How burnout changed this independent bag designer’s goals

Can you talk about your relationship with fashion? What led you to it, specifically accessory design?

Initially, I was accepted to the Royal Academy of Antwerp. But after retaking my first year, it became clear that it wasn’t the right fit. Not a case of bad grades; I simply couldn’t be myself. For many of the students, this bubble you step into is literal heaven on earth. But I couldn’t fully surrender to this immersive experience of all-consuming creativity. What I lacked was some sense of reality. Compared to my peers, I never hyperfixated on fashion. Although I respect the program, personally, I would have benefited from something a bit more grounded.

I then applied for different jobs, getting one at the Margiela store in Brussels. Ever since discovering his work, Margiela has been my favourite designer. And even though he wasn’t there by the time I was, I was closer to his universe than I ever had thought possible. Getting to see and experience the pieces up close is something I never grew tired of. I got to attend some of the shows in Paris and visit the offices, which were then still located on the Rue Saint-Maur. At times, it felt surreal to be part of the universe I had admired for years.

About 18 months in, I decided that I would either dedicate the rest of my career to high-end retail or I would give school one final shot. At the time, a friend was studying fashion in the Netherlands at ArtEZ in Arnhem. The fashion department’s show coincided with the graduation presentation from the Product Design program. What persuaded me to apply was its multidisciplinary character. There was so much you could explore, such as furniture design, for example. And although I never really leaned into my fashion past – in fact, I was a bit done with it all and preferred to stay as far away from it as possible – with tutors knowing my background, it didn’t take long before I was ‘the Belgian who had studied fashion’. In turn, this also meant that it didn’t come as a total surprise when, in the first semester of my fourth year, I interned at Ann Demeulemeester.

Did the Product Design course offer you what you missed at the Academy, this urgency for realism?

Where I lacked a sense of reality back at the Academy, here, I missed some of that dreaminess I had dreaded before. For fashion, I was considered too much product, and for product, I was too much fashion. We kicked off the second year with an intense two-week shoemaking workshop; later in the year, shoe design became part of the curriculum. At the time, that was what I truly aspired to, but I had to admit to myself that shoes weren’t my forte. Later that year, we had the opportunity to experience the process of bag design. That’s where things really clicked for me. I never really looked back since. The first project I worked on was an experimental take on a backpack. The remainder of my study I dedicated to bags, which to me felt like the middle ground between dream and reality. A bag is something you carry with you, so there is still a connection to the body. But at the same time, it is detached; it stands alone.

What was it like interning at Ann Demeulemeester?

It’s been about 10 years now since I started there, during Sébastien Meunier’s stint as creative director. In the grand scheme of fashion, Ann Demeulemeester is a fairly small company. Everybody knew each other, from development to the studio. And Belgians were well-represented: Patrick Van Ommeslaeghe was there, as was Raf Adriaensens (now right-hand to Marina Yee). Personally, I worked alongside Mattia Van Severen, who oversaw accessories. Together, we set out on a new course. In hindsight, it might have been a bit too experimental, but it was an incredible experience. I got extremely fortunate; it’s not a given to get so many opportunities. So, when, not long after graduation, I was asked to come on the in-house team, that felt like a real ‘dream come true’ moment. Once an intern of Mattia, I had now become his right-hand. When he left, I suddenly had to oversee all things accessories: belts, featherwork, bags, etc. It was an environment I thrived in. Very hands-on, too: daily phone contact with fabricants in Italy and Portugal, sending out packages, etc. A learning experience at its best.

​Yet, at some point, you decided it was time to move on. What made you come to this conclusion?

It wasn’t so much a considerate move. I saw the position opening at Y-3, a solid favourite of mine since school. I’d always had a feel for this sporty touch; the Raf Simons collab especially spoke to me. So I decided to try my luck. The application process spanned a considerable amount of time. I was still working at Ann, all the while doing interviews and assignments. One time, I even secretly flew over there. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Despite applying, I still very much loved my then-current role, so I wasn’t going to jeopardise everything when chances were high that I wouldn’t make the final cut. But then, the redeeming answer came. It literally turned my life upside down, overnight. All during Paris Fashion Week, the day of Ann’s show marked my final day there, and come morning, I was at the Yohji Yamamoto and Y-3 showrooms, getting to know all these new people. Then came the actual move to Nuremberg in Germany, with the Adidas headquarters located in Herzogenaurach. All coming from different places, there is this instant unifying element, something to bond over. I dare to say I made friends for life there.

Working for a brand like Ann Demeulemeester, then moving on to a global player like Adidas, how did you experience this transition from niche to more commercial?

Dynamics are different. It’s not so much a case of there being less personal contact; you simply interact on a different level. I’ve made friends in both workplaces with whom I still keep in touch. But at Adidas, everyone is aware that at any given moment, your best friend might leave. Everyone who’s there will move on at some point. It’s an implicit in-between phase. After a while, everyone tunes into this mindset. Adidas is this spaceship-esque business. When you go into it thinking you’ll have a personal connection with everybody, you set yourself up for failure beforehand. That’s just not realistic.

At the same time, everything was possible there. A basic example: for years, at Ann’s, the zippers inserted have been in this specific colour, ‘antique silver,’ and there is no way you can do otherwise. Whereas at Adidas, I could change as much and as often as I pleased. Stating the obvious here, but of course, you immediately notice you’re working on a much larger scale, too. Not that this directly translated to the pressure I experienced. I always felt like shoes were where the emphasis lay, more so than on accessories and clothes. The marketing department went a bit easier on us. Although some elements, such as the three stripes, were meticulously monitored. They come with their very own set of guidelines. Once, there was a Keynote from the CEO, showing slides of products which were not in keeping: all products from our department. Those three lines are sacred. The distance wasn’t to be changed; you couldn’t enlarge them, nor were they to be ‘functional’, glow in the dark, for example.

Time as a concept is also stretched. People are working on things for the year 2030; high-technological fabrics are being developed five years in advance. At Adidas, everything is divided into long, mid-long, and fairly short-term. So, you’re always working ahead of yourself, meaning that there is never the last-minute rush before a show, as was customary at Ann. You’re trained to think in the long run; the downside being that it’s hard to cater to sudden consumer desires or trends. But with a marketing machine so strong, you can practically market anything with guaranteed success. And with such a strong legacy as Y-3 to rely on, especially.

Did you work with Yohji directly?

I only saw him a handful of times. For the most part, he remained as much a mysterious enigma as before. Styling the shows, he always handled himself. Once, he made a model wear a bag I designed back to front, turning it into a ‘belly bag’. A design he complimented me on.

Your career has since taken a significant turn. Could you take us back to that time and how it all unfolded?

I had been at Adidas for less than a month when I was already flying over to Vietnam to finish a collection I had not designed myself. I was really thrown into the deep end. Giving it my all while also dealing with relocation and paperwork. At one point, there was a senior director switch, and, based on my work so far, I got to work on several other collabs alongside Y-3, mainly those centred around skate brands and rappers. But after a while, it all started to take a toll on me.

With every project came a different calendar, and looking at them individually, everything seemed fine and doable. It’s not until you compile them all that you notice the overlap, and realise there’s literally no time for you to take a single break. Essentially, you’re deprived of a basic right. Occasionally, I would take a month off, but this only came back to bite me, as it meant I then had to work double or triple the amount in the month running up, and so you end up just as, or even more, depleted. Then, COVID hit. And so, basically, the only thing while stuck at home was work. I completely lost touch with reality. Work became my everything. That’s when I decided I had to take a break. After four years, I returned to Belgium. I felt a need to settle and bought my first place in Brussels. At first, I applied to a few other brands. But now looking back, I’m glad nothing came from that, because in the aftermath, I realised I didn’t want to pursue this corporate way of fashion any longer. I would be perfectly capable of doing so, but I’ve grown accustomed to my freedom. Occasionally, I still work on commissioned projects. However, my own design practice is the main focus; actively working towards launching something entirely of my own one day.

The reason why my practice was on the back burner for so long was that working at Adidas, as is the case with many brands, came with rules and a strict NDA. For one, I wasn’t allowed to do anything commercially-driven on the side. I had a notice of six months during which I wasn’t allowed to work for virtually anybody. Which is nothing in the grand scheme of things, I know of places where it can reach up to two full years. It’s mainly a matter of conflict of interest. Say I were to go and work at Nike, knowing what the next few collections of Adidas will look like; these types of situations are avoided through such legal constructs. Forced to this notice, I finally had the time to focus on my own practice again. So, in my case, it was a blessing in disguise.

Would you say that when you felt so overwhelmed to the point where you needed to take a break, you suffered from burnout?

That was the official diagnosis. And I was literally burned out, but my urge to create never went away. So, in that sense, yes, I suffered from burnout, but I was able to act on it ‘in time’ before it got the chance to develop into a full aversion to fashion. But I needed rest, desperately. And the sooner I allowed myself to do so, the better.

I never had any ambition to become the next creative director at some major house or label. All I want to do is design bags, broadening people’s understanding of the concept of bags. There is so little room for innovation these days, shape-wise, I mean. When something is coined innovative, it usually has to do with fabric. Although colour and fabric are equally valid in the process, I see them more as tools. The sheer number of brands that simply relaunch archival models spruced up with some big logo, one after the other… We all know what a Birkin looks like, but not every bag needs to be another take on it. I understand the incentive. It sells, so it’s an easy win for brands to rely on, especially in an industry as unpredictable as fashion. But what you end up with then is this massive sense of sameness; a one-size-fits-all mentality.

Is launching your own brand the only viable option for you to return to fashion?

100%. However, I do realise I’m in a very fortunate position, having experienced such an enormous amount in a short time span, in which I worked for one of the biggest names in Belgian fashion and one of the largest companies globally. Because of it, I feel a deep inner peace of mind. I don’t have to chase anything anymore, or prove myself, not to others nor to myself. Been there, done that. That being said, having worked there is as much a blessing as a curse. In the sense that people know of my work, yet they don’t know of me. But I appreciate the anonymity more than I resent it. I was never bitter at the fact that something didn’t bear my name.

At the time, was there something that could have prevented it all from happening? Something you needed but ultimately lacked?

If I had had someone to bounce ideas off of, a soundboard like Mattia at Ann Demeulemeester, then at least you could keep each other accountable not to go overboard. There were other colleagues, sure, but everyone was so focused on their own process. Sharing the workload with someone would have made a major difference. What would have happened if I had put my foot down more at Adidas? Who knows. Ultimately, however, it would only have been a stay of execution. I would have hit the same wall eventually, just with a slight detour.

How do you envision your collection, not wanting to conform to fashion’s corporate nature?

For one, I don’t think of it in terms of a collection per se, more as building my own universe. Through a bag, but it could also be an object or a sculpture. To me, there is no hierarchy. No matter how much fashion is portrayed as an open-minded and progressive industry, in reality, being in it means being forced to manoeuvre within certain boxes. This structural lack of freedom is what I hope to reclaim, for myself and the industry.

After everything you’ve been through, are you more aware and conscious of your own boundaries?

Definitely. If not, it’d be too easy to fall back into the same rabbit hole, something I’ve seen happen several times to people around me, who kept bouncing back. I am no longer one of those bouncing balls.

Would you still say it’s a good learning school to work at other brands before going off on your own?

There’s something to be said for both paths. But gaining experience by working for someone else can be extremely valuable. The way I handle things now is largely based on what I was taught over the years. Some things will stay with you, and other guidelines are meant to be broken, those that don’t work out for you. These are the sort of things you can only learn working for someone else. You will be forced to step outside your comfort zone, which can be dreadful, but you can also see it as a challenge, and then you might surprise yourself.

Any final thoughts? Or advice for those who may relate to your story?

No matter the field you are in, take your time and don’t let anyone rush you. Do whatever lies within your capabilities. Claim as much of the freedom that you get given, even if it comes down to the smallest detail in a design, claim it as yours. As long as you have the feeling you did the most you could do without betraying or losing yourself in the process.