OGC began with passion and purpose. From day one, the goal was simple: to make you feel inspired by fashion.

In 2024, Olivia began sewing the Croissant Top from her NYC apartment and shipping each one herself to followers. After selling more than 50 tops, she realized her little sewing machine could only take the dream so far.

What was once handmade in her apartment is now professionally crafted for you in Manhattan’s Garment District.

Same passion. Bigger dream. Made with grace.

A story of my relationship with clothes before creating the 3 Feeling Method.

I loved dressing up. Headbands and dresses made me feel girly and confident before I understood what confidence was. 

My creative aunt made headbands and accessories and sold them at local craft fairs. She hussled. My mom would visit her stands, come home with a bunch for my sister and me, and then find the sweetest little dresses to match.

I loved those big headbands. 

I loved those big headbands. 

But a boy in my class thought they looked silly and started calling me “Barbie.” He would grab the headbands right off my head. I would feel embarrassed.

But the next morning, I would always put the headband back on.

I wanted to feel confident. I wanted to feel like a “big kid.” And apparently, at eight years old, I had decided a headband was going to help me feel that way.

I didn’t know it then, but I was already using clothes as a tool to become the version of myself I wanted to be.

U ready for this one?  

“Olivia Ink.” Yup, ink, not inc. 

In second grade, I decided I needed to start a fashion business.

I would make things out of whatever I could find around the house, style them, and then photograph them with my family’s Canon camera. And the funniest part about this is I still use that same camera for photoshoots today.

Loved fashion and clearly loved selling things.

I was the new kid after moving to a nearby city.

I walked into my new school with my hair pulled into a tight ponytail, a THICK headband wrapped around my head, and probably some combination of a printed shirt and skirt.

I quickly realized I had entered a much more athletic world.

So, I adjusted.

I traded some of my skirts for leggings and started dressing more like the girls around me. But instead of making me feel like I fit in, I somehow felt even more aware that I didn’t.

Then I noticed something: everyone had Uggs.

I asked for Uggs for Christmas.

Christmas morning came, and there they were—but my mom hadn’t gotten me the tall brown ones everyone else had. She picked out short white Uggs with fur around the edges and a little button.

They were much more me than the classic pair. My mom knows me well.

BUT WAIT… There was just one tiny problem. I was a size 8. At twelve.

I was still under five feet tall, and my feet hit their growth spurt before the rest of me.

I started wearing my new Uggs, I walked into class and saw drawings of my “clown feet” on the whiteboard.

I went straight to the bathroom and cried.

After that, I stopped wearing the Uggs.

Being a new kid, I lost my own sense of style.

By middle school, getting dressed had become a group project.

I would tear apart my closet, try on what felt like a million different outfits, and text my friends asking what they were wearing. (yes, i found some friends!)

If no one answered, I panicked.

I wanted to stand out—but not too much.

I was on the math club, but socially I was rebellious. I was obsessed with Kylie Jenner and wanted to be cool, edgy, and just different enough.

Each morning, before I left my bedroom, I was already thinking about everyone else.

What are my friends wearing? Is this weird? Do I look cool? Will people like it?

I thought I was developing my personal style. Really, I was learning how to dress for approval.

I never stopped to ask myself the much simpler question:

How do I want to feel today?

I didn’t know it yet, but that question would eventually change the way I got dressed entirely.

By high school I wore clothes that felt more like me.

I had an idea based on all the necklaces I loved in movies like ella enchanted.

And with that idea - I started a business.

This time, it was perfume necklaces.

They were little necklaces designed to hold perfume, and I became obsessed with the idea that something you wore could carry a memory with it. A certain scent could remind you of a person, a place, or a moment—and now you could literally wear it around your neck.

I loved making them. I loved photographing them. I loved telling the story behind them.

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Little desk I organized as my in my childhood play room.

An influencer in Australia found my necklaces on social media and liked them.

Suddenly, people from her town started following along and asking about them. I was sitting in Massachusetts making perfume necklaces, and somehow people on the other side of the world knew what little old me was creating.

It was my first real glimpse into what social media could do.

By 2019, the perfume necklaces had become a real little business.

I sold them online, to girls around town, and at Yankee Homecoming in my hometown. Looking back, I think a huge reason I believed I could do any of this was my aunt. I had watched her sell her headbands at craft fairs for years, so setting up a table and selling something I made never felt that crazy to me.

And I was a pretty good salesperson and a kind friend helped at the stands.

I got the necklaces into a store downtown, which felt like a huge deal at the time.

Then, a little while later, the store called me. People were returning them. A lot of them were breaking.

The cork needed a little airflow so you could actually smell the perfume, but that also made the necklace easier to pull apart. I tried sealing them shut. It helped, but not enough.

When I sold them myself, I could explain exactly how to take care of them. In a store, I couldn’t exactly stand next to every customer and say, “Please be gentle with my invention.”

Eventually, the returns started eating into the profit, and I stopped promoting the business as much.

Sales slowed down.

And that was kind of the end of the perfume-necklace era.

Freshman year of college, I felt more matured.

I was experimenting with layering turtlenecks, mixing textures, and finding beauty in simpler pieces. My style had a nautical, classic-but-artsy thing going on.

During the summers, I worked as a dockmaster, and I loved watching what people wore on their boats. There was something about the stripes, sweaters, linen, and effortless New England style that I found so inspiring.

I wore a ring with music notes because I loved music.

I had a pair of gold earrings with a big Chanel C that made a simple black outfit feel timeless to me.

And slowly, without really realizing it, I started choosing clothes based on the person I wanted to be that day.

Some pieces made me feel creative. Others made me feel polished, interesting, confident, or put together.

For the first time in a while, I wasn’t asking my friends what I should wear.

I was starting to figure out what I wanted to wear.

Or maybe, more importantly, how I wanted to feel.

By my junior year at the London School of Economics I had gone through some hard, and beautiful things. I had grown.

I loved London. I loved my economics classes, I loved the fashion, I loved walking around the city and feeling like there was always something new to see.

It was one of the best years of my life.

But during a really happy year, I could be too hard on myself. One afternoon, I was upstairs in the Marshall Building studying. My mind was everywhere. I was thinking about people I missed, someone struggling, and all the things I should be doing better.

Working harder. Doing more. Worrying less.

Then I looked down at my bear sweater.

The playful nature of the Ralph Lauren Bear reminded me to give myself grace. That is when I realized how much power clothes can have.

It all started with a bear sweater. 

Ater that, I started reaching for the bear sweater whenever I wanted to give myself grace.

It became a tool, shaping my day in the right direction. Not because the sweater had some magical power, obviously. It worked because I had given it meaning. 

That’s when I shifted my mindset on getting dressed.

What if getting dressed wasn’t only about expressing how you already felt?

What if you could dress for how you wanted to feel?

I didn’t have a name for it yet.

But the idea was there.

And it all started with a bear sweater.

Entering a completely new part of my life: work.

I started my career with a consulting internship, where I quickly learned that getting dressed for an office was its own little puzzle.

I wanted to feel professional, but still like myself.

So I started paying attention to the little things. Earrings when I wanted to feel sweet. A great sweater when I wanted to feel chic. Red when I needed an extra dose of confidence.

Then I moved into the fashion industry, and something opened up.

I started playing again.

More layering. More textures. More prints. Pieces I might have once worried were too much suddenly felt exciting.

And eventually, I landed a fashion job in New York 

And somewhere in the middle of working, getting dressed, and sharing my outfits online, I noticed that I kept coming back to the same question:

How do I want to feel today?

I started answering it with three words.

I started choosing three feelings and using them to build my outfit.

And people started trying it with me.

They would message me their three words. They would tell me they were wearing something they normally wouldn’t have reached for. They were looking at pieces already sitting in their closets differently.

That was when I realized this little thing I had been doing wasn’t just about my personal style.

It could be a method.

Suddenly, so many versions of myself made a little more sense.

The eight-year-old who put her headband back on.

The middle-schooler who waited for her friends to text back before deciding what to wear.

The college student with a meaningful music note ring.

The girl in London who looked down at a bear sweater and remembered to give herself grace.

I had spent years learning, unlearning, and relearning how I wanted to get dressed.

I finally had a name for what I’d found along the way.

The 3 Feeling method.

And here we are.