A teenage Camiel Fortgens was sketching up designs for sneakers and clothes long before his own line came into being. Through working in a vintage store, sorting garments in his teens and early adulthood, Fortgens gained an intimate understanding of how clothes are transformed by everyday life: garments become faded by the sun, distressed by abrasion, and stained by long-term use.

However, Fortgens wasn’t attracted to any fashion programs back then, and remains averse to the word “fashion” today. To him, fashion as we know it represents commerce and fleeting trends. “I’m more interested in the garments themselves — how they’re constructed, how they sit on the body, the fabrics, and the materials,” he notes.

The Dutch designer’s eponymous label was founded in 2014, following his graduation from the Design Academy Eindhoven, where he enrolled in the branding-focused “Identity” program. There, he was confronted with the ways that products are shaped by the manufacturing process, a jumping-off point for Fortgens’ deconstructed designs.

Today, even though Fortgens’ brand is more than a decade old, his unconventional start still informs its ethos, which can be summed up as “perfectly imperfect.” Raw cuts fray at the edges on many pieces, while others might have a twisted fit or asymmetrical construction. For Fortgens, these intentionally off details aren’t mere aesthetic choices; they’re signs of life.

“In garments and imagery, everything has become a perfect object or picture. I think it’s quite dangerous that imperfection is disappearing,” Fortgens says. “By eliminating all imperfections from the world we live in, you can’t live up to the perfection of everything around.”

What he describes echoes modern industry’s obsession with maximum efficiency and immediacy, which buff out the blemishes that make individual objects unique. You could even argue that the fashion term “ready-to-wear” obscures the real scale of labor involved in production before a garment reaches someone’s closet.

Camiel Fortgens’s embrace of error is exactly what makes his label stand out in an era driven by algorithmic certainty and seamlessness. Or, as he puts it, “It’s nice to try something and fail, because that’s what creates new things.” Speaking from his Amsterdam studio, Fortgens gave context to his offbeat approach to design and where he hopes to steer the brand next.

You’ve expressed a dislike for the term “fashion.” If fashion isn’t what you hope to do with your label, what are you hoping to create?

Camiel Fortgens: “Fashion,” for me, stands for a trend — something temporary that’s in style for a little bit. I’m not really interested in short-term trends. I’m more interested in the garments themselves — how they’re constructed, how they sit on the body, the fabrics, and the materials. I hope they last longer than “fashion” does.

When people call me a fashion designer, I’m not sure I fit that definition in the sense of designing a collection that’s “on trend” for a season. I don’t really design “looks” — it’s more about pieces I like, or a shape I think of.

Can you say more about your university studies and how you ended up designing garments?

I actually started designing clothes when I was fourteen. First, I designed sneakers but started to design more clothing in high school. When I finished high school, I looked at fashion programs, but nothing appealed to me, so I visited the Industrial Design School at the Design Academy Eindhoven, which grasped me with its open view of design. Everybody could do their own thing.

In the first year, you did everything: life drawing, wooden chairs, ceramics. Along the way, I chose the direction called “Identity,” which is more or less about branding and creative direction. So I didn’t really make any garments — more movies, products, and concepts. But for my graduation collection, I wanted to combine what comes naturally, which has always been designing clothes, with everything I learned there. That was the start.

I didn’t know you started by drawing footwear. What shoes do you have in rotation at the moment?

I never turned out to be a sneakerhead in the end. I love the core classics. I have my Blundstones — good for Dutch weather — and Birkenstocks. I want my shoes to be functional. I have a pair of Asics runners. I also really like the Nike Air Forces from the Hender Scheme Manual Industrial Products Series.

Did you ever have doubts because you didn’t have an academic background in fashion?

No, I was always happy coming in from the outside, and that really became the identity of the brand. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t even know how to make patterns or sew. I didn’t know who to reach out to. I didn’t know anything about the business, so I started by doing it and finding my own way.

I didn’t know that if you want to start a business, you’re supposed to go to Paris, present it in a certain way, and create a whole collection. So I learned what did and didn’t work by doing it. Sometimes, the freedom of not knowing and just trying things is less scary because you don’t have the expectation of failure. It’s been like a master’s project in the fashion business; I’m learning everything along the way, which enables us to find new ways to do things.

One of your recent collections was inspired by American vintage, and I heard that you worked in a store specializing in American vintage as a teenager. Is that right?

Yeah, it’s true. It acts like a subconscious filter. It was my first job; I worked there on and off from when I was 16 to 25. They imported vintage from the US, and I was unpacking and pricing it. I learned so much along the way, and I guess that came out in the collections — the Americana workwear vibe has always been there.

Would you say that you’re somebody who still enjoys vintage shopping today?

I still enjoy vintage, but it has become so popular that it’s hard to find gems. If you go to a store now, it is all so organized that the good pieces are filtered out and very expensive. Nonetheless, my biggest inspiration is still vintage. It captures the time and culture.

You can find the human touch in vintage pieces — somebody put their hand in the pocket, and it got greasy, or the sun faded it, or maybe they reworked it. The human aspect of time is embedded in that piece.

Has being from the Netherlands shaped the identity of your brand at all?

I always used to think when I made a coat, “Will it stand the rain and cold, and can I ride my bike?” But people who buy our clothes don’t always cycle in the rain, so I let that go. I sometimes wonder if it’s in the style of the brand — if it’s a Dutch thing to be a bit rebellious and have a sense of humor in it.

You recently showcased a “Cut to Wear” t-shirt concept with Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum. Where does your interest in highlighting the industrial design process come from?

While becoming a brand, I learned that almost everything in garments is handwork. Looking from the outside, you might think it’s machine work or industrial, but it is just handwork supported by machines.

Looking back, what surprised me about studying industrial design was that most products are designed around the possibilities of how they are made in production, except for garments. To me, it’s quite strange that the major market — fashion — is behind in that sense. I thought it could be interesting to research and design from that standpoint.

I think there’s an unawareness around how much handwork is involved, how to treat garments, and what’s behind the price. It’s a sort of disrespect for the garment and the people who make it. That’s what I want to highlight in our collection: that hands are involved, so you can relate more or feel a connection to the garment.

What is the value of imperfection to you?

It comes down to valuing yourself. By eliminating all imperfections from the world we live in, you can’t live up to the perfection of everything around. So you think, “I’m not good, I can’t do this.”

In garments and imagery, everything has become a perfect object or picture. I think it’s quite dangerous that “imperfect” imagery is disappearing. It can make people insecure and feel less free. It’s nice to try something and fail, because that’s what creates new things.

That’s how most of the things I like from our collections come to exist — because something went wrong. I’m not a designer who sketches a look, and that’s the design; rather, it’s sculpted along the way. Maybe we have leftover fabric and try something quickly, or three colors of stitch yarn end up in one machine. New things happen.

How do you decide the balance between maintaining that symmetry and irregularity? How do you know when it’s enough?

That’s a fine line. It’s really a feeling. I like things to be wearable. I want it to be an object you can cherish and wear. In the core collections, we try to have wearable pieces with just enough of a twist.

If we have time, I like to work on the “Research Collection,” which is where we really go crazy and let everything happen without thinking about wearability. But we also have to run the business. So it’s always a struggle to get that balance right between the bread and butter and the showpieces.

What comes first when you’re starting a collection? Is it fabrics, patterns, or a concept?

There are two different things. On one side, there is the business part: what will our core collection look like? Which styles perform well? On the other hand, it’s random thoughts, ideas, books, pictures, or a vintage garment I think would work well — so that could be the colors, the fabrics, or it could be a detail.

For the last summer collection, I was interested in the fading of fabrics by the sun. The collection before that was a muddy British hunting vibe. This season, we’re doing something like urban caveman/mountaineer.

Do you seek inspiration or do you allow it to arrive naturally?

I think both. Nowadays, I have to forcefully look for it as well. I have one image, and will continue looking at other things around that subject. Due to time, when I was young, I just wandered around, and everything came over me. Now there’s less time, and I say, “OK, now I’m going to look for it.” It always starts with a random thing I see or stumble upon. For this season, I’ve been wearing more practical outdoor gear myself, so maybe I wanted to bring that element in.

Could you describe a piece from the collection you’re developing right now?

Last winter, we started working on a waxed hunting jacket, like a Barbour. I love working around these archetypal pieces. We also started working on bags more. It’s a challenge because bags are such a specialist thing to work on, and we’re really searching for our own language.

It’s not only the shapes but a lot of fabric developments this season. There’s also a shift from oversized — which we were always doing — to more fitted. We did a fitted zip hoodie in wool that acts like a track jacket, which is really functional.

What do you think the fashion industry needs more of in 2026, and what does it need less of?

We definitely need fewer of these cheaply produced clothes, like Shein. We need more quality fabrics, which I think we’re seeing with brands like Auralee. Vintage used to have such high-quality fabrics, but my old boss said that now the quality is so poor. So less quantity, more quality. I would say for myself, invest in good pieces instead of more pieces.

I would also like to add the importance of the team. We have a small team — five full-time — and without these people, we are nothing. We are the company. In the beginning, I thought it was weird that people wanted to interview me because we’re really doing this together. Some things start with me, and others come from the team — that’s not really shown in the fashion landscape.

And, if I’m good at something, and someone on my team is good at something else, we can combine our strengths and are capable of so much more. That’s something I’d like to add to the fashion landscape: don’t push each other away, do it together.