Can Demirezen wants to represent hope for German streetwear. Focusing on authenticity and innovative design, he returns the fashion genre to its root values.
It is 10.30 pm on a Friday night in Berlin-Mitte. It’s long after dark when I meet Can Demirezen. He wears a black bomber jacket. When he turns his back to me I can see the MiDNIGHT logo—a distorted, almost manic face—staring back at me. It’s a fitting emblem for a brand born out of chaos and transformation. “The face represents people losing themselves,” he explains, “I saw it when DJing in Ibiza, people changing when the clock struck midnight. It fascinated me.”
The name reflects three things: the chaos of nightlife, his own melancholic nature, and Die Nacht—a legendary techno club where icons like Loco Dice and Lilly Palmer have played––as well as Can. “That club was like a rite of passage,” he says. “If you played there, you were doing something right. It’s the same with MiDNIGHT—it’s about earning your place.”
Can and I decide to go for a beer at the closest Späti, Berlin’s version of a bodega or corner shop. Loud bass drums reverberate from all the little bars and shops around; groups of people pass us, laughing and talking. As we settle into our little spot on one of the wooden benches in front of the Späti, he starts telling me about his brand.
MiDNIGHT is a small streetwear brand from Mönchengladbach, Germany, building its own universe based on community, real creativity and handworked products. Despite being a small operation it already has collaborations with MCM and most recently Clarks under its belt. It all started in 2016, with Can customizing Levi’s denim jackets, painting them by hand and posting them on Instagram. The response was immediate. Levi’s Germany shared his work, and soon after, Levi’s Mexico followed suit. “That’s when my friends said, ‘Can, you need to do more with this,’” he says. And so, MiDNIGHT was born.
Born to Turkish parents who abandoned him at the age of four, Can was raised by his grandparents in one of Mönchengladbach’s toughest neighborhoods. They came to Germany in the 70s, as part of the wave of migrant workers who were lured by the promise of a better life. He also reminisces on sharing a bed with two of his uncles, not able to move in order not to spoon one of them or have the other’s face only centimeters from his. “It is a place where poverty and violence are everywhere,” he recalls. “But my Grandma taught me to sew. She worked as a seamstress for Brax”, – a high-end German textile label known for their dress shirts and pants.
Can’s story makes MiDNIGHT into more than just a label. He’s acutely aware of the lack of representation for people of color in Germany’s creative industries. “Most people with migrant backgrounds here either become rappers or criminals,” he says bluntly. “There’s no in-between. I want to show that there’s another way.” He dedicates his project to all the young people that are growing up like he did.
To that end, he will sometimes invite young people from his neighborhood to his studio. “We give them the tools and atelier for a weekend and let them create,” he says. “It’s about showing them that they can be more than what society expects of them.” His annual block parties draw hundreds of people to his studio. His message resonates, not just with young kids finding their place in the world. Well-known German rappers play these parties for free, to support Can’s mission and message. “It’s not just about the clothes,” he says. “It’s about the people who wear them. When you buy MiDNIGHT, you’re joining a family.”
The sense of community that is so close to Can’s heart also translates to his work relations. His studio is more of a gathering place than a workspace. Can shows me the MiDNIGHT-groupchat which counts over 40 members; collaborators and friends who have stood by each other through the crises of the past five years. Most of them are from the neighborhood the designer himself comes from and have known each other since they were 15 years old. When he needs help with something, like packing orders or organizing events, he will text in there and people will show up, always. “Sometimes six to eight people will squeeze in there to create in a 20 m² space,” one of his friends tells me, laughing. “It gets chaotic, but that’s part of the process.”
His brand is also deeply committed to sustainability. Every piece is handmade, often by Can himself, or by local tailors, sewers and seamstresses in Mönchengladbach, and produced in limited quantities. “I don’t want to make fast fashion,” he says. “I want to make something that lasts, something that means something.” He is uncompromising in his values. I ask him if he’d ever be willing to give his production to a bigger supplier when his brand grows to a size for which it would be appropriate, to which he firmly shakes his head.
This ethos has earned him collaborations with major brands like Clarks, who appreciate his project for its authenticity. For the English shoe label he reimagined the iconic “Wallabee” boot using materials that pay homage to his and his family’s experience. “The classic fabric, leather, represents the first generation of migrants,” he explains. He points to the vinyl-puffer that is wrapped around the side of the shoe: “The new fabric is us, the next generation.” For his Clarks collaboration he works with local shoemakers in Mönchengladbach.
As our conversation winds down, Can reflects. “I’ve been called arrogant,” he admits. “But I’m not. I just refuse to let anyone tell me I’m less than I am. That’s what MiDNIGHT is about—standing tall, no matter where you come from.”
