Featured image: photo by Aboidun David Banjo
Through a Q&A with a London-based intern designer, this piece traces how circular details evolve from practical features into a design language shaping how we wear and personalise fashion
The round holes all over Crocs. The metal eyelets on the side of the Converse Chuck Taylor. The small loop stitched onto the back of a shirt. The two slits cut into a leather diamond patch on a backpack.
In fashion, we usually consider holes a defect, or we barely notice them at all. But these tiny circles do more work than we give them credit for. These details are particularly delicate in a city like London, where the weather changes multiple times a day, and busy commuting is the rhythm of life. Not only do they exist as a functional design, but they also invite us to participate in fashion more actively. They can quietly control how we wear, move, and even identify ourselves. A hole is the subtraction of something removed, but it still creates the possibility of personalisation.
To explore how these small design elements perform within the context of London, I spoke with Ryan Li, a fashion student and intern at London-based fashion brands.
Q: Could you briefly introduce yourself and your current role in the fashion industry?
A: Hello. My name is Ryan Li, I’m majoring in Fashion Design and Development at LCF. I’m currently doing my internship at Savvas Alexander and Studio Nicholson.
Q: In your experience, how are circular design elements discussed during the design process?
A: I believe that in most cases, holes, eyelets, and loops are primarily functional design elements. For instance, in functional clothing, you might intentionally create a breathable ventilation hole under the arms to facilitate faster sweat evaporation. Another example could be the loop often designed specifically for hanging.
Q: How would you describe London’s fashion approach to practicality versus aesthetics?
A: I believe London leans more toward workwear-style clothing in terms of functionality, given its deep historical roots. Consequently, many brands build upon these foundational garments for further creative development. Additionally, there’s a prevalence of military-inspired designs. Take the trench coat, for instance, whose wartime utility has evolved into windproof protection against modern British weather.
When it comes to London’s aesthetic, “diverse” strikes me as an apt description. Everyone here carries their own cultural background while navigating life in this country. Therefore, it cannot be described by a single style or term.
In this context, small holes become practical responses to climate and movement. If London’s weather were consistently cold and damp in a different way, designers might prioritise other details entirely, perhaps even more protective silhouettes or alternative constructions.
Q: Can these circular details take on symbolic meaning beyond their function in shaping identity and community?
A: I think that’s certainly true. If you use many of the same design details, that can become your design language. Take my current brand, Savvas Alexander, for instance. They use lasers to cut many small circles into the fabric, which can be considered ventilation holes, and ultimately incorporate these fabrics into their collections. These circles are no longer seen as functional but as design details.
Working inside a fashion brand has changed how I see small details in garments, as I now hold myself to the brand’s standards to improve my own future garment finishing. Attention to the smallest cut-out becomes part of professional discipline, not just a matter of aesthetic taste.
Q: Some holes, like those on Crocs, become sites of personalisation. Do you think brands intentionally leave room for this?
A: I had a pair of their eyelet shoes when I was in high school. I bought them simply because I needed a pair of sandals; there wasn’t any trend of adding accessories back then. So, I think that in the early stages of shoe design, functionality was probably the primary focus. But in recent years, because Crocs needs to follow fashion trends or increase profits, they’ve adopted creative ideas to make them more appealing to young people. What began as functionality now invites customisation. The hole shifts from regulating airflow to asking the customers what they will show.
In this way, design features like holes can subtly discipline how consumers use a garment. The more holes there are, the more exposed the interior becomes. Therefore, we need to consider whether we need to add another layer inside.
In a city like London, where getting dressed is always a negotiation between weather and movement, the round cut-out can carry more surprising weight than we imagine. A hole may begin as ventilation or simple construction logic, but it rarely stays there. It develops as a design language, a marketing strategy, even a canvas for personalisation. What looks like empty space is actually a quiet framework that shapes how we wear our clothes and how we choose to show ourselves within them.
