My name’s Mah Win-Son. Most people know me for the sharp cuts, the oversized layers, and the shades I never take off. The truth is, I wasn’t born into fashion—I kind of stumbled into it, piece by piece.
I grew up around a lot of noise. Not chaos, just movement. Street vendors, motorbikes, music from open windows. I was always watching what people wore—the mix of colors, textures, the way someone could make something old feel brand new. I didn’t know it then, but that was my first education.
As a teenager in South Korea, I got hooked on thrifting. Not just for the price—though that helped—but because every piece had a story. I’d dig through racks for hours, mixing old military coats with soccer jerseys, trying to make something new from something forgotten. It was my version of self-expression before I had the words for it. That hunt, that layering of eras and styles, taught me how to see clothing as something alive.
When I first started designing, it wasn’t with some big plan. I took apart an old jacket I had thrifted because I wanted to see how it worked. Then I tried to put it back together—but better. That was the first time I thought, maybe this is what I should do.
A few names really shaped how I think about fashion. Virgil Abloh showed me that streetwear could live in luxury spaces without losing its roots. He brought architecture, culture, and community into every design, and proved that someone who looked like me could lead at a big brand—maybe my own. Dapper Dan? He didn’t wait for permission. He redefined fashion from a Harlem atelier using bootlegs and boldness, turning rejection into reinvention. Raf Simons taught me how structure and emotion could live in the same silhouette. And Rei Kawakubo? She taught me that fashion doesn’t have to explain itself—it can just exist: raw, strange, and unforgettable. Each of them shifted something in me.
This year’s been an adventure. I’ve been moving, traveling, showing up in spaces I used to just study from afar. Milan Fashion Week was wild. It’s one thing to watch it online, another to walk those streets and feel that energy. And the Met Gala? Surreal. But I wasn’t there just to be seen—I was watching, soaking in every detail. Seeing how fabrics moved. What people chose not to wear. It’s like fashion’s biggest conversation happening in real time.
There are a few designers right now who make me excited: Bianca Saunders, KidSuper, Maximilian Davis. They’re doing stuff that doesn’t follow a formula, and I respect that. I don’t care if someone’s a big name—I care if the work says something.
People ask about my style a lot. It’s not about being loud; it’s about being sure. I like clean shapes, unexpected pairings, and stuff that looks lived-in but intentional. My designs live somewhere between street and statement. I don’t want them behind glass—I want them on bodies, in motion, part of people’s real lives.
Being a designer today isn’t just about clothes. It’s about identity, culture, and the moment.
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