Keep It Cool — The Story Behind Hand Fantastic

I’ve always had a heat problem.

Not a metaphorical one. A literal, sweating-at-all-times, I-cannot-function-in-summer kind of heat problem. Growing up in Madrid, August is basically survival mode. The city turns into a furnace and everyone just accepts it. Everyone except me.

So I did what any resourceful teenager would do. I started stealing my grandmother’s fans.

She kept them in the drawer of her bedside table, a little collection of classic Spanish abanicos, the kind you’d see in old paintings or tourist shops. Very traditional, very ornate, very not exactly what you’d bring to a rave. But desperate times, you know?

Here’s the thing about dancing under the August sun at two in the afternoon in Spain, and yes, this was very much a thing we did, you either find a way to cool down or you die. Dramatic? Maybe. True? Absolutely.

My friends thought I’d lost it. “Pablo, fans are a bit gay, what are you doing with that?” And every single time I’d just smile and say “wait for it.” Because I knew what was coming. By the time the sun was at its worst and everyone was drowning in sweat, the same guys who’d been making fun of me would show up with that look. You know the look. “Pablo… can I borrow the fan for a bit? Just for a minute. I’m dying.”

And I’d laugh. Every time. “I thought it was for girls?”

Fast forward a decade or so. Bangkok.

If you’ve never been to Bangkok, let me explain something: you step out of the shower and you’re already sweating. It’s not heat like Madrid. It’s heat plus humidity plus the feeling that the air itself is against you. It’s a full time battle.

And for the first time in my life, I couldn’t find a fan that felt right. Everything was too feminine, too touristy, too much of a souvenir and not enough of a statement. I wanted something unisex. Something you could bring to a festival and not look like you’d just raided your grandmother’s bedside drawer.

So I decided to make it myself.

I ordered a batch of plastic fans off Lazada, the cheapest prototypes I could find, and started designing by hand. Painting them. Figuring out what they could look like if someone actually gave a damn about the design. I found someone willing to invest a little, got the first real production run made, and ended up with 10 designs, 100 fans total.

Then I put them all in my backpack and walked into Mystic Valley festival.

No booth. No permission. Just me, moving through the crowd on the dancefloor, selling fans one by one. By the end of that weekend, every single one was gone.

That was it. That was the moment.

Hand Fantastic has been running for about 3 or 4 years now. Every collection is completely different from the last, new designs, new energy, new story. When a collection sells out, it’s gone. The next one brings something new. That’s always been the idea: not a catalogue, but a living thing that keeps moving.

Just like dancing. Just like Bangkok. Just like that kid in Madrid who refused to put the fan down.

Keep it cool.

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This post is dedicated to my two grandmothers. You are not here with us anymore, but you will always be in my heart. You loved me unconditionally and taught me values and morals that I carry with me every single day. I try to put a little bit of your love into every hand fan I design. This one is for you.