/elle-india/media/agency_attachments/2024/12/12/2024-12-12t050944592z-2024-11-18t092336231z-czebsydrcd4dzd67f1wr.webp)
/elle-india/media/media_files/2025/05/22/YbaZLwUn0a1UVaJTQvoh.png)
There are interviews, and then there are conversations that feel like peeling open someone's brain, bit by bit, to discover not only how they think, but why they think that way. Sitting down with Ateev Anand was firmly the latter. A fashion designer by training, a philosopher at heart, and a surprisingly fun conversationalist despite how cerebral his world of work can be, Ateev is not someone who simply makes clothes—he makes meaning. And at the core of that meaning lies his twin brands: Re-Ceremonial and Teev.
/elle-india/media/media_files/2025/05/22/ateev-2-991115.jpeg "publive-image")
“They were actually twins,” he told me, referring to the two labels. “They were both born together. One apart from the other by maybe a month.” Like siblings with distinct personalities, each serves a different need but comes from the same soul.
Sketching Dreams in Science Class
/elle-india/media/media_files/2025/05/22/mTn7C55HCthDmMGtOu8p.jpg)
Anand's relationship with fashion didn’t start with a eureka moment, it was always simmering. “I remember sketching at the back of my science notebooks,” he laughed. “I belong to the generation where you were told ‘science kar lo’, you know, it’s important. So I used to sit and make fashion sketches behind.” It’s a sentence I keep thinking about because it says so much about the duality in his work—analytical yet poetic, structure with subversion.
He made it to NID but turned it down, “Because I got textiles and I wanted to be a fashion designer,” he said, now amused by the decision. “Which is a really silly thing in hindsight. But I’m really glad for the way life turned out.”
That blend of bold conviction and hindsight humility recurs throughout our chat. It’s Anand's signature, never posturing, always present.
Fashion, Footwear, Full Circle
He trained as a fashion designer but took a detour through accessories and footwear. “I got bored of clothes,” he shrugged. But eventually, he got bored of fashion altogether. “I realised there was nothing new to me,” he said. That statement, equal parts terrifying and liberating, was a turning point. “While that was also a bit alarming, it was quite comforting. That’s where I found my ease in the fact that I could recycle textiles. Because there is all of that mountain of waste that exists.”
And just like that, what began as disillusionment became an origin story. “When I had the idea,” he said softly, “it became my responsibility to fulfill.”
Reach, Relevance, Relief for Teev
I’ve always wanted to know how he would describe his creation - his brand Teev in his own words and honestly he gave me a three word description that I absolutely loved. For Teev, the more casual, ready-to-wear sibling, it’s a simple but powerful three-part philosophy: reach, relevance, and relief.
“Reach,” he explains, “was about affordability, but also about taking handloom cotton to people who wouldn’t otherwise consider it. It sits parked in this slightly jaded space, and I wanted to move it away from something you wear only on Diwali.” There’s a subtle rebellion there—a desire to reclaim heritage without sanctifying it.
Then comes relief. “Creating a product that takes you from a space of unease to ease,” he says. “It makes so much sense to your environment, to your body.” He doesn’t want to just tell you a fabric breathes well; he wants you to feel it. This grounding in physicality, what he later calls a “material journey” is a recurring theme. “If you are not focused on the materiality of things, then it’s immaterial what you do.”
Re-Ceremonial: Wedding Clothes with a Soul
Re-Ceremonial, meanwhile, emerged out of necessity and intention. “COVID changed everything. We couldn’t sell overseas,” he recalled. “I needed to sell, quote unquote, conscious practice in India. And I didn’t feel like there was any other segment that would pay me as well as wedding clothes.”
This wasn’t a compromise, it was a recalibration. “I needed the time,” he explained. “When you’re working in conscious practice, you need to take that much time to make something.” Weddings gave him that breathing room, and the cultural significance gave him a platform.
And it’s in that platform where the designer becomes the thinker.
Rethinking Ceremony
“Re-Ceremonial reimagines tradition in a deeply contemporary way,” I read aloud from my notes. Anand paused, then leaned into a thought he’d clearly been mulling.
“I see ceremony as an act of rituals of relevance, not relevant rituals,” he said. That inversion flipped the whole idea of tradition on its head. “The act of draping a saree is a ritual. But now more people want a pre-draped version because the ritual is inconvenient. So instead of fighting for the ritual, I try to see how we can craft relevance from it.” This reframing, rituals as an act of personal presence felt profound. “When you actually wear a saree or a veshti,” he said, “you’re present in that moment. You honour what is being draped on your body.” That is ceremony. Not the rules. The reverence.
Product Over Personality
If you ask him what keeps him up at night, it’s not the usual creative angst. “I think as a designer, my only struggle is—how do I disappear?” he said, with zero irony. “If I can disappear, then only the design remains. It’s not about why I thought of it. It’s about what the garment is doing.”
I challenged him, “But that’s what makes it your design, no?” He smiled. “I hope it becomes a beautiful design irrespective of who designed it. I don’t shy away from credit. But I don’t do it for the credit. I do it so that the design wins.” It’s rare to hear someone talk about ego like that in fashion. Rare, but refreshing.
Muse? Mood Board? Movement.
When I brought up muses, he visibly recoiled. “This whole ‘muse’ thing,” he sighed, mock dramatic. “It’s like—what is this muse in all of us?”
Eventually, he gave in. “Somebody who’s always on my mood board is Amrita Sher-Gil. Her sense of elegance was very unique, especially for her time. But I don’t think I have the audacity to dress her.”
More than admiration, what drives Anand is movement, literally. “Capoeira helps me,” he said, referring to the Afro-Brazilian martial art. “When I stop thinking, everything makes sense.” Design block, meet cartwheel.
Gen Z, Gossip, and Ghagras
We spoke at length about Gen Z shoppers—their contradictions, their obsessions, and their potential. “I only see opportunity with the younger audience,” he said. “They’re eager. And if someone’s eager, I have something to share.” He rejects the idea of “storytelling” entirely. “It’s a bit patronising,” he said. “I don’t have a story to tell. I want to have a conversation.”
“What’s exciting is their context,” he said. “Their parents—Gen X, boomers—often followed rituals without understanding them. So now, these younger brides are coming in with questions their moms can’t answer. And that’s powerful.”
He described it as a “blank slate moment,” where instead of being handed down rigid rules, these brides are discovering meaning on their own. “Ten years ago, wedding shopping meant opinions from every aunt and grandmother. It wasn’t really about you. Now, moms are like, ‘If you don’t like it, don’t wear it.’ And suddenly the bride’s asking—‘But what should I wear? And why?’”
This has opened up space for thoughtful dialogue. “I’ve had brides ask why the ghagra is worn at the natural waist,” he shared. “And I get to tell them—it promotes better blood circulation. It’s kinder to the body. That’s a different conversation than just saying ‘don’t wear it low.’”
There’s a generational discovery happening, and Anand is part of that gentle, joyful excavation.
The Store, the Space, the Silence
Even his physical store is a reflection of how he thinks. “I sat in this garage with a dear friend for hours,” he said, describing the space. “We didn’t do a lot of things until we felt prepared. That’s how I work.”
Preparation over panic. Quiet over chaos.
A Lasting Note
In closing, I asked him: What advice would you give to the next generation of designers? He didn’t miss a beat.
“Product. Product. Product. If you want to be a designer, you have to realise your job is to make a product. It’s not wrong to be enamoured by brand ideals—but we’re reaching a point where we cannot consume based on just ideas. We have to consume based on ideals.”
Talking to Ateev Anand is like entering a design dojo. Equal parts monk and maker, he has the clarity of someone who’s already done the deep thinking—and the humility of someone who knows he still has more to learn. When we started shooting with him, he made a simple yet specific request — he didn’t want to touch the clothes on the rack or walk us through his collection. Why? Because he’s done that so many times before, and it felt odd to him since we weren’t even talking about the collection this time. That moment revealed his keen attention to detail — not just in design, but even in the smallest, seemingly routine aspects of a shoot.
/elle-india/media/media_files/2025/05/22/ateev-1-659197.jpeg "publive-image")
On my last question card was — What would Ateev Anand be if not a designer? He says he’d make a great shaadi-guy. He genuinely enjoys juggling multiple tasks, and wedding planning brings out that side of him. He’s already taken the reins at several weddings for close friends and family, and if fashion hadn’t called, he’d be busy orchestrating mandaps and sangeets full-time. But we’re so glad that he is a designer!
If Re-Ceremonial is a celebration of the self, then consider this a toast to the mind behind it. Here’s to crafting relevance, making mistakes on purpose, and dancing your way out of design blocks.
Because in Ateev’s world, fashion isn’t fast or loud—it’s considered, it’s conscious, and most of all, it’s completely, gloriously human.