Founded in Hamburg in 2019, BAHD’OR is the fashion house of self-taught designer and Creative Director Bahd’or, whose work draws on more than two decades of experience in the creative industry. Born and raised in Hamburg with Persian roots, the designer approaches fashion through a personal fascination with form, proportion, and visual storytelling. His vision places femininity at the centre, exploring individuality, strength, and the freedom to express both on one’s own terms.
INTERVIEWS
For Spring Summer 2027, BAHD’OR made its runway debut at Paris Fashion Week with La Danse avec les Libellules, an eight-look collection inspired by the dragonfly and its symbolic connection to lightness, transformation, and precision. Through sculptural silhouettes, experimental materials, and delicate construction, Bahd’or examines the relationship between freedom and structure. From the restrictive neoprene form of Le Cocon to the dandelion-inspired finale Le Dernier Souffle, the collection introduces the designer’s personal philosophy and establishes the creative identity of the house.
DSCENE Editor Maja Lane speaks with Bahd’or about his creative beginnings, the symbolism behind his debut collection, the technical challenges of bringing his designs to life, and his vision for the future of BAHD’OR.
You founded BAHD’OR in Hamburg in 2019 after spending more than two decades working in the creative industry. What made you decide to establish your own fashion house, and how did those earlier experiences shape your approach to design? – Creativity has always been an inseparable part of who I am. I started with music at a young age and spent many years working as a DJ and producer. Alongside that, I developed creative ideas and concepts for brands, something I still do today. Music gave me artistic freedom, while working as a creative director taught me to understand different perspectives and translate other people’s visions into something meaningful.
But there was a desire that neither of those worlds could entirely satisfy. I wanted to create something tangible. Something beautiful that had previously existed only in my imagination, something I could stand in front of and feel proud simply because it now existed. I had always been drawn to fashion, particularly womenswear, and had developed a very personal understanding of aesthetics and femininity. So I began making my first pieces. Not with the intention of establishing a fashion house, but purely for the pleasure of bringing an idea into existence. It was the reactions of others that encouraged me to continue.
You can take everything from me, but not my freedom. Freedom is essential to my life, and I believe it is the very foundation of creativity.
I am entirely self-taught. That has been true of almost everything I have pursued creatively. When something fascinates me, I find my own way into it, guided above all by intuition. I don’t begin by asking what is expected or what the industry considers appropriate. I begin with what I feel needs to exist.
BAHD’OR was founded in 2019 as a natural evolution of that creative journey. What began as a deeply personal desire to create has grown into a fashion house with its own identity and vision. My creative instincts remain at its core. But there is something equally meaningful about seeing a woman connect with a piece I have designed and make it part of her own identity. That is when a personal vision becomes something much greater than myself.
You describe femininity as central to BAHD’OR and speak about creating clothes for women with a strong sense of individuality. How does that philosophy influence the silhouettes you design and the decisions you make in the studio? – What fascinates me most about women is their femininity. Their grace, their elegance, their beauty, but also the extraordinary strength that can exist within those qualities. I have never understood why femininity should be something a woman feels she has to diminish in order to be taken seriously. Of course, every woman should be entirely free to define herself in her own way. I would never want to prescribe what a woman should be. But the BAHD’OR woman is someone who feels no need to abandon her femininity to navigate a world that often expects her to adapt. She embraces it, celebrates it, and carries it with confidence.
I consider myself a storyteller. And I have a rather simple philosophy: only speak when you have something meaningful to say. I apply exactly the same principle to fashion. The world doesn’t need another pair of shoes, another handbag, or another dress simply for the sake of having one. But I believe the world will always have room for a beautiful story. So before I create something, I ask myself a fundamental question: what gives this piece a reason to exist?
One of my favourite examples is a pair of high heels I designed, which also appeared on the runway in Paris. At first glance, they are elegant, almost classical heels, finished with a golden clasp featuring the dragonfly and diamond of the BAHD’OR emblem. But they fasten with Velcro. You don’t notice it immediately. And that is precisely the point. I have no interest in creating something unusual simply to make people look twice. The detail comes from a childhood memory. I loved wearing shoes with Velcro fastenings because they were so wonderfully simple. I still remember how difficult I found the transition to tying shoelaces. There is something of that childhood simplicity in these heels, but also the freedom to question conventions without making a spectacle of doing so.
That same philosophy runs through La Danse avec les Libellules. Some pieces are architectural and disciplined. Others are delicate, transparent, almost weightless. They express different qualities without asking a woman to choose between them. Ultimately, I want my designs to reflect the many dimensions of femininity: confidence and sensitivity, discipline and freedom, elegance and playfulness. I don’t believe a woman should have to choose between them.
Your Persian roots and upbringing in Hamburg form part of your personal history. Do you recognize influences from either culture in your work, whether in your approach to proportion, aesthetics, or visual expression? – The answer might surprise you, but no. Neither my German upbringing nor my Persian roots have a direct influence on my fashion. They are both part of my personal history, of course, but I have never felt the need to translate either culture into my designs.
Perhaps that is because I have never truly felt that I belonged entirely to one world or the other. I grew up between cultures, and in many ways, I still live between worlds. But rather than searching for a way to reconcile those identities through fashion, I found something much more liberating: the freedom to create without feeling that I have to represent any particular culture.
I believe ideas and creativity are universal. They don’t belong to a nationality, a language, or a place.
When someone looks at one of my designs, I don’t want them to need an explanation of where I come from in order to feel something. They may interpret the piece differently, and I welcome that. I believe extraordinary ideas have a language of their own. And that is the language I want BAHD’OR to speak.
BAHD’OR follows its own creative rhythm instead of adhering strictly to the seasonal fashion calendar. How do you decide when a collection is ready, and what does that independence allow you to explore? – To me, it is actually very simple. There is no great mystery behind it. We all know when a story has been told. We may have different expectations of a story. Some of us want drama, others romance, humour, or something entirely unexpected. My collection has a bit of all of that. But every story has a beginning, unfolds in the way it needs to be understood, and eventually reaches its conclusion. I approach a collection in exactly the same way. Of course, I have an almost obsessive desire for aesthetics and precision. But I also recognise when I have said everything I wanted to say. Adding another look simply because a calendar or an industry convention expects it would make no sense to me.
I see it the same way as in music. We don’t get a new album from an artist every year, and an album is really just another form of story: a few hits, some deeply personal pieces, and some tracks that exist simply to be listened to, to give the album its direction. The greatest artists never said, “I have to release a new album because a new year has begun,” or “because it’s been a while since my last hit.”
That is why we sometimes wait years for a new album, and sometimes we get two within a few months.
The world doesn’t need another pair of shoes, another handbag, or another dress simply for the sake of having one. But I believe the world will always have room for a beautiful story.
In a world that is growing more superficial and more driven by profit, I think what we forget most is the quality that time and the right inspiration bring with them. I’m not saying I won’t release two collections a year. If I have something to say, I will. But perhaps there will also be a year when I consciously let my creativity develop.
But the question of independence goes much deeper than fashion. You can take everything from me, but not my freedom. Freedom is essential to my life, and I believe it is the very foundation of creativity. Without it, there is no room to explore, to connect things that seemingly don’t belong together, to question boundaries, or occasionally to cross them. And, perhaps most importantly, there is no room to fail.
If I could encourage people to pursue one thing, it would be the courage to fail. Nothing has taught me more, shaped me more, or made me better at what I do than the things that didn’t work.
Every attempt takes me somewhere I couldn’t have reached by playing it safe. That is why I refuse to let trends determine what I create. I often say, “If it’s en vogue, you’re already too late, chérie.”
La Danse avec les Libellules marks your runway debut with just eight looks. Why was this the right collection to introduce BAHD’OR on the runway, and how did you approach editing the presentation down to eight designs? – There could never have been another collection for my runway debut. When I began preparing La Danse avec les Libellules, I knew that many people seeing BAHD’OR on the runway would be encountering the house for the first time. And before showing them everything I might be capable of creating, I wanted them to understand what BAHD’OR actually stands for. Why the dragonfly? Why the diamond? Why this constant dialogue between freedom and structure, lightness and discipline? I wanted to tell the story at the very heart of the house.
Discipline has been one of the most important forces in my life. I genuinely believe it is one of the reasons I have been able to achieve anything at all. And while freedom is essential to my creativity, discipline gives that freedom direction. In many ways, this relationship is embodied in the BAHD’OR emblem itself: the dragonfly within the geometry of a diamond. So I approached my debut as a prologue. Before anything else, I needed to establish the foundation.
The collection originally consisted of twelve pieces. But when I stepped back and looked at them together, I realised that certain parts of the story were repeating themselves. One of the pieces I removed was my interpretation of the little black dress. I had already designed and produced it, with cut-out shoulders, specially embroidered mesh featuring the BAHD’OR B pattern, and subtle, almost imperceptible abstract wings along the arms. I still find it beautiful. But La Libellule was already expressing much of what that dress wanted to say. And that is the difficult part of editing: sometimes you have to let go of something you love, not because it isn’t good enough, but because the story is stronger without it.
In the end, eight looks remained. Eight distinct expressions of the identity I wanted to introduce. Each one had a purpose. La Danse avec les Libellules had to come first. It is the foundation of everything that follows. And now that the story has been told, I can truly begin.
The dragonfly has a personal significance that reaches back to your childhood. When did you begin translating that fascination into clothing, and how did you avoid making the collection a literal interpretation of the insect? – I think there is an important distinction to make here: it has never really been about the dragonfly itself. As a child, I felt a lightness and freedom I had no word for. The dragonfly has carried that feeling for me for as long as I can remember, but it is a symbol, just as the diamond is the symbol for structure.
What I see in it is extraordinary lightness, the beautiful reflections and colours of its wings, and especially the fascinating contradiction between apparent effortlessness and absolute precision. A dragonfly can appear almost motionless in the air while its wings are moving at extraordinary speed.
There is an incredible amount of control behind something that looks so free. I recognise myself in that contradiction. It also stands for speed: the instinct to turn an idea into reality without hesitation.
Not out of impatience, but from an unstoppable desire to create.
But the dragonfly is only one half of the story. The diamond is just as important. It represents the structure, discipline, and precision that exist alongside my desire for freedom and lightness. Together, they form the BAHD’OR emblem. I began translating these ideas into design from the very beginning of the house. If you look at my handbags, for example, you will recognise the distinctive wing-like elements on the front, with the dragonfly-and-diamond emblem at their centre.
So when I created La Danse avec les Libellules, I wasn’t trying to tell the story of an insect. I was telling my own story through the dragonfly and the diamond. Lightness doesn’t need wings to be expressed.
Two looks in the collection, Les Reflets de Libellules and Les Reflets d’Ailes, explore water, light and reflection. They are essentially two water-inspired dresses, created from delicate, iridescent organza.
Their connection to the dragonfly is found in the shifting colours and the sense of weightlessness rather than in a literal representation of its anatomy. That is what interests me about symbolism. It allows me to express something deeply personal without having to illustrate it literally.
The collection opens with Le Cocon, a heavy, enclosed neoprene silhouette, before introducing transparency and movement through La Libellule. What interested you about beginning the show with such a restrictive form, and how did you develop the transition between these two looks? – I think many people underestimate the significance of Le Cocon. For me, it is perhaps the most important look in the entire collection. It is not just the beginning of the show. It is the beginning of everything. At some point in life, we are all confronted with the necessity of change. And transformation is not always beautiful. It can be painful, brutal, uncomfortable, and unforgiving.
Sometimes life forces us into circumstances so restrictive that changing becomes our only way forward. That is Le Cocon.
There could never have been another silhouette or material for this piece. Neoprene is not a delicate couture fabric. It is heavy, dense, and doesn’t breathe. That is precisely why I chose it. The model’s entire body disappears inside this monumental structure. Her figure, her silhouette, almost everything we traditionally associate with a fashion presentation is taken away. Only her face remains visible.
Even her movement is restricted. I deliberately left only a narrow opening for her legs, forcing her to walk slowly and awkwardly. I wanted the audience to experience the difficulty of transformation rather than simply admire an elegant interpretation of it.
But I want to make something very clear: I don’t consider Le Cocon an ugly piece. Quite the opposite. I love it. I love its delicate white, its boldness, its uncompromising shape. To me, it is extraordinarily beautiful. And beyond everything else, Le Cocon is an encouragement. I want women to understand that transformation doesn’t have to look graceful while it is happening.
Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes you can barely move forward. But you are still moving.
The transition to La Libellule was never really a question. It had to be the second look. I wanted that immediate contrast: the heavy against the weightless, the shapeless against the delicate, confinement against freedom. After the monumental restriction of Le Cocon, suddenly there is transparency, movement, and lightness. I believe that the moment La Libellule appeared on the runway, the intention behind Le Cocon became clear. What initially seemed unsettling revealed itself as the beginning of a transformation. The reactions to Le Cocon afterwards were fascinating. There was confusion, discomfort, disbelief, admiration, and even laughter. And I loved every bit of it.
Your designs incorporate specially commissioned neoprene, reflective PVC, iridescent organza, and sculptural construction. Which piece presented the greatest technical challenge, and how closely did the final result match your original idea? – Without question, Le Dernier Souffle. It took me forever to make. And although the final result is remarkably close to my original drawing, constructing it was probably the greatest technical challenge I have ever faced. The difficulty wasn’t simply creating the shape. There was another, rather unglamorous problem that complicated everything: logistics. I had to find a way to transport the piece without chartering a jumbo jet just for the dress. And then, of course, there was the small matter of attaching hundreds of individual dandelion-inspired elements by hand.
I had the idea for Le Dernier Souffle very early in the creative process. I knew it had to be the finale. I even had the feeling that it might become one of the most extraordinary pieces I would ever design.
But for months, I couldn’t figure out how to make it. I spoke to so many people about the construction, and nobody was willing to take it on. Still, abandoning the design was never really an option for me.
So, being self-taught, I did what I have done many times before: I started figuring it out myself. And because I genuinely love failing, I failed spectacularly.
My first attempt was to construct the spherical shape from wire. But the material was either flexible enough to bend and too weak to hold its form, or strong enough to provide stability and almost impossible to shape properly. After a month of work, I had essentially created something for the rubbish bin. Next, I tried using the structure of a lampshade. When you don’t have a large fashion house or an extensive technical team behind you, you learn to look for solutions in unexpected places.
Unfortunately, that didn’t work either. Even shortly before the show, I was experimenting with a structure made from two separate halves of the sphere.
Two weeks before the runway presentation, I was devastated. The piece could technically be worn, almost like a pair of enormous wings extending from the front and back of the body. But the silhouette was a disaster. Everything looked distorted. It was nothing like the vision I had been carrying in my head for months. And what devastated me wasn’t the possibility of losing a spectacular silhouette. Le Dernier Souffle was the ending of my story. Without it, something essential would have been missing.
I design for women with a strong sense of individuality. Women who embrace their femininity without apology.
Of course, I could have chosen another dress to close the show. But that would have meant changing the story simply because I hadn’t found a way to realise the ending I believed in. And somehow, I never seriously considered giving up. Something inside me kept telling me that there had to be a solution, even when I couldn’t see it yet.
Then, at almost the last possible moment, I received help from costume makers who had experience with complex supporting structures. By that point, I had already developed and assembled much of the piece. Together, we found the solution that had been missing all along: a collapsible internal structure that preserved the spherical silhouette while finally making the dress transportable. Suddenly, both problems were solved.
Looking at Le Dernier Souffle now, what amazes me is how closely it resembles that first drawing, considering everything that happened between the idea and the finished piece. But perhaps that’s the real lesson for me. Sometimes the distance between an idea and its realisation isn’t measured in sketches or fittings. It’s measured in everything you’re willing to try, everything you’re willing to get wrong, and how determined you are not to let go of something you believe in.
The final look, Le Dernier Souffle, features hundreds of individually attached elements inspired by a dandelion seed head. What drew you to this image for the collection’s conclusion, and what did you learn during the process of constructing the dress? – For me, Le Dernier Souffle is not simply the final look of the collection. It is the ending of the story.
And perhaps the most personal part of it. La Danse avec les Libellules is a journey through transformation, freedom, beauty, and the passing of time. The dragonflies dance through spring and summer. But eventually, summer comes to an end. And then there is the dandelion.
There is something extraordinarily beautiful about the moment when its bright yellow flower has transformed into a delicate white seed head. It is preparing to let go of everything it has created. The seeds are carried away by the wind, without any certainty about where they will land, whether they will survive, or whether something new will grow from them. There is no guarantee. And yet, it lets them go.
That is what Le Dernier Souffle represents to me. We spend so much of our lives trying to control what happens next. We work, we build, we protect what matters to us. But eventually, there are moments when we have to accept that we cannot know how the story continues. And perhaps there is a different kind of freedom in that acceptance. I wanted the final look to embody that moment: something extraordinarily delicate, almost weightless, suspended between an ending and a new beginning. The hundreds of individually attached elements were essential to creating that impression. Each one contributes to the whole, yet each suggests something that could be carried away at any moment.
Constructing the dress taught me something rather ironic. I had created a piece about letting go of control, yet bringing it into existence demanded more persistence, precision, and discipline than almost anything I had ever attempted. And perhaps that is the beautiful contradiction at the heart of Le Dernier Souffle: I had to fight incredibly hard to create something that expresses the courage to let go. I don’t see it as a sad ending. I see it as an open one. We don’t know where the seeds will land. And we don’t need to. And let’s see where my story lands.
You have said that indifference is the only true failure of fashion. After presenting BAHD’OR in Paris, what reactions interested you most, and what would you like audiences to understand about the house beyond this debut collection? – I want my work to reach people. To make them feel something. That feeling can take many forms.
Someone might fall in love with a piece immediately. Someone else might find it strange, unsettling, or even baffling. I’m perfectly comfortable with that. What I find difficult to accept is indifference.
But there is a difference between creating something that moves an audience and creating something a woman wants to wear. And I believe a fashion house needs room for both. Take Le Cocon. I don’t expect any woman to look at it and immediately imagine herself wearing it. That was never its purpose. It exists to express something essential about BAHD’OR, to tell a story and to challenge the way we look at beauty and transformation. Other pieces are meant to create a very different feeling: desire. That wonderful moment when a woman sees something and knows she wants it to become part of her life. Both belong to the same house.
Because BAHD’OR was never intended to be for everyone. I design for women with a strong sense of individuality. Women who embrace their femininity without apology, who love beauty, who define elegance on their own terms, and who have absolutely no interest in living up to anyone else’s expectations. I don’t expect these women to want to wear every single piece I create. But I want them to recognise the attitude behind the house. The confidence to be themselves, the courage to be different, and the freedom to decide what femininity means to them. For me, that connection is more meaningful than trying to please everyone.
La Danse avec les Libellules was the introduction to BAHD’OR. It established the foundations: beauty and femininity, structure and form, freedom and discipline. It was the story I needed to tell before anything else. And now comes JOLIEMETRIE. My second collection takes those foundations into a much more liberated, expressive direction. Where La Danse avec les Libellules was about establishing the identity of the house, JOLIEMETRIE is about exploring just how far I can take it. And I can’t wait to unleash my full creativity, now that the core story of BAHD’OR has been told.
I want BAHD’OR to be a house with a recognisable soul, not a predictable aesthetic. A place where an uncompromising runway statement and an extraordinarily desirable dress can exist side by side, because they come from the same vision. Ultimately, I want to create fashion that means something. And for the women who connect with that vision, I want to create pieces they don’t simply wear. I want them to make those pieces their own.
