04/05/2026
At 6 I was drawing at my kitchen table. At 19 I was pouring wine in a Michelin star restaurant in France. At 21 I flew to America without speaking English. At 23 I was serving champagne at 30,000 feet. At 26 I had 750 pairs of shoes and no clue what I was doing. At 28 I lost everything: my home, my money, my love, my horse, my dog. All in one month.
And then, somewhere between the mess and the tears, I picked up a brush.
I didn’t plan Maison Rubaiyat. She found me. In the darkest chapter of my life, when I had nothing left, I started painting. First on canvas. Then on leather. Then on bags that women now carry through the streets of Antwerp, Paris, California, Melbourne.
220 bags sold in our first year. 97% of clients came back. Some of them own 18.
I’m Maité. I’m 32. I have a pink wig, red lipstick, paint under my nails, and a dream about a horse called Pony Bob in California.
This is Maison Rubaiyat. For those who refuse to be quiet.
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