From New York to Antwerp, fashion designer Kié Lee: “Loneliness allows me to focus”

Basel-born Kié Lee founded her label Kié Einzelgänger in New York in 2016, before relocating to Antwerp. Now in her 30s, she feels right at home among the spheres of Raf Simons, Ann Demeulemeester, and Jurgi Persoons. Parallels can be drawn with her own designs.

Lee draws creative strength from solitude. It shows in the pervasive use of black in her oeuvre, and strong silhouettes that do the talking. This visual language has led to an ongoing collaboration with Yohji Yamamoto for his avant-garde sub-label, Wildside, since 2022.

At the Antwerp Fashion Festival, opening June 4, she presents an art installation titled ‘Evidence’: screen prints on fabrics and garments, using self-portraits as a recurring motif.

You were a natural fit to the local scene of Antwerp. How is the energy different?

New York City is a great city. I still miss it a lot, but the main reason I left was the harsh economics of running a studio there. Paying high rent for such a small space just wasn't fair. Designers need high ceilings and big floors. I started to think about moving.

Unfortunately, I went through bankruptcy at the time; I started with an LLC in New York at 23. Fashion business is a huge investment; it’s obvious how that went wrong.

Rebranding in Antwerp feels very strong. I knew how to deal with this. I came with just two suitcases. The city became a safe, creative hub for me because I feel lonely here, and I'm able to focus. People are nice. A part of the 21st-century generation, I can connect internationally without problems. I think I'm going to stay here.

You introduce loneliness as something constructive.

Loneliness doesn't mean sadness for me. I was born in Switzerland, I went to Korea, I went to New York — I went through many things. I need my solitude now. I feel uncomfortable if I don't have my lonely time. If I don't have that pause built in, I don't know where I am.

In the brand’s formative years, you travelled through Japan a lot.

My admiration for Japanese designers from the 80s and 90s is what brought me to Japan at age 20 — I simply wanted to find where those pieces came from, who made them. The suppliers there are on another level, especially in dyeing — the colour tone is just different.

Over nearly nine years, I've built strong relationships with sourcing and production partners in Japan, and I've stayed with them because my audience comes from that same era (80s, 90s). They know the quality, and they expect it.

I've also learned a lot from how the Japanese work: so disciplined, precise, and they think about my future as a designer. There's really no reason for me to stop working with them, but as the brand grows, I’ll need to diversify and find partners in Europe as well.

Aesthetically, your collaboration with Yohji Yamamoto feels like a natural convergence. How was it to work together?

I was 23 when we met. It was a very generous gesture from such an established brand to offer an opportunity to a young person. Through that gesture alone, I learned a lot about having that kind of attitude.

I was in New York wearing his clothing when a team member spotted me. I was introduced to the director, and he asked if I had ever come to the Paris show. I said no — I was at Parsons, studying fashion. I decided to fly out. I spent 3,000 dollars and lost my passport on the first day to a pickpocket. It was crazy, but I had to go.

There's a spiritual form of unity in the Yamamoto team — everyone moving toward the same goal, focused. There is a lot of emotion in our kind of work, yet they just made things happen.

You're now on Wild Side Volume 5. How does the creative process work?

With the project, Yamamoto wants to merge emerging and more established brands and artists to collaborate. We meet in Paris, we meet in Japan. The process is very long. I have to ship patterns, fabric, and prototypes back and forth. We communicate mostly by mail. It's difficult, but that's how we work.

The work has changed over the years — it's much tougher now, because of how quickly the industry moves. There is no holiday. I don't remember the last time I hung out. But I'm happy.

You earned a Master’s degree in Visual Arts from the Royal Academy of Fine Arts later in your career, in 2022. Why move into the arts?

The reason I started fine art was creative stagnation. I'm a photo freak on the side. My photographer mentor recommended a Nikon ZF-C. Since then, I've taken a photo of myself almost every week. Then I started to print on clothing. I had to go to Japan last year to figure out how to do it, how sensitive it is to heat, and how to wash the textile afterwards. Because of fine art, I was able to progress my craft.

What will you be showing at the fashion festival in Antwerp?

You'll see my silkscreen print originals alongside garments bearing the same portraits, in Tommy Simoens contemporary art gallery, in the historic centre. He's also from New York. When we met last year, we connected immediately.

My first series of print production goes back to 2023. I developed this technique over two years. I worked with an artist in Japan — he's 63 years old and extraordinarily professional. I gave him my series of self-portraits, he retouched them, and then I printed them with silkscreen. I also dyed the paper to make it look like a 1920s–1940s print from the Showa period in Japan, which is my obsession era.

You've passed your thirties. What have you learned about your craft and profession?

I learned how important it is to have people who can stimulate me — whether they make me angry, hurt me with confidence, make me sad, or even make me question myself. That's the only way you get hungry for the next step. I shifted my environment to be full of people I admire.

After that, I realised how important efficiency is. Not many people can endure this kind of lifestyle. That’s why I invented my pie system — after turning 30, after I encountered so many failures, and some of my friends left me, too. I needed a way to survive.

I divide my day into a pie: I start with the most realistic things — facing the numbers, finance, and results. Reality first. In the middle part, I practice skills: languages, new techniques, and something to learn. After that, I release myself to think about something impossible — brainstorming, creative things that aren't realistic yet.

I prepare my pie during cardio. I wake up every day at 5 AM, go directly to the gym, and decide what I have to do throughout the day. I also sleep very early.

Why is facing reality first important to you?

Fashion is not art — it's a calculated business, and we designers have to sell. In the 80s, I believe it was different. Spiritually, fashion was something else. I do believe art and fashion can coexist, but we have to live with the reality that luxury and art are also businesses. Otherwise, they become polarised.

Given the high pressure on the job nowadays, is a degree in fashion still enough?

I went to Parsons New York for my fashion bachelor's. It was a great course — they teach you about your resume, how to get a job. I saw interviews with European fashion students who were able to speak about themselves very well. It felt more reflective, and I wanted to experience that. That’s why I went to the academy.

For three years, I spent a lot of time writing about Surrealism and Dadaism, which was my focus. My language changed. I learned how to speak about myself — and that's very important.

How do you plan to learn, continuously?

I want to deepen the research I have already focused on. I'm going to practice silkscreens again — that feels like a PhD to me. I learn new techniques, I make new things, and I can show the work to my audience through Instagram. I consider this my learning school for now. I’m sure I'll get stuck again at some point. Then, I will consider a PhD.