Villainizing Vulnerability:A Conversation with Bleeding Aces

Some artists create clothing. Others tell stories. But Bleeding Aces does something far more visceral—she stitches raw emotion into wearable experiences. A designer and producer whose work turns vulnerability into armor, Bleeding Aces manipulates objects, bending them to obey the body rather than constrain it.

Her creations are violent, surreal, and deeply psychological, reflecting the tension between control and submission, pain and healing. From handcuff dresses to leather-bound medical fantasies, her designs explore reverse power dynamics—where the things that once restrained you now serve as your shield. In her world, a rope isn’t just a tool for restraint; it’s a weapon of self-determination.

Her editorials are more than fashion—they are cinematic nightmares, unraveling the complexities of mental dependency, self-destruction, and transformation. Through her lens, hospitals become battlegrounds, love turns into a power play, and pain is an offering to art itself.

In this interview with GUSH Magazine, Bleeding Aces talks about her creative philosophy, the role of suffering in her work, and what it means to design not just garments, but actions.

Hello! Please introduce yourself to our readers.

Bleeding Aces: Hey darlings, I’m a designer who works with objects, blending them with the human body. I also produce visual work that focuses on protecting skin by reversing the idea of power. I suck at introducing myself, though.

Your work merges fashion, performance, and storytelling into something raw and unsettling. How would you define Bleeding Aces?

Bleeding Aces: My goal is to build a bubble out of my emotions, a world where clothing doesn’t just exist—it explains. "Bleeding" to me represents breaking cycles, affecting everything it touches. I’m fascinated by reverse control—the idea that someone can tie you up, but the moment you take that same rope and wrap it around yourself, you reclaim your power. It’s not about the rope—it’s about who’s in charge.

I want to protect vulnerability, not by hiding it, but by villainizing and mirroring it. I also have an obsession with cards—they hold something surreal and warm. I always carry them, play with them, and lose them. Cards can do whatever.

Your editorials feel like cinematic narratives—often portraying twisted relationships, suffering, and revenge. Do you start with a story first, or does the clothing itself shape the concept?

Bleeding Aces: It always starts with a story, but the clothing completes it. We live in an era of fast content, so I need to distill my ideas into something visually immediate. That’s why I work with primal elements—violence, care, control. When I try to fit ten different emotions into a single image, the clothing becomes the final layer of storytelling. More than garments, I design actions.

If you had unlimited budget and resources, what’s the most extreme or insane piece you’d create?

Bleeding Aces: Right now? Insane fur coats. Also, something with campy military hats—those are stupidly expensive.

Your work feels deeply personal. Do you see Bleeding Aces as an extension of yourself, or something separate?

Bleeding Aces: It’s definitely an extension of me, but I’ve tried to separate it from my physical appearance. I experience depersonalization, so I treat my art as a mirror—but sometimes, mirrors need to be covered. Everything I create is an accumulation of past and present feelings. Even my last editorial—a hospital-like dystopia—was built from real emotions and experiences. Let’s just say Bleeding Aces is the version of me that lets people (or myself) destroy my mind and skin in order to create art.

If Bleeding Aces had a theme song, what would it be?

Bleeding Aces: It changes every week, but right now? "Written in Blood" by She Wants Revenge.

Where do you see Bleeding Aces evolving next? More conceptual work, collaborations, or new materials?

Bleeding Aces: Honestly, my vision shifts every day. I’m working on new designs—things I haven’t tried before. I also want to explore production and direction more. I have an unfinished project with someone insane, and I’m overseeing shoots that are in post-production (but not handled by me).

There are always collaboration opportunities, but I only want to create something if it feels like a lovechild, not just a product.

What legacy do you wish to leave behind in the world?

Bleeding Aces: I don’t know if I’ll leave anything behind. I don’t know when I’ll die. But I hope my work changes the way people view their own skin, and maybe desexualizes certain objects. More than anything, I want to gift feelings and art.

I also want to bring mental health awareness into creative industries. Maybe even open a help center or foundation. That would be something worth leaving behind.