Sneaker constructor

Ever wonder how a pair of worn-out sneakers can be transformed into something entirely new? In this interview, Helen Kirkum – who literally lets you build sneakers with her, from scratch – shares her unique process of reimagining sneakers as both personal keepsakes and fresh design statements. Her work is a bold contradiction: unfiltered yet thoughtful, blending raw materials with personal history to challenge the ordinary.

hube: Your Bespoke approach to reimagining old pairs of sneakers into something completely new turns worn, sentimental sneakers into entirely new designs. How do you balance preserving the emotional history of the original pairs while creating something so distinct that it feels like a fresh start?

Helen Kirkum: Bespoke is one of my absolute favourite things to do in the whole business because it is very personal to our clients. It all comes down to good communication with the client and understanding what they want. They send us up to six pairs of their shoes – these could be their first basketball shoes, the sneakers they got married in, or ones they ran a marathon in. Sometimes people just send us six pairs and say, ‘These are crazy, do what you like’.

But quite often, each pair is very personal. We listen to the stories behind their products – sometimes it’s a sentimental reason, sometimes it’s for a big birthday, a gift for someone else, or it marks a significant moment in their life. For instance, if somebody sends me an Air Max 95 and explains they wore them to a concert, I can extract those memories and put them back together. Every single customer is unique – the shoes and their stories are always different, and the anarchy of taking loads of brands, mashing them up, and rebuilding them feels fresh and unusual. It’s a way to honour the client’s relationship with their products while showing them how they can inject their personality into it.

h: Would you say that creating these shoes sometimes feels like connecting the past, present, and future – a timeline of personal milestones?

HK: Definitely. It is a signifier of all those moments. Every pair of shoes they give me comes from their life and marks different milestones. Then, whatever we create is for something current – like a 50th birthday – and after that, the reimagined shoe lives on in their collection. Some clients are very precious about them, hardly wear them, and keep them as their holy grails on the shelf. But I always try to encourage customers to wear the shoes so that they add more layers to the story, which I love.

h: Have you ever intended to create shoes that are purely art – pieces that just sit on a shelf – or is it always important that they remain wearable?

HK: It’s really important to me that they’re wearable because, although the concept is super conceptual and unusual, at the end of the day, a shoe has to function. To take all those pieces and put them into a product that you can’t wear just doesn’t make sense to me. I studied traditional shoemaking for a long time, and I’m a cobbler, so I know how to make a shoe well. For me, it’s about taking that traditional idea of shoemaking, modernising it, and adding these unusual twists. Sure, I can make unwearable artworks, but if I’m making a shoe, it’s got to be practical. It should be a shoe.

h: Transforming someone’s favourite sneakers into a singular new pair is a bold concept. How did you come up with this idea, and what’s the most surprising reaction you’ve had from a client when they saw their legacy sneakers reimagined for the first time?

HK: It’s kind of similar to the last point for me. I earned a Bachelor’s degree in footwear design in Northampton, the home of traditional footwear in the UK. There, I learned how to make a brogue very practically, working in a setting with the church’s factory, with brands like Cheney’s, Grenson, and other British powerhouses of footwear design. I learned how to make a good quality product and respect the process of making. 

After my BA, I did a master’s degree at the Royal College of Art, and that’s where I first started delving into sneakers. I realised there’s something so sentimental about shoes in general, especially sneakers. When I started asking friends and family for their old shoes to cut up, everyone was so precious about their sneakers. Nobody wanted to give them up because they had such sentimental value. That got me on this path of exploring the emotional connection people have with products. Client reactions are always different. Sometimes, we only get a lovely email when a product arrives in Tokyo or New York, but when clients come to the studio, they’re often excited or even overwhelmed – it can be a very emotional experience. Whether it’s a present from their parents, a shoe made for a loved one, or a symbol of a significant life moment, seeing their shoes reassembled in that way is a once-in-a-lifetime product. We take it very seriously.

h: Your work involves breathing new life into end-of-life materials. Was there a moment when a piece of material surprised you or transformed your original concept?

HK: It’s really interesting because Bespoke work is a bit different – the shoes clients send in mean something to them, but our other products come from end-of-life materials that people no longer value, except maybe me. I remember a few years ago, I did a project for a Swiss museum exhibition on sneaker culture. They sent me loads of iconic sneakers from different years, and I cut them up and made them into a new shoe. That was the first time I understood the cultural value of the material beyond just the emotional connection. I had always been interested in the worn aesthetic and how material changes over time, but these were archive pieces. People would point out, ‘Oh, that’s from a Jordan 4 or an Air Max 1,’ and even the individual components had cultural significance. That project made me realise there’s another client out there for Bespoke work – not just sentimental products but also massive Nike collectors who want to see culturally relevant shoes combined in a certain way.

h: Working with archive pieces must be intimidating at times – so many valuable elements, and you have to create something new while preserving their essence. Was it difficult?

HK: Sometimes, I think the beauty of my work lies in my naivety toward the sneaker industry. I never came from a strict sneakerhead background; I approach sneakers as raw materials – shapes, colours, textures – rather than as these untouchable holy grails. That’s why some people might think my work is outrageous, asking, ‘How can you cut that up? How did you take that apart?’ I simply don’t overthink it – I just get my scalpel and go for it. I view the shoes as raw materials and not as sacred objects, and that allows me to work freely.

h: Sneakers have been your canvas, but if you were to reimagine your practice in another medium – perhaps furniture, art, or even tech – what would you create and why?

HK: I’m definitely keen to explore that. I’ve started dipping my toe into other projects. In our in-house production, we take old shoes and essentially create a fabric out of them, which we then use to make products. Now that we’ve mastered that technique, we can apply it elsewhere. I’m very interested in furniture and interiors – I’m passionate about interior design. For example, a few years ago, we made a lounge chair entirely out of insoles. Insoles, which are made of foam, aren’t suitable for wearable products, but they work brilliantly in furniture. It’s about extracting the elements we work with and finding a new industry where they make sense.

h: Your designs promote sustainability, yet the fashion industry struggles with scaling such practices. Do you see a pathway for your creative flow to influence mass production sustainably?

HK: I hope so, but it’s such a hard one. Fashion and the sneaker industries are massive, completely driven by newness, hype, and the constant rotation of seasons and products. Going against that grain is quite scary. In the past few months and years, I’ve started thinking about a new philosophy. The fashion system is set up with seasonal collections every few months, but that contradicts how we actually live – our wardrobes are transitional, and we don’t just throw out all our clothes after three months. I try to tap into what my customers truly want instead of forcing myself into a seasonal hamster wheel of production. I believe there’s a space where production can be more sustainable if it’s aligned with what’s relevant for people.

h: Your deconstructed style is iconic and has shaped a trend in contemporary design. How do you keep innovating while staying true to the ethos of your aesthetic?

HK: I graduated with this kind of deconstructed sneaker collection back in 2016. In those first few years, you could see fractures of my work resonating in the industry – especially in luxury sneakers and streetwear sneakers. The aesthetic was inspiring to people, but that’s only half the story. The industry often picks up on the look but not the ethos behind it. I’ve always been driven to show that this isn’t just about cutting up and sticking pieces together so everything looks rough and ready. 

This is a manifesto of making things – a way of creating that values and honours the material as found. I’m inspired by waste and post-consumer products. I receive all these old shoes without knowing what I’ll get, and each one informs my work. Sometimes, it might be something unexpected like laces full of knots or a piece with duct tape keeping it together – these authentic details spark new ideas. I’m not analysing the industry; I simply let the material inspire me, which keeps the innovation constant.

h: Imperfection is a key part of your aesthetic. Has there been a moment when a ‘flaw’ became the defining feature of a piece you worked on?

HK: Yeah, all the time. I love mistakes. When you’re designing by working with your hands, you’re bound to create something different from what you initially intended. For example, right now, we’re developing a lot of bags, and sometimes I experiment with a weird strap – maybe I put it on the wrong way, upside down, inside out – and then I walk around the studio to see if it still works as a flaw or if it affects the integrity of the product. 

One of the best examples was in 2019, during my first collaboration with Adidas. I was in their factory, and when they make a sole, it goes into a mould where the material gets squished from the top and bottom, causing it to squirt out of the side. Normally, you see a straight seam on the side of a sneaker, but I noticed that the edge of the sole became a crazy, wiggly line of cured rubber. The factory would carefully cut it off to make it look neat, but I asked the lady working there, ‘Can you leave it a bit wonky?’ In the end, that uncropped edge – what we now call the flash – became a defining feature of our global productions. It’s something unique that shows the remnants of the making process.

h: Your workspace is part artist’s studio, part laboratory, and part treasure trove of materials. How does the physical environment of your studio shape your creative process?

HK: That’s such a nice description of the studio – it really is accurate. I love being in my studio because I feel incredibly lucky to have created a space with all the tools to make things out of nothing. We have the machinery and the materials to play around with, and sometimes, I have to remind myself to step back from the day-to-day because when you’re on your laptop constantly, you can get bogged down. I’m surrounded by materials, and it’s essential to remember to play and experiment without being too precious about them. That space where you can experiment freely is crucial. At the same time, it’s important to get out of the studio occasionally to see something different; otherwise, you’re just constantly surrounded by old shoes.

h: What are your hopes for the future of the fashion industry? 
HK: Well, as we touched on earlier, sustainability is such a big word – it means everything and nothing at the same time. I’d really love for the industry to adopt the idea that waste, especially post-consumer waste material, is a precious resource – something primary and valuable. I want people to see the beauty in it and return to fixing, mending, and caring for the products we own. Valuing the longevity of what we own should feel natural and normal rather than being driven by a constant desire for newness. I feel naively optimistic that there are many good people in this industry doing incredible things, and it’s important for everyone doing something good to keep going because we need each other.