In honor of Baka Sofija and all Mother Figures, and carriers of mothering energy
In Croatian, Baka means grandmother, but in my life, the word has always signified much more. Comfort. Authentic, kind authority. Warmth. Humor. Story. And in Baka Sofija’s specific case: Wisdom. Not just because that’s what her name, Sofija, means, but because that’s what her words, hands, and choices taught me, especially each time I witnessed her in her professional flow.
It’s the late 1990s in Istria, and I’m watching my grandmother work.
She leans over the dining table, now transformed into a tailor’s miniature design studio, humming with precision. The cappuccino-colored silky fabric of my prom dress stretches across the table in smooth, liquid-like folds.
She leans in closer, marking the silk with soap, lines soft and certain.
She measures once. Then again. And again.
“Triput meri, jedanput seci,” she says.
Measure three times. Cut once.
Not from fear of waste, but from reverence, for the fabric, for the time and effort of the person who found and purchased it (in this case, my mom), for the one who would wear it (in this case, me), and for the moment being sewn.
This was her wisdom: shaped by wars, loss, migration, joy, family, and creativity.
She knew the value of an object. Not just its cost, but what that cost represented, and more importantly, its meaning and purpose.
She respected everything she touched, especially when it had been entrusted to her by women carrying fabric along with their hopes, dreams, and difficult questions.
Women came to her for dresses.
But really, they came for space to breathe, and to transform.
They brought fabric and feelings: silk from Italy, wool from Vienna, cotton and linen woven with memory.
Underneath it all: quiet hopes, old disappointments, and spoken or unspoken concerns about beauty, worth, and belonging.
Baka asked good questions. She listened without rushing.
Here are some of the examples she shared with me: times when her clients asked her to make sure each garment held the fullness of the moment: weddings, funerals, first steps, last chances, overdue endings, awkward beginnings:
My baby is due next month… I am excited, but I don’t feel like myself. Can you make me something that helps me feel like me again?
My sister’s getting married… and I’m still alone. Can you make me something special so I don’t disappear in the photos?
We just got engaged, and now we are having dinner with his parents. They say it’s casual, but I feel like I’m being judged. Can you make me something that helps me feel like I belong?
My daughter’s graduating… I want her to be proud when she sees me. I don’t know what to wear. Can you show me some options?
He loved navy blue. I want to wear something he would have loved to see me in. Can you help me choose?
Sofija created and altered clothes, and adjusted possibilities.
She offered mothering energy to her community. Attuned, skillful. A catalyst for change. Already embodying what will become her legacy, weaving her signature essence into the outfits through love and availability.
“Baka, I’m going to prom… I don’t want to look frumpy, but I need to be able to move without stress. Can you make me something that feels beautiful and free?”
At first, that’s all I said. But like the women who came to her for dresses, the more we worked on the garment, the more I opened up.
As she pinned and adjusted, I told her about the breakup. About wanting to feel confident again. About needing to be reminded that I could still take up space.
When she made my prom dress, she made sure it fit just right. She wanted it to trace my shape gently, flatter me naturally, and, most of all, let me breathe, walk, dance, and feel poised again.
She watched how I moved, how I softened, and adjusted every detail to meet me at the right spot.
Anthropologists often study what people carry, with and through their bodies, their rituals, their ways of caring for one another.
Legacy, through this lens, is about what gets carried through and what continues, rather than about what we “leave behind.”
Here are some of Sofija’s pearls of wisdom, the living lessons of her legacy, offered through the way she worked, moved, and mothered:
- The art of legacy is slow and embodied.
Like stitching, it unfolds with patience and intention.
Sofija’s life, her “measure thrice” ritual, her hands, all became instruments through which love, tradition, and care were sewn into the fabric of family and community. - Legacy is relational.
A stitch connects two pieces. So does legacy.
Sofija made beautiful outfits, visible on the outside. She also outfitted people for their invisible intra- and inter-generational inner journeys.
When called for, she adjusted expectations, like she adjusted hems, giving women room to grow, grieve, and glow. - Time matters.
Legacy accumulates slowly. It unfolds in Chronos time (quantitative, linear), and also in Kairos time (qualitative, sacred, felt).
Each stitch can be a moment of full attention. Each repetition can become something greater than the act of mending. Sofija’s legacy did not rely on dramatic gestures, and instead grew with each sown pocket, zipper, bow, or baby doll dress. - Legacy is lived.
Women came to Sofija’s doorstep with fabric in their hands and emotion in their eyes. They asked for dresses. But really, they came for space. For transformation.
She welcomed it all.
Sofija ran her tailoring business from home, long before anyone called that entrepreneurship. Long before personal development podcasts and LinkedIn bios.
She made navy uniforms and Barbie clothes. She made my prom dress.
She made entire lifetimes wearable.
Sofija never studied applied psychological anthropology, she didn’t even know what that meant. She practiced and lived the essence of it just the same.
Her sewing room / kitchen became a place of transformation. Softness meeting structure, in seams, sleeves, and spoken or unspoken moments of serenity.
Through her questions, deep listening, willingness to learn, and her intuitive ability to offer just the right solution, she helped people transcend old patterns, return to their center, or discover a new kind of beauty and strength. That was her legacy: measured, tailored, custom-fit.
Baka Sofija lived most of her life in Istria. She and her husband, Nono Marinko, were not born there, but they wove their roots deep into the land. Their legacy lingers in rosemary twigs on the stove, lavender tucked into linen drawers, bay leaves stirred into gnocchi sauce and spacious rhythm that permeates the region.