Harikrishnan Keezhathil Surendran Pillai, or Harri KS, is no stranger to latex. Long before the Kerala-born designer founded his label Harri following his graduation from the London College of Fashion’s Master of Arts Fashion Design Technology (Menswear) programme in 2020, he was helping his father, Surendran Pillai, on their small plantation (under one acre) in Kollam.

The process was direct. “In Kerala, latex production is part of everyday life,” he says. “You tap the tree in the morning, collect the latex, begin forming sheets by afternoon, and then dry and cure them over time to create the final raw material.” He is quick to clarify the distinction: what his father produces is raw, agricultural latex, largely destined for industrial use. “I use fashion-grade latex for my clothes.” Hari’s work is known for its sculptural, inflated latex garments, particularly the now-recognisable balloon trousers.

In Kerala, rubber is not so much a formal plantation economy as a dispersed, domestic one. Introduced in the early 20th century, the crop thrives in the state’s humid midlands. Kerala accounts for the majority of India’s natural rubber—once over 90%, now closer to three-quarters as cultivation expands elsewhere, according to the Rubber Board of India. Much of it comes from small holdings, often tucked into backyards across districts like Kottayam and Kollam, where production folds into everyday life.

Harri did not set out to become a designer. If anything, he was trying to break free from the expectations society placed on him to become either a doctor or an engineer. His early ambition was simply to leave home after finishing school at St. Jude’s in Kollam. Admission to the National Institute of Fashion Technology in Bangalore in 2012 became, as he puts it, “that exit.”

Before fashion, however, there was bodybuilding — a discipline he pursued seriously in the years leading up to that move. It is here that the foundations of his design language were laid. “When you’re in that world, you start to really understand and appreciate form, because bodybuilding is entirely about that,” he says. The practice demanded attention to proportion and symmetry that would later carry into his work. In Kollam, it was never seen as a viable path. “My parents didn’t see bodybuilding as an option,” he recalls, describing early mornings in Bengaluru, waking at 5am to train even before his first day at NIFT.

What endured was the philosophy behind bodybuilding. “It’s about constantly chasing a version of yourself that feels impossible. You’re never really satisfied,” says Harri. Fashion, he realised, followed a similar rhythm. Each collection feels definitive until it isn’t. “When I finished my graduate collection, I thought, ‘This is it.’ But then, a couple of years later, there was something new,” Harri remembers.

That graduate collection, Let’s Put Him in a Vase, marked a turning point. Developed at the London College of Fashion, it arrived without much expectation from those around him. “A lot of people I was studying with were quite surprised it became what it did,” he says. The response was immediate. Images travelled quickly, the work drew attention, and something that had begun as a personal exercise in form became widely visible.

“It’s lovely that London rewards people who take a chance,” he says. That early recognition translated into more formal support. Harri became part of the British Fashion Council’s NEWGEN programme, which provides funding, mentorship, and a platform within London Fashion Week.

Since his debut on the London schedule in 2023, he has shown six runway collections, the latest being his Spring/Summer 2026 outing, MuseumWear. The pieces in the collection move across familiar categories — bomber jackets, long coats, denim sets, tailored trousers, knitwear — but they’re all slightly unsettled, as if he has not quite let them sit comfortably in their usual roles.

Latex, which once dominated his work, is still present but redistributed. It appears in inflated sleeves on otherwise simple t-shirts, in the structure of jackets, and in surfaces that catch light differently depending on how you move. It is no longer the entire garment but a disruption within it.

There is a noticeable push into denim this season — printed, washed, and sometimes layered — alongside leather pieces and softer knits that ground the collection. The silhouettes are broader but less extreme than before: wide-leg trousers, boxy outerwear, and shoulders that hold shape without tipping into caricature.

“Latex isn’t just tied to the usual associations of fetish or excess; it’s a material that shapes the body in a precise, almost architectural way. That relationship to form remains core to my design language. At the same time, there’s a growing openness to making the clothes more commercially viable, allowing the work to move beyond statement pieces into something that can exist, however slightly uneasily, within a wardrobe,” he says, adding, “Latex is quite a demanding material. It doesn’t behave like fabric — you can’t drape it in the same way or rely on it to fall naturally. It’s more about building the form. You’re working with sheets, bonding them together, and shaping them gradually. The gloss people associate with latex isn’t inherent, you actually have to polish it, so there’s a whole finishing process that becomes part of the garment,” says Harri.

On the global stage

Moments like Sam Smith wearing his work to the Brit Awards 2023 gave the label early momentum. He speaks about these moments without romanticising them. “It’s a major push, as it gives momentum and validates your practice,” he says, describing it as an investment rather than an endpoint. Harri’s work has also extended beyond the runway into institutions and pop culture alike. In 2025, he presented his largest inflatable piece to date at the Victoria and Albert Museum’s Late Friday event, and was included in the Design Museum’s 30 Years of London Fashion exhibition. He has also worked across music and television, designing costumes for Katy Perry’s Lifetimes tour, and contributing to Björk’s Fossora visuals.

If anything, that early visibility had a grounding effect. “It was rewarding to see something you’ve made be appreciated,” he says, while also recognising how quickly attention can shift. He is clear-eyed about what comes next. There is a desire for the brand to grow, to sell, and to move beyond the runway, even as he maintains a certain distance from fashion culture itself. “I don’t have any connection with the fashion culture,” he says, tracing that back to Kerala, where clothing carried little social weight. “What matters is how good you are at what you do,” says Harri.

His practice, he insists, is not about fashion in the conventional sense, but about construction and understanding how something is made, and then pushing it further. Today, the label is stocked selectively across international markets, including H. Lorenzo in Paris and retailers in South Korea, extending its reach beyond the London system into global retail circuits.

After graduating, he moved to Delhi, where he worked briefly with fashion designer Suket Dhir, an experience that introduced him to the mechanics of the industry. Today, his work spans multiple geographies. Latex is largely sourced from Malaysia, while denim development happens across India — Ahmedabad, Chennai, Bengaluru, and Mumbai.

He returns to Kerala once or twice a year, though not for inspiration. “When I’m there, I step into the role of a son — I’m not a designer,” he says. The distance is deliberate. It allows him to disconnect and then return to his work with a different perspective.

As his practice grows, he continues to navigate the structure of the fashion system — the seasonal cycles and the demands of ready-to-wear — while working with a material that resists strict seasonality. Latex, for him, has a seasonless quality to it, allowing a certain flexibility in how the business operates.

“At this stage, it’s less about scale. The goal is to keep evolving the work, rather than focusing too much on the outcome.” he says.