Why do Tim Soar and Brice Partouche, founders of the two most premium runwear labels Soar and Satisfy, never present in sportswear themselves?

Generally speaking, the two most premium runwear labels don’t share all too much in common. Satisfy’s limited runs lean actively into luxury, and their bold typographies or semi-functional Mothtech (punctured cotton as organic pun on breathable polyester) into streetwear. Soar, on the other hand, content themselves with the thoughtful pattern-making and subtle designs with which today’s lifestyle runner contradicts decades of primary colors and aztec patterns. What unites the brands, though, is besides success and price point, their founders‘ hesitation to present in sportswear themselves.

All-jeans looks, heeled Chelseas, and pitch-black corduroy shirts epitomise the private wardrobes of both designers. Rather than utilising personal style to weave images of their authenticity and experience as runners, Soar and Partouche instead portray themselves as outsiders to the industry. Consequently, one expects from them, who have apparently self-elected a field they weren’t born into, particularly lucid and disruptive contributions. (Why, if not for an irresistible idea, would they have converted, we infer.)

Assume, by way of counterexample, that Tim Soar wore a running kit of his own make or a pair of rare and celebrated sportstyle shoes to his Designer’s Notes on Film, short videos in which he showcases his fabrications. Then we would need to worry that his visibly concentrated private world distorted his perception such that his output conformed no longer to what the world, but only his entrenched mind demands. It would appear he runs circles in the world he created and loves, or in the more drastic case of sought-after sneakers, was steered by values valid only within his niche.

That’s why Soar and Partouche strategically articulate their lucidity through the fashion of a subculture or field distinct from that they produce for.

It is interesting to note that origin myths around cross-entry will always benefit makers of functional things, but much less those whose output is measured aesthetically alone. The traditional fashion designer is not expected to maintain the same overview over the problems of the raw world, as well as corresponding solutions material culture currently has on offer, that the producer of novel and useful equipment must possess. Although we are no doubt captivated by cross-journeys such as the world-famous artist‘s unlikely ascent from disadvantaged conditions, it is precisely their tunnel vision by which we explain firstly their break with their roots, and next their artistic imagination. In the same vein, we cherish the traditional designer-as-artist whose perception does not reach beyond the world they continually create, and for whom—think of Rick Owens, say—their own fabrications, which they wear exclusively, appear to be the only out there. But if unlike the artist you are not meant to create worlds, but create for a world, then you better symbolise the lucidity of the foreigner.