Huhu, my dearest Sunday Lovers,

I know, I know. You’re waiting for the juicy stories. So am I. But I am still waiting for my lawyer’s approval.

So, while the fate of those stories hangs by a thread, we have a little Sunday lecture to get through. How HY. FIFTY began. What brings us together here. And why any of this matters so much to me, and hopefully to you.

Grab a coffee or a glass of wine. Get comfortable.

If you’d told me two years ago that I’d be building my own brand, sharing a house with my grandpa, and living in a small village, I would have asked, very politely, whether you’d lost your mind.

This Plot is about ignoring the signs. Ignoring your own voice. Trying very, very hard to make something work while a small part of you keeps whispering to you. And I truly mean that: the voices in my head have been going nuts for the past few years.

The Corporate Girl Era

I was really good at pretending to be a 9-to-5 corporate girl.

I had the qualifications. The certificates. The seminars. A degree in business psychology, focused on market and advertising psychology. Years of experience in branding. I even studied in London (as you know).

At some point, you’d think I had collected enough qualifications to qualify for something.

And I wanted that life. A good job. A steady paycheck. Paid vacation. Colleagues at the coffee machine, instead of my grandpa, who is currently my only coworker. (He deserves his own Sundays Plot. Stay tuned.)

If you love your 9-to-5, enjoy it. Truly. Some days, I still daydream about it.

Then I remember the endless meetings. The to-dos that survived untouched until the next meeting. Having to fight for recognition and fair pay as though I’d accidentally signed up for the Hunger Games.

By then, my body had already started protesting. I was tired. Drained. Sometimes dizzy in meetings. My whole body was rejecting that life.

But hey. There was a free fruit basket. Yay.

When I moved back to my hometown, I applied for more than a hundred jobs. The doors didn’t open. Or they opened halfway, just long enough to close again. Politely.

And I was still trying to convince myself this was the life I wanted.

And Then the Universe Started Yelling

My inner voice had been telling me for years to try something else. One shot. Just do it.

How hard can it be?

Since I was a teenager, people have told me they could see me going my own way. Taking the lead. Building something.

Victoria means victory. Apparently, even my name had some expectations.

I kinda kept saying: if this doesn’t work out, I’ll start my own brand.

What I didn’t admit, not even to myself, was that I had already started. Quietly. Brick by brick.

First, the voice whispered. Then it got louder. Then the universe lost its patience and started yelling.

And me? I was updating my résumé.

Until I finally found the courage to listen. And that voice has been my compass ever since.

HY. FIFTY stopped being the thing I’d do if nothing else worked out. It became the thing I was actually doing.

And suddenly, things began to move. People said yes. Doors opened.

Starting HY. FIFTY

HY. FIFTY began with a quiet ritual: arranging pieces that belonged to the people I love.

My home is full of family pieces. Things from my grandmother. From my great-great-uncle.

In a world where so much gets replaced every season, I wanted something that stays. Something that holds the stories of the people I love, and one day, mine.

Think American coziness à la Nancy Meyers movies, paired with timeless European elegance and pieces with a past and a personality. That’s my home. And that’s the feeling I want to help bring into yours. I mean, I even built a fireplace myself to capture the vibe.

That ritual became a belief: nobody’s story should be forgotten.

That is what I mean by Modern Heirlooms for the Home & Table.

New objects, thoughtfully designed and made to last, with room for a story that hasn’t happened yet. You bring them home, live with them, and over time, they become part of your history.

 

Concept Is Cute. Execution Is a Contact Sport.

Coming up with a concept is one thing. Making it real is a rather extensive follow-up task.

In my old job, I advised brands. Now I also have to make the website button work, record the invoice, and get the product designed and made.

In the last eight months, I’ve researched funding, handled bookkeeping and taxes, designed and coded the website, perfected the graphics (still working on it), and taught myself more software than I care to count.

A surprisingly large number of departments for one woman in a small village.

The banks weren’t immediately convinced, either. Fluctuating raw material prices made some of them nervous. I kept looking until I secured financing.

And then, the plot twist: From the beginning, I’d had production partners lined up. I calculated with them, planned with them, and felt safe moving forward.

Then they ghosted me.

Not the romantic kind. The business kind. This one comes with a cost calculation.

Back to square one, with time and money running low. And let me tell you: finding a European pewter manufacturer is a project of its own.

That was truly not a “What a beautiful opportunity for personal growth” moment.

It felt like the end before I’d even really begun.

But Europe was never negotiable. Beyond the heritage, I want HY. FIFTY to take us on a journey across Europe and bring a little of it to every table. European summer, all year round.

So I kept looking. And I found the family-run manufacturers in Italy I now get to work with. Looking back, losing that first partner led me to a much better fit for what I want to build.

Ideas became prototypes. And our first piece took shape: HY. N°1, a handcrafted pewter candlestick.

None of this happened by itself. Since the day I listened, I’ve been fighting for it. Every single day. For every yes, every detail, every next step.

And I’ve learned to trust myself to figure things out. To use what I know, learn what I don’t, and find a way forward.

Hello, Cool Auntie

I know who I’m making this for. I call her the Cool Auntie (so, obviously, me).

She’s invested in her education. She works hard, and she enjoys life. She stands on her own two feet and builds her own world. Her own taste. Her own table.

She brings the good wine and the even better stories. She doesn’t buy things just to fill a shelf. She buys things that mean something. One great bag instead of five okay ones. She knows the difference between price and value.

Sometimes there’s a dinner party. Sometimes there’s takeout, eaten alone on the sofa, with absolutely no intention of moving it to a proper plate.

Both evenings belong to a life worth remembering.

Maybe you’re here for the family pieces, the dinner parties, or simply the pleasure of making a home feel like you.

If that sounds like you, we’ll probably get along.

Sundays Plot Meets HY. FIFTY

HY. FIFTY is about the objects that become part of your story. Sundays Plot is where I share mine.

I’ve always been the one who volunteers as the punchline. If my mess makes you feel a little better about yours, I’ll happily trip over my own feet for the team.

So here, I tell you my stories. The beautiful ones, the embarrassing ones, and the ones currently requiring legal supervision.

I hope they make you laugh, and occasionally pause. Think of your own stories. The dinner you still talk about. The chapter you thought would ruin your life and now tell over a glass of wine.

There’s usually something to learn, even if I had to make a spectacular mess first.

And maybe one day, you’ll share yours here, too.

Brick by Brick

Before this starts sounding like a founder interview after a wildly successful exit: I am still very much in the middle of it.

Our production samples are approved, and our first production run is officially commissioned. Making things by hand takes time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

And yes, I’m scared. Caring this much comes with an impressive number of things to worry about. A daily dose of anxiety, served fresh every morning.

When the fear gets loud, I remember sitting in a job that didn’t fulfil me.

A salary arriving every month. And that sinking feeling arriving every Sunday.

Then I ask myself which discomfort I’m willing to live with.

Because right now, I’m scared. But I also love what I’m building. And when something goes right, I get to think: I made that happen.

Some of the best things in my life happened when I was scared to jump but did it anyway. Apparently, I need to learn this lesson several times. Just to be absolutely sure.

I want to leave you with a quote from my grandpa (and roomie):

“Sometimes you might look back and realize that your bad luck was actually good luck.”

I’m starting to see what he means.

So if you take one thing from this Sunday, especially if you’re a young woman still waiting for permission: listen to that voice inside you. The one telling you there’s more you want to do. That you’re capable of it. That you deserve to give yourself a chance.

Listen before the universe has to start yelling.

And when it gets hard, keep going. Go right through it.

That’s what I’m doing, too. Every single day.

With love from your small-town girl,
Victoria x