More than a store. A house, built slowly.
Twenty garments a season, and the three rooms that make them — a drawing table above the Atlantic, dye vats that work after dark, looms that keep their own hours. This is the house; consider the door held.
The house began the size of a table. A Coruña gave it weather and a front door; Tulum gave it a red that must be crushed before it cooperates; Hanoi gave it silk with more patience than we had. Nothing here was scaled — it was accumulated, chair by chair, vat by vat, season by season. The shop on Juan Flórez is simply the room where the house shakes your hand.
Twenty garments a season — not nineteen, not fifty. The table seats what it seats.
See the season’s menu
Andrea draws. The cloth votes.
Every garment begins as her line on paper, drawn before the first coffee and defended after it. Andrea founded Nuu to dress a woman she kept drawing and could not find in any shop — unhurried, a little wild, allergic to costume.
She approves each lot the way she approved the first: by wearing the sample for a day and listening to it. What interrupts her is redrawn. What behaves is released.
One house, three weathers.
Nothing we make comes from one place. It is passed hand to hand across three, and each leaves a fingerprint.
Nothing leaves this house
before it is ready.
Sworn over the first lot — kept since
The atelier is awake.
This is a live place, not a catalogue. Lots are cut in one small room by a few named hands, and when the last length sells, the recipe is closed — the shade goes out of print. What hangs on the wall tonight is, quite literally, what exists.
Deadlines here are set by the tide, and the tide has never once been early.
See what is awake tonight
The door on Juan Flórez.
Rúa Juan Flórez, 87 · 15005 A Coruña
Mon–Sat · 11–20:30
If the door is slow, a fitting is mid-pin — pins outrank the bell.
The papers came by — La Voz de Galicia, July 2026.
Write to the house
The table is full; the door is open.
Gentle threads, wild core.
Shop the season