PURPOSE WEAR

Functional clothing has arguably been one of fashion’s most talked-about obsessions over the last few years, taking the industry by storm thanks to the ACRONYMs and Veilances of the techwear map. Hypebeasts started adding Salomons and Merrell mocs to their sneaker rotation, hitting the trail for a fit pic. But what is it that makes something tech, exactly? Does it have to be loaded with pockets? Technically, a garment that helps make a 5K run, a hike up some very steep hills, or a hot and sweaty shift on a building site more bearable—even enjoyable—should be deemed a functional one. Thus, functional wear can take different forms, with outerwear, sportswear, and workwear being some of them in that they all tick the purpose-built box.

Among up-and-coming designers, Robert Newman, Mei Sze Tsang, Jake Baker-Cliff, and Joel Wilson do just that—clothing and accessories with a purpose. By making calculated, well thought through designs, the things they make come in handy to keen outdoors trekkers, manual labourers, differently-abled people, workaday commuters, etc. After chatting with the four of them about their respective ongoing projects, one thing stood out: not everything has to be made of fully waterproof Gore-Tex to still serve a purpose /

Would you say TMS.SITE is more a workwear brand than a fashion brand?

Mei Sze Tsang: It’s definitely not a fashion brand. With the products I make I try to solve the problems users are having with their current clothes.

So, have you always been into workwear?

Sort of, yes. In the 90s throughout my childhood, my father had different roles in construction and sometimes he’d bring me with him to the sites he worked on. Back then, I would hang with my dad’s coworkers and get more familiar with their uniform. Once I figured out I wanted to study fashion design, I realised there weren’t many designers dedicated to exploring new approaches to make workwear with new fits and materials. What we see, rather, is fashion brands taking inspiration from the workwear realm almost purely for the aesthetic appreciation of it. The trouble with all these takes though is that they don’t end up being worn by those who really need it, the manual workers themselves.

How did you start out?

In the months before heading to London to start a master’s in Menswear at RCA, I’ve done undercover research for four days in China where I pretended to be a coal miner’s girlfriend on some site and walked around. In doing so, I realised their uniform hasn’t changed in 50 years, and I decided I should make that my responsibility.

In your MA you’ve focused on bricklayers’ uniforms. Why’s that?

The way I go about designing a new garment, it’s like, it’s informed by the people I meet and their needs. Once, while on the bus, I bounced into a bricklayer and sat next to him. Seeing how his clothes were roughened up, I kind of knew already he worked in construction. After chatting for a bit, I asked him if he had any worn out workwear pieces I could study, to which he agreed. And so the same day I met him on the bus, I went to his place so I could have a look through the things he wears at work. Then, a few days later, I was meeting the rest of his team on site.

Did the bricklayer you met get to wear test your work?

Yes, he has. It’s been a long process. It started before Covid, and ended after it. For some time, I’d go to Chelsea, London, and meet him and his coworkers at lunch time on Fridays to collect data on which I based my designs on. I wanted to offer solutions to the things that bothered them most. I came up with a full workwear uniform of water-repellent, lightweight jacket, T-shirt, and trousers, which was so light it felt like he wore nothing. And as much as we thought it might have been damaged by friction with bricks, in the end it was sturdy enough. He looked good, too, and kept showing off to his mates.

What did he like most about the three-piece uniform?

Well, a lot of construction workers wear cargo pants, which is fine but not ideal. They’re pretty heavy, and not so breathable. When it’s hot out, some opt for track pants, which obviously aren’t suited at all. That’s to say I think he really liked the trousers I made. Wearing them, you don’t feel as much friction caused by simply moving around as you would with other workwear trousers. There’s also thin, rubbery coating at the knee pads applied in such a manner that you won’t feel it when walking, but that gives extra protection when bending. In terms of pocketing, I’ve tried to sew the pockets within the lining and included only the essential ones, and didn’t fall for the mania of including as many pockets as possible. Construction workers carry a tool belt around, they don’t need that many pockets.

Was there anything they didn’t really like?

Oh, definitely the colour I first came up with, which was a light grey. It looked good from the get-go, but on construction sites it would get stained easily and ended up covered with coffee-coloured and yellowly spots. Depending on the type of work, the colour palette of manual labourers’ uniforms plays a lot into how long a piece of clothing will last. As a matter of sustainability, then, it’s important to pick up a colour that’ll make a garment more durable. Khaki is well suited for landscapers. Black is good for steel fixers. And grey would be fine, but more for those who work indoors, like painters.

What area of workwear are you currently focusing on?

My eye is currently on trousers. I’ve been meaning to create a pair of trousers that would be suited for several types of work and purposes, one that’s for someone who works on a movie set, a photographer, a barber, someone who volunteers in an elderly home, landscapers, etc etc. Ultimately, I’m trying to come up with one that’s lighter than the current market’s offering.

What made you start making clothes suited to explore the outdoors?

Robert Newman: Even though I had classes in London when I started my MA in menswear at Westminster, I was living in Scotland and would basically, perhaps unwisely, commute back home to Glasgow once I didn’t have any more classes for the rest of the week, which is about a 400-mile journey via train or car from London. Scotland is very mountainous and wild, and very unpopulated compared to London. Everything is wet and mossy and buggy. It's a really unique environment, one that’s worth exploring, and preserving. That period of my life where I basically lived out of bags sort of pushed me into an outdoors lifestyle and therefore into making clothing appropriate for it.

How did you get your foot in the industry?

After my tutor at the time, the stylist Simon Foxton, saw what I was working on in class, he told me I should intern at Stone Island—which I then did. After the internship I kept consulting for them and so my design language inevitably gravitated towards sportswear. Yet as much as I’m able to do really technical work, I’ve also been consulting for Supreme and thus had the opportunity to apply my interest in outerwear to streetwear. And besides that I’ve also been doing my own conceptual, experimental thing on the side. So it’s kind of hard for me to pinpoint my aesthetic, as it’s a meet-in-the-middle mix of many things really, informed by both the functional and the unconventional.

What inspired you to make clothes covered in grass?

I recall reading an interview with the Dutch gardener Piet Oudolf who designed the High Line in New York and right away I was moved by his approach. His intervention was relatively minimal. He’s basically suggested that we let nature be so that it would gradually colonise what was once a railway line in the 70s. Compared to more traditional gardens—those with clear, distinct flower beds—this “letting grow” ecosystem is bound to be populated by different species of plants and won’t ever look exactly the one week to the next, with not so uniform, changing colours. That, together with the fact that I was coming off the back of a couple of years working with Stone Island, where not only functionality but also innovations in colouration play a big part, made me want to imagine a fabric that would have a different colour every week, practically.

How did you make it, concretely?

Well, I’ve basically made a sniper ghillie suit on crack. Mine was much more weighty than they usually are. Once put on, it looked almost like a walking tree, and was incredibly heavy to carry due to the remaining water in the grass. I had to sew a vinyl-coated lining so it could slide on to the body because a rough inner side like a canvas just wouldn’t have worked. In order to find long, uncut grass, I’ve had to scout locations with landscapes for a bit. This brought me to all sorts of places. I’ve canoed across a marsh to get a particular plant that grew there. I did get in trouble once. There was that one time where we snuck into a farmer’s field and cut some of the grass there, trying to film the process with a camera attached to a kite, only to end up being chased by the farm owner who was quite furious, to say the least.

Were you trying to convey anything in particular with The Marshes?

Like most, I try my best to protect the environment. It’s the only thing that matters, really. For what seems like the first time, young people in cities are going out to the countryside whenever possible to hit the mountains. The good it does to be in the great outdoors is unmatched. There’s this book and subsequent film adaptation I really like, The Sword in the Stone. It’s about the education of King Arthur and how his mentor, Merlyn the wizard, transformed him into several animals so he could experience different perspectives. To an extent, I think going places and being outside can be transformative, and act as a kind of rebirth.

What sets your work apart?

Maybe the fact that I’m not solely committed to anything in particular. My work isn’t purely functional, or purely about looks. It’s more like a crossover. Even though I’ve taken the outerwear route, I still love tailoring. I’m into punk and DIY, too, which is very far from the performance mindset. I’m good at being a sort of sponge, and I’m constantly learning and adding depth to my work. I’m inspired by a lot of things. It can be music, food, or a book. If I had to nail one thing down, I’d probably say I’m particularly moved by fantasy books. At the minute, I’m a big fan of Ursula K. Le Guin and Octavia Butler. The one-off jacket I’ve done for the Orienteer Mapazine editorial, for example, was a reference to Merlyn, with his pointed hat and everything. In my opinion, these kinds of references are just as important as the technicality of a garment. Because as much as every brand wants, say, a GORE-TEX shell, they still want and expect it to mirror their own distinct style.

What are you working on next?

I’ve just moved to a much bigger studio and have recruited an assistant so I can focus on my brand, Middle Distance. To this day I’ve mostly been doing consultancy, but I’m beginning launching limited products through it this summer. The great thing with this is that, now whenever I have an idea I’d like to explore further, I can do it on my own terms. Both aspects compliment and feed each other: the consulting gigs pay the bills, and the personal projects allow me to explore the more creative, experimental side of my work. It isn’t about producing big collections, but about putting ideas out there.

Making bags is more like a sideline to you, right? What’s your main occupation?

Joel Wilson: I trained as a graphic designer at university, so I work freelance in that field, alongside working at 194 Local; a vintage designer menswear store here in London, that one of my closest friends founded. I decided to teach myself the process of sewing, designing and making bags a few years ago. For now it’s ultimately a hobby that’s pretty separate from any sort of career path or way of making money. The learning aspect is the big motivator for me, figuring out a pattern, a different kind of pocket or way of setting a zipper. Eventually the plan is to figure out how working with designers and brands that I align with from a design standpoint whilst getting guidance and learning more about the design process on a broader scale. As a self taught designer I’m still figuring out my path into the industry.

How did you start making bags?

I can’t really remember when I really got into it, maybe around 3 years ago. I woke up one day and thought about making a bag as I was sick of everything I was using at the time. My partner back then bought me a sewing machine that I actually didn’t use for a year or so, letting it collect dust. It was a super basic, entry level machine and it’s a big surprise that it was working with the heavy-duty stuff I was putting through it back then. I actually thought it was normal in the industry to use these really cheap machines. I didn’t even know industrial machines existed! I was just head down trying to learn and perfect the things I was working on. I guess there’s no such thing as a perfect design but for me it was from a process standpoint; almost the way a seamstress needs to be millimetre perfect with everything they do. I guess they do exist but tend to be rare and most designs have a little something that could be improved.

What’s your approach?

For me, making bags is a way to get away from work and step away from screens. I’m a graphic designer by nature and I’ve been working freelance for 6 years, so in my spare time I’d rather be away from the computer. I don’t use programs to pattern or figure stuff out, which may be to my detriment but I like the old school way of using my brain and my hands in unison. I write equations out on my desk all the time to figure lengths and angles. When I first started it was definitely about learning, experimenting and challenging what I could make, however now it’s a lot more reference-based, mixed in with the idea of learning a new process. I tend to take reference from garments more so than accessories, which might sound odd but I feel that there’s much more variety and experimentation with clothes.

Have you always been into functional wear?

Obviously, sitting behind a sewing machine comes hand in hand with figuring out how things are constructed; but I’ve come to realise that garments and especially accessories don’t need as many functions as we might think. I feel like we’ve been influenced to indulge in more pockets and more features, which, don’t get me wrong, is really exciting from an aesthetic standpoint. Sometimes I feel like I want to make stuff that’s super streamlined and simple but I always revert back to adding extra pockets for no reason. I’d say in general, I’m not super into overly functional items or products. I have an appreciation for gear that I can take out on a hike and it actually works, but I’ve certainly moved away from wearing a 3 layer shell jacket for the sake of it or for the flex. What I’m making isn’t solely about the function, I often am far more interested in how the end result looks. I’m not trying to change the wheel, just challenging myself and figuring out a level of self sufficiency.

Don’t you find that most bags out there look similar? Scrolling through the ones you’ve made, it seems like you're trying to make different silhouettes…

True! I was looking at the accessories landscape recently, at a few different menswear retailers, and it seems from streetwear to high-end designers, most brands are making very similar silhouettes. I’m trying to figure out how to do silhouettes that are a little more in harmony with the way our body works, stuff that has more flow and seems more natural. I’ve been looking at a lot of handbags at the moment and I find them way more interesting, complex and well constructed than say men’s crossbody bags. I quite like the idea of the accessory being the extension of the body. One of the recent crescent shaped crossbody bags I did has a little more flow and wraps around the body a little more than previous works. That’s definitely something I’m trying to pursue within my practice as I’ve made loads of bags that sit strangely or badly on the body. I guess these things change with time, whether it be development, sampling, etc.

Tell us more about the fabrics that you choose to work with.

It depends on what I can get my hands on. Depends what I’m making, too. For backpacks and things that serve more of a purpose, I use a 210D ripstop but these have to be imported nowadays. In London there are a few smaller fabric shops that sell deadstock materials. I’m exploring the idea of using shirting materials on bags at the moment, things that maybe aren’t often used but as I’m not getting anything produced or on scale I can use it as an opportunity to try stuff out. There’s also this online shop everyone orders from that sells waxed organic cotton and other eco or technical fabrics. But honestly I don’t think too much about it. As long as it excites me visually and I know it won’t fall apart!

How did you first get into sportswear, and what’s your take on it? What informs your designs?

Jake Baker-Cliff: Growing up realising how I loved football, I got into sportswear pretty early on. Everything from on- to off-the-pitch related stuff has always moved me. Things like, say, the Nike campaigns they ran with Joga Bonito. I was always looking at the players’ dressing style and style of play, too. I’d look at the new cleats they’d wear to see what new innovations were developed and introduced. Also, I grew up by the South Downs where I’ve spent most of my time outdoors, which sparked my interest in functional clothing as well. As a sportswear designer, I feel a certain responsibility to actively shape better, further developed products. With all the incredible developments in fabrics, technologies, and far beyond, there are no excuses for lazy and careless practices. To me, fashion is about way more than just clothing. It can be a form of social activism and improve the quality of life. And so I keep this in mind with my designs, which are informed by people and their experiences. 

What were the key moments during your time at uni?

I’d say my Sergio Tacchini scholarship shaped my whole time at uni. Due to this, I was invited to the UAL annual donors evening each year where I gave a speech about my story and how I got into fashion design. This is also how I went to work for Sergio in Milan after my first year and later for C.P. Company in my internship year.

What did you take away from your time spent interning and then working at C.P. Company?

My time working at C.P. has heavily influenced my approach towards design. I was fortunate enough to work with some of the best in the industry and gain an insight into their ways of working. I’ve always had a real interest in materials, but to see this through the C.P. eye brought a whole new understanding of how amazing and important fabric is. I learnt a lot from just being around their extensive range of materials, seeing numerous techniques and historic designs which ultimately makes C.P. so special. 

You just recently launched your brand, right? Why did you name it wecanfly?

So firstly, I’d say I see wecanfly as a multidisciplinary platform with the mission of creating a more inclusive space within the field of design, with the majority of the work being fashion-based. The reason I see it this way is because I feel that the very practice of running a brand can be quite one-dimensional. The name wecanfly originates from my time at C.P. where I found myself particularly drawn to the archive of flight clothing. Accessible garments that offer wearer protection with multiple pockets and fastenings to prevent loss of articles during manoeuvres, completely built for purpose, totally fascinated me. I wanted to combine this interest in flight garments with my desire to make creations with a personal meaning relating to my life growing up with my twin sister Daisy who has special needs. Daisy is my muse. I’ve always felt extremely lucky to have been surrounded by Daisy and others with disabilities, as they’ve often been the most driven and positive people I’ve encountered. However, due to society's perception of disability, people are often suppressed and not given equal opportunities. I began to consider how I could support the inclusion of disabled people in society through fashion. Due to all of this ‘wecanfly’ felt very natural as I started to envision empowering disabled people to allow them to showcase their true abilities. 

How did you go about creating the brand’s first jacket, the BlindAid?

The jacket, which has matching trousers featuring the same functions, was created after I connected with the charity BlindAid. Through setting up focus groups I was able to gain an understanding of what life is like for those with visual impairments. Of course, everyone's experiences are different, so I took key points that were being mentioned multiple times. From here I was able to realise the problems my design would aim to solve within the functions of the garment. The fully magnetic design was created to avoid the use of zips (which for many was a real issue) so the jacket could effectively fasten by itself and, when using the pockets, the wearer can be assured they will close correctly for them. EMF shielding fabric lines the card pocket on the wrist so that it safeguards the card inside by blocking the transaction of a payment to ensure the wearer's safety. This specific function is a great example of the vision of wecanfly—the use of EMF shielding fabric was rooted in a solution for those who are visually impaired. That said, the pocket is universal; anyone and everyone can relate and benefit from better safety for their valuables.

How has the reception been? For one thing, you’ve received support from other industry players, such as C.P. and ByBorre… How did that come about?

The reception so far has been really positive! I’m very aware the vision of wecanfly is new in fashion and therefore it'll take longer than a like on Instagram for people to understand the purpose. However, the engagement and interest in the products have been great. Having previously worked at C.P., they supported my final year by allowing me to select fabrics from their extensive range to work with. I chose a few fabrics including their historic 50 Fili, which was pre-dyed to desired pantones—the wecanfly green. More recently I’ve been in communication with ByBorre as, like me, they’re interested in projects with a purpose that enable or enhance our lives as humans. They love wecanfly and have said there’s huge scope for us to create something together in the future. In the meantime, they’ve sent me pieces of old textiles to get a better understanding of their materials and play around with them. With this I’ve made the BC bucket hat lined with ByBorre. There will be more creations featuring their textiles coming soon. 

What are you hoping to accomplish with wecanfly, and what have you done so far that you’re most proud of?

I’m interested in how I can use my skill to work with people and create technical products which enhance and change lives. I’m proud of all my achievements prior to and including wecanfly. From my scholarship to working at Sergio, Cottweiler, Rapha and of course C.P. But to date nothing compares to seeing the enjoyment from those I’ve worked with. Like presenting the BlindAid jacket to Alex (who has 15% vision) and seeing his reaction to a product that for the first time is tailored to his needs and experiences. Having him being the first person to ever model for wecanfly was very special.