ways to sell that don’t require turning your life into a feed.

And my biggest advice: don’t build your business around a daily practice you hate. Entrepreneurship has endless work baked into it. Take the easiest, most enjoyable avenue whenever morally plausible. 

ABR: Finally, when you think about the legacy of Vesper Obscura, what do you want it to leave behind in the jewelry world?

MV: Objects that feel immediately understood, but not predictable. That’s the line I care about: clarity with surprise. I want to leave behind future heirlooms, pieces that can be passed down with pride. Consumable surprises, built to outlast the era that created them. 🌀

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Ana Beatriz Reitz Gameiro is a Brazilian freelance journalist covering fashion, entertainment, beauty, and culture. Her work has appeared in publications such as FASHIONISTA, V Magazine, Polyester, Remezcla, and NSS. She is also the voice behind The Devil Writes Fashion (previously For Fashion’s Sake), a weekly newsletter where fashion is dissected, celebrated, and occasionally roasted with humor, heart, and just a little bite.