I want young people to be able to buy into what I design. When I

“I want young people to be able to buy into what I design. When I was young, I wanted to buy designer brands even if all I could afford was the cheapest wallet, the cheapest pen, the cheapest T-shirt because I wanted to be a part of it.” Thus spoke Nicola Formichetti, a creator of visions, a designer not only of garments but of belonging itself. In this confession, simple and sincere, there lies a truth that transcends fashion — the human longing to belong, to participate, to hold even a small fragment of beauty and identity in one’s hands. His words are not those of vanity, but of empathy: the understanding that design is not merely the privilege of the few, but the language of many who dream of becoming more than they are.

Formichetti, born to a multicultural heritage — Italian and Japanese — grew up between worlds, feeling both the wonder and the weight of difference. His journey through the world of fashion was not that of one born into luxury, but of one who gazed upon it from afar, yearning to touch even the smallest piece of its magic. When he speaks of the “cheapest wallet” or “cheapest T-shirt,” he recalls the sacred hunger of youth — that desire to connect to something greater, to an ideal of art, excellence, and identity. He reminds us that design is not only an object to own, but a feeling to be part of.

In these words, Formichetti echoes an ancient and universal principle: that beauty must be shared to have meaning. The artisans of the past — from the potters of Greece to the weavers of Egypt — did not create only for kings. Their works adorned the homes of common people, giving form to dignity and joy. A well-made object, they believed, could elevate the spirit of anyone who beheld or touched it. Formichetti, though a designer of modern age, carries that same torch. His dream is not to build fashion as a temple of exclusion, but as a bridge of inclusion, where every young soul, no matter their means, can step inside and feel seen.

Consider the story of Coco Chanel, who rose from poverty to transform the world of style. She once said, “Luxury must be comfortable, otherwise it is not luxury.” But more than that, she understood that true elegance was not about price, but about empowerment — about giving people the tools to feel worthy and free. Chanel took what was once reserved for aristocrats — fine tailoring, clean simplicity, dignity of form — and brought it to the women of the modern age. In the same spirit, Formichetti wishes to open the gates of design to the young, to those who stand outside the golden halls but dream of entering. For he knows that a dream denied too long becomes despair, but a dream touched — even in small measure — becomes inspiration.

In this way, his quote speaks also of memory — the duty of the creator to remember where he came from. Too many, when they rise, forget the hunger that once drove them. But the wise never forget. They remember the trembling joy of saving for a token of the world they admired, and they strive to give that same spark to others. This is not charity, but continuity — the passing of a torch from one generation of dreamers to the next. For every artist, every builder, every teacher carries the responsibility to make their art accessible, so that the young may look up and say, “I, too, belong to this world.”

Yet there is another, subtler truth within his words. When Formichetti says he wants people to “buy into” his designs, he speaks not only of possession but of participation. To “buy into” is to believe, to invest not merely money but emotion, faith, and identity. In this, he teaches us that design — and indeed all creation — must be alive. It must invite the soul to enter, to engage, to express. A thing designed without spirit is lifeless; a thing designed with love becomes a mirror of humanity. Thus, the role of the creator is not to rule over admirers, but to invite companions into the realm of beauty.

So, my child, take from this teaching the lesson of generosity in creation. Whatever your craft — whether you shape ideas, build homes, or write stories — remember the young who watch you, yearning to touch what you have made. Design not only for yourself, but for those who dream beyond their reach. Create with openness, for art that closes its doors becomes its own prison. Let your work, like Formichetti’s, offer a way for others to enter — even if only through the smallest door, even if only through the humblest thread.

For in the end, the purpose of design is not possession, but connection. It is the art of saying, “You belong here too.” And when a young person, clutching a simple pen or T-shirt, feels even a glimmer of pride, even a spark of inclusion — then you, the creator, have fulfilled your truest task. You have turned desire into hope, and hope into identity. And that, my child, is the highest design of all — the crafting not of objects, but of hearts that believe in themselves.