After discovering her through the visionary looks sported by global icons like Lady Gaga and Dua Lipa, I had the pleasure of chatting with Ilona Perla Marie Claire Slama. A very young designer from Los Angeles, Ilona has managed to transform her life—marked by shadows and difficult moments—into a powerful creative outlet, bringing to life garments that blend reality and dreams, light and darkness. Here’s what she told us about her uncompromising world.
In an industry based on mass production and outsourced labor, you started out by cutting and sewing every single garment by hand. As an artist, what did taking full responsibility for the physical construction of your garments teach you about your own limitations?
PM: I really struggle to let go of control, which is why I do practically everything on my own. It’s definitely exhausting, but in my experience, the end result is always better when you do things yourself—especially since my work is so personal. Now that the brand is growing, I’ve reached a point where I need to find the right people to help me produce on a larger scale. It’s something that intimidates me, but at the same time, it excites me.
Your second collection, *Psychosis*, transformed a deeply personal trauma—the experience of being hospitalized—into a design theme. How do you balance the emotional weight of revisiting such dark periods of your life with the physical discipline of tailoring and patternmaking? Furthermore, the recurring references to the medical world are fascinating, even in the uniforms, gloves, accessories, and so on. Naturally, it made me think of A.F. Vandevorst, one of my favorite design duos, perhaps among the very first to explore this territory in fashion. Where does your interest come from?
PM: It was definitely a challenge to balance the two. I’ve always had a very conflicted relationship with the medical world, because I’ve struggled with both physical and mental health issues throughout my life, so hospitals carry a huge emotional weight for me. Recently, I’ve become friends with an emergency room doctor. He calls me often and tells me about his day in the ER, and I find it really fascinating. He’s noticed details in my work that I think might escape someone who isn’t part of the medical world. He showed my *Psychosis* collection to the nurses at the hospital, and apparently, they loved it. I don’t know if it’s allowed, but I’m going to ask him if he can take me to work with him someday, hahaha.
You once said that if you could choose just one garment to be buried in, it would be your “Hospital Bride” dress, made of pink lamé silk taffeta and French lace. What does the archetype of the bride symbolize for you, at the intersection of fairy tales and harsh reality?
PM: As a child, I was obsessed with the Barbie princess animated movies. From a very young age, it was really drummed into me that a happy ending meant a traditional marriage, and I think that’s why, on a subconscious level, I always end my collections with a bride.
Your aesthetic blends the youthful freedom of Los Angeles, the raw industrial vibe of Berlin, and the solitude of Paris. How do these three very distinct urban environments manifest themselves in your choice of fabrics and metal elements? Where and how do you source your materials?
PM: It depends on the fabric. I have the leather custom-made in Italy because I like it to have a very specific feel and sheen, and I send them a Pantone number to dye the leather. I source silk and lace from France, cotton from Japan, and latex from the United Kingdom. As for the rest, I’m usually able to find what I need locally or online.
You mentioned industrial music and opera as key catalysts in your creative process. How do sound waves, rhythms, or operatic drama translate physically into drapery, corset boning, or leatherwork?
PM: I listen to music during every stage of the process, and it helps me feel the right emotions to visualize and develop ideas that I can then draw. I like to listen to classical music when I’m draping—usually *Swan Lake*—because it doesn’t distract me but immerses me in its beauty; when I’m sewing, however, I listen to pop or electronic music, which helps me stay alert and focused. A different rhythm for every stage.
When design becomes a longitudinal study of your own psyche, how do you handle the public’s reactions—both those of people who feel deeply represented by your honesty and those of critics who don’t understand your vision—as well as the reactions of the commercial world: clients, retailers, buyers, and stylists?
PM: I never worried about the possible backlash from telling the whole world that I’d been hospitalized and had experienced a psychotic episode; I think that when something is authentic, it ultimately works out. I truly believed in my vision, and I suppose I was lucky because my clients have never judged me—they know I’m so obsessed with my work that, if necessary, I’ll stay awake for days just to get it done. The reaction I didn’t expect was the amount of plagiarism: exact copies of my clothes and people claiming my experiences in a psychiatric ward and my traumas as their own. It was anything but pleasant, to put it mildly, and I don’t think I’ll ever create such a personal collection again.
I read in an interview about a specific approach you took to your work—namely, spending a year in Paris in isolation, doing nothing but sewing by yourself in your apartment. How did that period of isolation shape your technical skills and your artistic voice?
PM: I didn’t have any friends in Paris, and there was no one who really understood me or what I was doing, except for my agent, Paul Bertin. I wasn’t focused on fitting in or having a social life; I simply wanted to learn, grow, and design clothes. This focus allowed me to develop practically and technically in a shorter time than, say, someone who balances their work with their personal life.
Dua Lipa recently wore your “Ashton” dress—the very first dress you designed four years ago, named in honor of your younger brother. How did it feel to see a piece so closely tied to your roots reappear on a global stage?
PM: It was an incredible feeling, because when I made that dress, I had absolutely no intention of starting a brand, and I had no idea that this would become my life. That specific dress is what started it all, so it will always be special to me.
Lady Gaga has become a regular client and muse. How do you approach creating custom looks for major international performers while maintaining the uncompromising integrity of the ILONA universe?
PM: It’s always a learning experience. Designing for the stage and for a tour is a very different process from creating without a specific purpose, and I’ve learned so much working with her. Gaga is the kindest and coolest person there is, and I’ll be forever immensely grateful to her for welcoming me. The “Mayhem” album tour was so much fun, and her stylists—Peri, Nick, and Hunter—are fantastic to work with.
Gaga said that your clothes make her feel like a “porcelain doll.” Is this sense of delicate armor something you consciously build into the architecture of your silhouettes? And, speaking of the people who buy and wear your creations, do you have a clear idea of who they are—the kind of person who wears ILONA?
PM: Yes, I always think of clothes as armor for self-expression. An ILONA girl—or an ILONA guy—is anyone who feels drawn to clothes, and in my opinion, they’re always truly iconic people who aren’t afraid to experiment—first and foremost with themselves—by exploring a different way of seeing themselves.
From custom-made French lace bloomers to structured corsets, your work goes beyond classic red-carpet glamour. There’s certainly sensuality, but also a dark edge. How would you define your idea of femininity?
PM: I love femininity. I absolutely love being a girl. If I had been born a boy, I’d still dress like a girl, and pink is my favorite color. In any case, femininity goes hand in hand with darkness; after all, light and shadow are two sides of the same coin.
[📷 Joshuajhourigan]
