Wali Mohammed Barrech: Modular Bodies, Multilingual Forms

Wali Mohammed Barrech. Selfie.

Wali Mohammed Barrech’s aesthetic universe is shaped by displacement, duality, and design. Born in Karachi to a Pashtun father and a Croatian mother, he grew up between cultures and languages before studying fashion in Antwerp and building a practice that merges craft with criticality. Today, he lives and works in Berlin, where he continues to explore identity through sculptural, modular leather objects.

This summer, Barrech presents his latest collection at DER BERLINER SALON at the Helmut Newton Foundation and opens the doors to his own WMB showroom in Kreuzberg during Berlin Fashion Week. To mark the occasion, he’s hosting a party at Ohm Berlin on Wednesday, July 2, from 11 PM – everyone is welcome.

In this conversation with SLEEK, Barrech reflects on fashion as a language of camouflage, seduction, and resistance. From Karachi to Berlin, from spoken language to the tactile grammar of leather, his work navigates a terrain where design becomes autobiography—layered, elusive, and always in motion.

The MICRO FRAME by Wali Mohammed Barrech. Photography by Gil Corujeira.

SLEEK: Your objects appear elegant at first glance, but on closer inspection, almost threatening – how consciously do you play with this ambivalence between seduction and resistance?

Wali Mohammed Barrech: This ambivalence isn’t a stylistic device for me – it’s a reality I observe daily and deliberately incorporate. We all carry contradictions within us, and it’s precisely this tension that fascinates me. Beauty can seduce, but also provoke. I create objects that don’t reveal themselves immediately, that have a life of their own. They invite – but they also demand a stance. This dual readability isn’t accidental; it’s my tool: I want an object not just to please, but to evoke something.

S: You once said design is a form of shelter for you. How does creating help you deal with social projections and cultural misunderstandings?

WMB: For me, design is a form of strategic communication. I work with codes that people unconsciously read – shapes, materials, surfaces, proportions. Rather than resist projections, I use them. I rely on subtle signals that reflect, subvert, or amplify expectations. This creates a quiet tension that charges the object – not as a statement, but as an offering.

The MONO FRAME bag by Wali Mohammed Barrech. Photography by Gil Corujeira.

S: You combine luxury leather with plastic – a material that’s often underestimated. What draws you to this friction between “noble” and “banal”?

WMB: I’m interested in how value is created – and how much it depends on perception. For me, plastic is a symbol of adaptability and transformation. It’s technical, democratic, often underestimated – but that’s exactly what makes it powerful. In combination with luxurious materials, a tension emerges that energizes both sides. I love it when something feels both familiar and alien at the same time. That friction brings energy into the object – it makes it come alive.

S: You grew up speaking five languages. Is there an aesthetic equivalent to that multilingualism in your work? A kind of visual grammar of code-switching?

WMB: Absolutely. My design doesn’t follow a linear grammar – it’s a mix of fragments, references, and breaks. Just like in a multilingual conversation where tone and language shift, in my objects material, form, and context shift too. I don’t see that as a break in style, but as a stylistic tool. It’s a visual language that constantly reassembles itself – situational, fluid, layered. Code-switching isn’t a compromise – it’s my native tongue.

The PARCEL FRAME by Wali Mohammed Barrech.

S: Your bags are modular, transformable, almost like characters. When designing, do you think more about people, situations – or sculpture in space?

WMB: To me, the bags are like figures – with posture, history, and the ability to change. I think of them as personalities: they need to stand on their own, but also be adaptable. Modular elements make that possible. At the same time, I see each bag as a sculpture – something that claims space and expresses attitude, even when no one is wearing it. But they don’t impose themselves. Their strength lies in their ability to assimilate – almost silently, yet with presence. They are quiet attempts at assimilation, perfectly designed to merge with the wearer. That’s where their impact lies.