Pierre Bourdieu, Soccer, and the desire to fit in

Interview with the PROTOTYPES Duo

Laura Beham and Callum Pidgeon welcome me with a warm hug and a spritz in hand. You’d never guess they’d just endured the journey from CDG that morning to the industrial space where I’m about to interview them. The duo, partners in both work and life, have carved a path in the mainstream scene by breaking down conventional fashion norms with a cutting-edge approach to upcycling and communication. Combining a soccer-inspired aesthetic with concrete ideas to try to change retail dynamics, the designers gathered an impressive front row at their Series07 show held last July: Mowalola, Guram Gvasalia, and a host of LA-based rappers and influencers. It’s the kind of support any emerging brand would dream of, and for Laura and Callum, it seems to happen effortlessly. We met them to delve deeper into the secret of their charm, ahead of the second episode of Beyond Fashion, where they appeared alongside Fredric Saint-Parck. We ended up talking about Pierre Bourdieu, childhood, and collecting, but also about the future—especially how to change it.

«We started asking ourselves questions. What do we believe in? What do we want to be? Where do we want to go? And in the meantime, we were cutting, pinning, sewing, adding volume, breaking down and reassembling materials that already existed. A sense of responsibility emerged. During the Covid period, we thought: we need to rethink how a garment is made, from scratch.»

The first question is about your backgrounds. I know you shared a desk at Vetements; how did it all start, and how did your visions come together?

C.P.: At the time, we were both pretty young. It all started very pragmatically, with various practical tasks that came with responsibility. Demna is the most influential designer of our time, and I’m very grateful to have had the chance to work with him. He left a unique mark on our sensibilities. We needed an overview of the industry before we could create our own brand.

And what was the turning point that made you decide to move from working for a brand to founding your own?

C.P.: We started asking ourselves questions. What do we believe in? What do we want to be? Where do we want to go? And in the meantime, we were cutting, pinning, sewing, adding volume, breaking down and reassembling materials that already existed. A sense of responsibility emerged. During the Covid period, while in lockdown in Switzerland, we thought: we need to rethink how a garment is made, from scratch.

Sharing actual prototypes of your pieces and giving consumers instructions to make them themselves radically challenges the concept of ownership. In a way, you’re injecting a bit of Marx into a system that generally negates him—it’s a small but revolutionary gesture.

L.B.: There is a bit of Marx, yes. We believe in the collective, but also in uniqueness, so I’d prefer to reference Pierre Bourdieu. Here’s a practical example: you arrive at a bus stop, there are already two people on the platform, and you need to sit next to one of them. Unconsciously, you’ll choose to sit next to one rather than the other, without a clear reason—or at least without a reason you can explain rationally. This is what the whole fashion industry is based on: a matter of ego and non-ego, the desire to feel part of something while simultaneously standing out from it. I find Duchamp’s concept of the ready-made very representative of our times. In the frenzy of social media, there’s no time to digest anything anymore. An image grabs you only in the first few seconds you see it; otherwise, it leaves you indifferent. When we create a sweatshirt recycled from a pair of sweatpants, for instance, we want the original garment to still be visible. It’s about taking something ordinary, mass-produced, from everyday life, and decoding and recoding it. But the emotion that remains is that instinctual familiarity only a common object can give you.

«You can walk into any store and find a new t-shirt, not second-hand, for £5 or £10. It’s our fault if people think t-shirts grow on trees. And this is why the fashion industry is one of the most polluting in the world, because of mass production. The DIY concept, instead, turns the consumer into a producer. I don’t think anything could be more sustainable than that. I hope people rethink the value of a €5 and understand that making a garment is no easy task.»

And is this same familiarity what connects you to the working-class imagery? In your campaigns, in your pieces, the working class is often featured alongside its rituals, like soccer. Where does this connection come from?

C.P.: I grew up in the Midlands in the UK. My parents had me when they were teenagers—I think I was a lucky accident. My dad was an electrician, while my mom worked at a garden center. I still remember her green work uniform. They’re still together, happily married. It’s a happy story, but it was tough. We didn’t have much. I played soccer my whole life; the practices, the games, they marked my growth. It’s like a religion—not just playing soccer, but also rooting for it. It’s the most inclusive sport in the world. I can’t help but weave it into our research each season.

L.B.: You’re a real soccer nerd. You know every trick from the ’60s to the ’80s; you know everything. Today, I think a lot of clubs are managed as true brands, with exclusive merchandise launches. Every season, a team releases its polyester jersey that will last a season but never disappear from the planet. Sportswear is cheap and mass-produced, which makes it ideal for recycling.

How would you define soccer? A religion? An obsession?

C.P.: It’s a cult.

I’m writing a column where I ask designers about their obsessions, based on the idea that creative minds are destined to repeat an image, a thought, anything at all. So, what are your obsessions?

L.B.: Yesterday, you took a three-hour nap in front of the match, but you categorically forbade me to change the channel. Your obsession is soccer—admit it.

C.P.: It’s true (laughs).

What about yours, Laura?

L.B.: I’d say vintage. I’m a big collector, almost a hoarder, to be completely honest. I’d collect everything from coffee spoons to objects found on the street. Except for socks and underwear—I never buy anything new. Nothing I don’t absolutely love.

What should we do to more broadly change our consumption habits?

L.B.: I think it’s a matter of awareness. It’s a kind of education for the consumer, and retail has a huge responsibility in this process. You can walk into any store and probably find a new t-shirt, not second-hand, for £5 or £10. This gives people the impression that clothes are disposable. It’s our fault if people think t-shirts grow on trees. And this is why the fashion industry is one of the most polluting in the world, because of mass production. The DIY concept, instead, turns the consumer into a producer. I don’t think anything could be more sustainable than that. I hope people rethink the value of a €5 or €50 t-shirt at least, and understand that making a garment is no easy task.

Photographer Michele Perna
Interview Maria Stanchieri
Special thanks to Lampo Milano,Galleria Lampo