How a Duty-Free Display Became My Breaking Point

Why I Take the Long Way

I found myself standing in front of a duty-free display at Lisbon Airport. Again.

A basket of generic chocolates. A ceramic tile with a predictable azulejo pattern. The same gifts I had bought the time before. And the time before that.

This was not what I wanted to bring to Istanbul. Not for the people I loved.

Portugal has incredible artisan shops, beautiful craftsmanship, thoughtful design. I knew this. I had walked through enough concept stores, markets, and boutique corners to know exactly what was out there. And yet, every time, I came back to the same problem.

Time.

I was always rushing. Always running between commitments. And by the time I finally had a moment to look, to choose, to actually think — my flight was tomorrow.

So there I was. At the airport. Buying things I didn't believe in.

There had to be another way.

 

The Ritual We've Lost

Every time I travel back to Istanbul, I carry the same quiet pressure: what do I bring?

Not just any gift. Something that says — I thought of you. I know you. This matters.

But somewhere along the way, modern gifting became exhausting. And a little dishonest. We were told that buying equals caring. That spending more means meaning more. That a logo on a shopping bag is the same as intention.

It is not.

We stopped curating and started purchasing. We stopped asking what would genuinely delight someone and started asking what was fastest. The transaction replaced the thought. Convenience replaced care.

I wanted to change that — not just for myself, but for everyone who has ever felt that same quiet guilt standing in a duty-free queue, knowing they could have done better.

 

A Lifetime of Making Things Matter

I have spent thirty years in media and film production. My work has always been the same at its core: take a brief, find the story, create something that moves people.

I studied directing at the Fine Arts Academy. Every instinct I have is wired toward making — toward taking scattered pieces and turning them into something whole, something that means something.

When I am not making films, I am redesigning my home. When I am not redesigning my home, I am arranging objects on a shelf until they feel exactly right. It has never been about the things themselves. It is about what they say when they are together.

A book beside a candle. A linen napkin folded just so. A small ritual, carefully composed.

That is what I wanted to bring into the world.

 

The Box I Kept Imagining

I kept returning to the same image.

A university student, far from home, opens their door to find a package. Not something they ordered. Not something expected. A box — from their mother, or a friend who simply remembered.

Inside: a few small things. Thoughtfully chosen. Carefully arranged. A book they had been meaning to read. Coffee from a place that matters. A candle that smells like comfort. A handwritten note folded between the layers.

Not expensive. Not flashy. Just intentional.

The kind of gift that says — I am thinking of you. Even from here.

I wanted that box to exist. Not only for students far from home, but for new mothers, for milestone birthdays, for clients who deserve more than a logo on a pen. For anyone who has ever wanted to send more than a product.

 

Beyond the Transaction

We live in a world obsessed with consumption. You can spend five hundred euros on a garment with a logo. And people do — because the name tells them it matters.

But what if, instead, you received a carefully composed box with four or five meaningful objects — each chosen for a reason, arranged with thought, delivered with intention?

Which one would you remember in five years?

I am not interested in adding to the noise. I am not interested in being another place to buy things.

By The Curator may be the first platform of its kind that never uses the word purchase — because this was never about buying. It was always about giving.

 

Why "By The Curator"

Because that is exactly what this is.

Not a shop. Not a marketplace. A curation.

Every box is designed the way I would design a film — with intention, structure, emotion, and a story that slowly unfolds as you open it. I do not want to sell you things. I want to help you say things. Without words.

 

A New Ritual for Modern Life

We have forgotten how to give thoughtfully in a fast world. But I believe we can bring it back — not through grand gestures or extravagant budgets, but through small, deliberate choices. Through boxes that arrive when they are needed most. Through moments that say, you matter. I see you. This is for you.

If you have ever stood in a gift shop and felt strangely empty — if you have ever wanted to send something meaningful across continents — if you have ever thought, there has to be something better than this —

Then you already understand why By The Curator exists.

Welcome.

— Selda Gülay Kaplan Founder & Creative Director, Lisbon