BEYOND THE BORDER: CHIKA KISADA

TOKYO-BASED DESIGNER CHIKA KISADA MARRIES THE CODES OF BALLET AND PUNK , CRAFTING A VISUAL LANGUAGE ALL HER OWN.

By Morgan Becker

Chika Kisada marries the codes of the classical and the underground. The Tokyo-based designer—a former ballerina and something of a current punk—launched her eponymous label without sacrificing either part of her identity. What’s more, she makes it look easy: swathing a leather coat in tulle, fashioning a leotard from denim, or Frankensteining tights from cut-up pairs in every shade of nude. It’s Barbie meets raver, free spirit meets artist. Chika comes back to this notion of “powerful elegance,” at the start of any given collection.

The designer is drawn to exactly this sort of contrast (fragility against strength, movement against stillness) having traded the rigor and discipline of ballet for punk’s boundary-breaking sartorial expressions. She derives inspiration from the fact that, although she’s switched mediums, the skills and values fashion and dance have instilled in her ethos will always feed her. The Chika Kisada woman, in that vein, “[dresses] not to become someone else, but to return to who they truly are. Transforming even their vulnerability and scars into strength, living with quiet resilience.”

Beyond the Border is a series spotlighting international designers—crossing not just physical boundaries, but also creative ones. It harnesses the power of AI to set designs in motion, photographed traditionally, then animated for the online realm.

MORGAN BECKER: How would you describe the fashion scene in Tokyo, and how does Chika Kisada fit into the mix?

CHIKA KISADA: Tokyo’s fashion is chaotic yet free-spirited. But within that chaos is a kind of order—an underlying delicateness and stillness. Chika Kisada seeks to embody and reinforce that quietude. It’s about translating the subtle “fluctuations” within myself into garments.

MB: Who got you interested in clothing?

CK: There wasn’t a single defining figure, but the friends I met in high school had a significant impact. We shared common goals and a deep commitment to ballet within a highly specialized and disciplined environment—yet in their private lives, many of my classmates were also deeply invested in fashion. That contrast naturally sparked my own interest in clothing.

MB: Your last collection was all about juxtaposition—“the elegance of ballet” against “the energy of punk.” What interested you in those qualities in the first place?

CK: Both represent what I see as the raw emotions of being alive. Ballet expresses beauty through rigorous self-discipline, while punk embodies the impulse to break through constraints. I’ve always been drawn to that interplay between stillness and motion within the human spirit.

MB: Where would you say they show up materially in the work?

CK: It appears in contrasts, like hard-edged materials veiled beneath supple tulles. I intentionally introduce tension or distortion within elegance. I value the beauty that resides in imperfection.

MB: How did you make the transition from ballet to fashion?

CK: I stepped away from the stage after struggling with physical and mental balance. But losing the ability to dance only intensified my need to express. That impulse gradually began to take the shape of clothing. From body to fabric… The medium changed, but the core desire has remained the same.

MB: If you could design the costumes for any ballet, which would you choose?

CK: My current self would choose Romeo and Juliet. The coexistence of love and death in the story evokes a dynamic blend of sensitivity and impulse, of beauty and destruction. I’d love to explore that emotional gradation through fabric and silhouette.

MB: What do you listen to as you design your collections?

CK: My range is quite wide—from classical composers like Chopin to industrial techno that you might hear at Berghain. But I’m consistently drawn to sounds that seem to vibrate through the air. Whether in music or in clothing, I’m fascinated by things that carry a sense of fluctuation.

MB: Your last runway looks featured Barbie dolls, and a lot of pink. Tell us about that.

CK: I wanted to introduce a subtle dissonance with an icon often seen as the embodiment of perfection. It was a gesture toward questioning mass-produced ideals of beauty and value, infused with both affection and discomfort.

And pink, to me, holds far more than sweetness—it can carry anger, intent, and contradiction. It’s not simply “cute,” but a color layered with complexity. That very tension resonates deeply with who I am right now.

MB: How do you imagine the Chika Kisada Woman—the average person you design for?

CK: They dress not to become someone else, but to return to who they truly are. Transforming even their vulnerability and scars into strength, living with quiet resilience. A grounded presence—unbound by age or gender, defined by an unwavering sense of self.

MB: Your silhouettes are often sculptural, exaggerated; what do you hope they communicate?

CK: They are both armor to protect the body and a mirror reflecting the soul.

MB: Where do you hope to take your label from here?

CK: Toward garments that are both more personal and more universal—pieces that stand alongside the wearer’s life with quiet presence and enduring relevance.