For Harri KS, the body is a site of play. The London-based designer, who was born in Kerala and studied at the London College of Fashion (LCF), has become known for sculptural silhouettes inflated with air—an approach that feels at once theatrical and exacting. His designs stretch across latex and cotton, soft fabrics and hard lines, always returning to one core logic: the body must be able to move. “It can’t float above the body,” he says simply. “It has to function like clothing.”
This focus on wearability is rooted in his upbringing. Before fashion school, Harri spent years helping his father in a rubber plantation. Now, that same material forms the basis of many of his collections, a full-circle moment for the designer. But more than just poetic coincidence, it points to a deeper, technical relationship with clothing: one shaped by the practicalities of South Asian life. “In India, clothes are understood as functional objects. Even when I design extreme forms, that thinking stays with me.”
Climate, too, plays a central role in his process. Harri doesn’t design only for London; his audience is global, spanning Southeast Asia to Europe. “When I make ready-to-wear, I always think about climate. It can’t be too heavy, too light—it has to exist in the middle.” For him, designing for heat isn’t just a challenge, it’s a responsibility. Fabric weight, cooling technologies, fibre blends—all of these are deliberate choices, folded into the early stages of creation. Often, a design begins with an abstract sketch—something scribbled on a train ride or passed between hands in the studio. From there, it becomes a question of how to wrap the body around it—how to transform air and fabric into something structural, wearable and a little surreal.
This sense of experimentation is where Harri finds the most joy. Some of his most recognisable pieces—like the ones worn by Sam Smith or Tommy Cash—were created in days, under pressure, with little time to overthink. “There were no expectations,” he says. “That’s what made it fun.” Still, running a young label comes with less glamorous realities: self-managed logistics, stuck shipments, endless calls with customs officials.“Big brands have shipping agents. We do it all ourselves,” he says. “I cut patterns and also talk to UPS.” These challenges are especially acute for designers operating between Asia and the West, who face layered obstacles of visa rules and industry access.
“Everyone pays tribute to their craft, but we need to reimagine it.” That’s why Harri has larger goals; beyond building a sustainable studio, he hopes to eventually fund scholarships and mentorships for South Asian students. “Fashion’s already risky. Why make it harder with loans and immigration stress?”
It’s a long-term vision, rooted in solidarity. When asked about cultural representation, the designer shares that he avoids overt references in his work. “I try to make things open-ended. I don’t want it to rely on a specific culture or require a certain background to understand. People should find their own meaning.” He believes South Asia has enormous potential as a site of craft, climate innovation, experimentation and design futurism. What’s missing, he says, is support. “Everyone pays tribute to their craft, but we need to reimagine it. There’s so much technical talent, but not enough support for experimentation. That’s what’s missing.
With trend cycles accelerating and expectations mounting, Harri stays grounded. He takes breaks from Instagram, releases old work and keeps the studio moving. “If I stay sincere in the work, I trust it will grow on its own.” As his studio finds its rhythm, the designer makes mental health his priority by taking breaks from social media and embracing the creative power of reset. A fresh slate, after all, is often where inspiration returns.
How did your label come to life?
It started on Instagram. I was doing my Master’s at LCF and my final collection got shared a lot online after Dazed picked it up. That turned into real requests and that turned into a brand. Everything was organic.
What sparked your fascination with air and inflatable forms?
I used to be into bodybuilding, almost professionally. When I left it, I had this energy that needed a new outlet. I love making things and figuring stuff out. I’m naturally creatively curious. Sculpting with air was a challenge introduced to me by my tutors and I embraced it right away. I started with something simple, like a balloon, and then pushed myself further. How far can I take this? Can I make it different? Can I bring something new? Every time I approach it, it’s about challenging myself to sculpt in a fresh way.
How do you keep your designs wearable?
It can’t float above the body, it has to function like clothing. That practicality comes from growing up in India.
How does the climate influence your design choices?
When I make ready-to-wear, I always think about climate. It can’t be too heavy, too light—it has to exist in the middle. When sourcing fabrics and working with textiles, it’s essential to maintain specific weights—that part is quite technical. It comes down to fabric weight, yarn choice and fibre selection. For example, polyester fabrics can feel warmer, but when combined with cooling technologies, they achieve a similar breathability to cotton.
Can you walk us through your creative process?
Sometimes it starts with a sketch—something scribbled on paper or shared in the studio. Then I figure out how to wrap the body around it—how to make it structural, wearable, a little surreal.
“Everyone pays tribute to their craft, but we need to reimagine it.”
What were some of your challenges in building the brand?
Big brands have shipping agents, but for us, we do it all ourselves. I cut patterns and also talk to UPS. One shipment got stuck in India for hours because of missing paperwork.
How do cultural influences find their way into your work?
I try to make things open-ended. I don’t want it to rely on a specific culture or require a certain background to understand. People should find their own meaning.
The September issue of Vogue Singapore—themed ‘The Big Fall issue’—is available online and on newsstands.
