Why a Pure Creative Vision Is Both Your Greatest Strength and Your Biggest Risk

A Conversation with Takuji the Founder of NVRFRGT

Some designers build brands to say something to the world. Others build brands to say something to themselves.

When I sat down with the founder of NVRFRGT, what became clear almost immediately is that this brand was never about making a statement. It was about making a promise: to never lose the feeling that made him fall in love with fashion in the first place.

That promise has a name rooted in Buddhism. Not as religion, but as personal discipline. The idea of holding onto an original impulse, no matter how much noise surrounds you, became the foundation of everything the brand does.

Four years in, the question is no longer whether the vision is worth pursuing. The question is how to protect it while running a real business.

This is our conversation.

Esteban: For someone discovering NVRFRGT for the first time, what is the brand about?

Takuji: The name comes from a Buddhist concept, the idea of never forgetting an original impulse. I wanted to express the commitment to hold onto the feeling I had when I first fell in love with fashion. Not to communicate Buddhism itself, but to use that spirit as a personal reminder. The brand is a reflection of that.

Esteban: Has this always been your approach, or is it something you discovered as you evolved as a designer?

Takuji: It's always been personal. I don't have a grand message I'm trying to send through fashion, the way many great designers do. I just know what styles I like, what I can make, and I want to show people: here it is, what do you think? It's the same feeling as when you were a kid drawing something and showing it to your parents hoping they'd think it was cool. Fashion just replaced the drawing.

Esteban: What's been the biggest challenge in translating that internal feeling into a physical product?

Takuji: For a long time I worked in environments where money or politics got in the way of what I actually wanted to create. That frustration is part of why I decided to start my own brand, so I could work without those constraints and stay true to that original impulse. The freedom to pursue my vision with purity was the whole point.

Esteban: And what are the risks that come with that freedom?

Takuji: The weakness is that sales can fluctuate depending on the season, and whether what you're doing resonates with the times or not. You're exposed. But the strength is that you can pursue originality completely. You can produce something more concentrated, more authentically yours.

Esteban: What were the biggest practical challenges in the early days of the brand?

Takuji: Cash flow was the hardest thing at the beginning. I was doing everything alone for about three years, design, patterns, sales, everything. As orders grew, the material costs grew faster than the cash coming in. The production cycle is long: you manufacture, you deliver, you wait to collect. Meanwhile you still have to pay the factory upfront, roughly 30% as a deposit, then the remaining 70% on delivery. So you're constantly trying to sell enough during that window just to cover costs. It was a constant cycle.

Esteban: How did you get out of that position?

Takuji: First, I borrowed from the bank. Over time, sales stabilized and grew consistently, they never really went down, which ironically made the cash flow harder at first because I had more orders than capital to fulfill them. Eventually it balanced out. And now I'm starting to build a team so I can focus more on the creative side.

Esteban: What did building a team look like for you?

Takuji: I did everything alone for three years. The first person I brought in wasn't a full-time employee, it was a salesperson. My first full-time hire was someone who had visual instincts and spoke foreign languages, because those are things I can't do well. I want to surround myself with people who can do what I can't, so I can focus on what I do best: making clothes.

Esteban: You've been primarily wholesale until now. What's changing?

Takuji: Starting this season I launched an online store. The focus is shifting more toward direct-to-consumer. Wholesale worked to build the foundation, but going forward I want more control over how the brand is experienced.

Esteban: Every person starting a brand has an ambitious creative vision. But eventually they meet the reality of business. How do you manage that tension personally?

Takuji: I always think about the balance between creativity and business. But I've developed a clear image of my customer, and that actually makes the decisions easier. I ask: would they be able to afford this at this price? If something is too expensive, maybe I simplify the construction a little. My customers are mostly young, students in their twenties who love this style. So I keep that in mind without compromising what the brand is.

Esteban: How did you figure out who your customer was?

Takuji: Partly I shaped it intentionally, I wanted young people to wear this. And partly it's just who I am. I've always been drawn to youth fashion across every era. That's where I find inspiration. So the customer and the vision were never that far apart.

Esteban: How does Buddhism connect to a young customer who isn't you?

Takuji: The Buddhist concept isn't the point in itself. It's just the language I found to describe my personal feeling about fashion. It's very internal. I'm not trying to teach anyone anything. I just like these styles, I make these clothes, and I ask: do you like them too?

Esteban: Under those constraints — customer, price, market — how do you actually design a collection?

Takuji: Mostly by instinct. I collect a lot of images, watch old films, gather references. Lately I've been drawn to 2000s and 2010s culture, something grunge-adjacent. But I don't set rigid themes anymore. I just output what I see. The filter is always the brand's identity: how do I take this reference and make it mine?

Esteban: And what makes NVRFRGT's identity distinct from a construction standpoint?

Takuji: I come from a patternmaking background, so I'm obsessed with garment structure. I want to challenge the existing rules of how clothes are built, where the seams go, how the sleeves attach, what the silhouette does. I'm always searching for new cuts. The goal is to make something that looks complex but is actually built from something simple. Like packaging foam, it looks intricate, but it's one single sheet of material folded perfectly.

Esteban: What's the most challenging product to make technically?

Takuji: Right now it's a jacket with a split raglan sleeve, it looks like a set-in sleeve from the front but transitions to a raglan at the back. The seam placement creates unusual wrinkles that I haven't fully resolved yet. It's a problem I'm still working through. That's the nature of always looking for new cuts, you find problems you haven't encountered before.

Esteban: How do you handle it when manufacturers tell you something is impossible?

Takuji: I push back, but I try to find the landing point. Because I understand garment construction, I know when something is actually impossible and when the factory just isn't familiar with the process. I design things that are complex-looking but buildable, because I've already thought through the sewing sequence. So when they say it can't be done, I can usually show them how.

Esteban: What's the biggest lesson from four years of running this brand?

Takuji: Just do it. There's not much more to say. I spent one to two years going back and forth, talking to mentors, hesitating. Then I did it. And once you start, you can't stop, it's like riding a bike. There's no going back.

Esteban: Were you scared when you started?

Takuji: Very scared. But I also spent about ten years living too comfortably, like a salaryman, coasting. It took having a child, seeing people around me building things, to finally push me. Once I started, that fear turned into momentum.

Final Reflection

NVRFRGT isn't built on a manifesto. It's built on a feeling, the same one the founder had as a kid showing drawings to his parents and hoping they'd think it was cool.

What makes his story worth paying attention to isn't the philosophy. It's the discipline underneath it.

Three years alone. Cash flow crises. Manufacturing battles. Learning to hire. Learning to price. Learning when to simplify and when to hold firm.

The Buddhist concept of never forgetting an original impulse turned out to be more than a brand name. It became the actual operating principle: stay close to why you started, let that guide every decision, and trust that the right customers will find you.

The vision doesn't have to be grand. It just has to be honest.