Why we created mair?
The same factory, a hundred names
One company makes nearly 80% of the world's eyewear. The luxury house, the heritage label, the designer name you saved up for.
Different logos, same machine. You're not choosing between brands. You're choosing between fonts.
We didn't want to add another name to that pile. Mair exists outside of it: small, independent, made by hand.
Why us, then?
Because when everything comes from the same place, “designer” stops meaning anything. A logo is not a point of view.
Mair is one person's taste, uncompromised. Every frame was sketched, argued over, redrawn, and rejected until it earned its name. Nothing here was made to please everyone, and that's precisely the point.
And the frames know something the big houses forgot: you are not one person.
a letter from the creator
A different you for a different day
I'm May, and mair started with a small obsession: eyewear. Not as an accessory, but as the one thing you wear on your face, the thing that changes how you feel and how the world reads you before you've said a word.
By day, I work in the corporate world. But underneath it there was always a second current running quietly, a pull toward making things, toward design and detail and beauty for its own sake. For years it lived in sketchbooks and late evenings, patient, waiting for its moment. Mair is that current finally surfacing, and maybe it was always going to, because I've never really known how to be just one thing.
That part of me comes from Lebanon, a place that never sits still or settles on a single mood. You can ski the mountains at dawn and swim the Mediterranean by afternoon, sharp light then soft, snow then sea, all in one day. Growing up in it, I never learned to be only one version of myself, and honestly I never tried. So it never made sense to me to own only one pair of anything, least of all the thing that sits on your face and tells the world who you are that morning.
For years I looked for frames that understood this, and I found logos. The same acetate wearing ten different names at ten different prices, none of them saying anything at all. So eventually I stopped looking and started making, and the frames came out carrying the language I grew up with, each one named in Arabic for a different mood, a different side of you. Names made for anyone, anywhere, who refuses to be only one thing.
I think that's really why I built it. Because the thing you love shouldn't only live in the margins of your day, squeezed into the hours nobody else wants. It can sit right alongside everything else you are. That's what I hope Mair becomes for you too, a small reminder to make room for whatever quietly pulls at you, to tap into the part of yourself that wants to create and actually build the thing. You don't have to choose one life. I never could.
Wear the one that matches who you are today.
— May