The Vietnamese-born designer reflects on precision, independence, and building PD-168—a uniform for creative lives in motion.

Peter Do is a Vietnamese-born, New York–based designer celebrated for his sharp tailoring, architectural silhouettes, and quietly radical approach to modern dressing. After honing his craft at Celine under Phoebe Philo, he launched his eponymous label in 2018, earning acclaim for its precision, emotion, and redefinition of power dressing.

A recipient of the LVMH Graduate Prize and a two-time CFDA Award nominee, Do has become one of fashion’s most compelling voices. His sleek, minimalist designs have graced Beyoncé, Zendaya, and NCT’s Jeno, cementing his status as both critically lauded and culturally resonant. With his new label, PD-168, he continues to expand his vision of a genderless, functional uniform for creative people in motion.

TAX sat down with Peter in New York to explore how he’s charted his true north amid constant change. Accompanying this conversation is an exclusive image editorial that follows 168 hours in PD-168.

Words by Noah Angelo, Images by Mitch Zacary

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TAX: I want to start off diving right into your newest venture, PD-168. You’ve had so much success with your mainline label, Peter Do. Now you have PD-168. Can you tell us about the inspiration behind creating this entire separate brand?

PD: I think the main inspiration when we started was that I wanted to separate Peter Do the person from Peter Do the brand. That's been on my mind for some time because I'm so intertwined with the brand. But I feel like Peter Do was trying to say too many things and to speak to too many people at the same time. 

I also felt like there could be a component of my personal uniform that should be separated, that should have its own thing and its own life and its own freedom to be exactly who I want to be as a person. It can be a bit of a weird space because yes, it’s my name, but ‘Peter Do’ the brand was growing so much, and at some point you have to let go of what your brand may become.

And I was just thinking about how my personal uniform is so different from what I make for mainline Peter Do collections, because it doesn't really have to be bound by seasonal trends or colors. I wear all black and I like my clothes to be easy care, because I'm always on the go and traveling. 

TAX: And can you tell us about the name? 

PD: We thought 168 feels right because it's a play on the amount of hours in a week. It’s meant to be something that you can wear, all the time, every day, that doesn't change with the fashion calendar.

 

All looks @pd_168

Image by @mitchzachary

Creative by @iamolivierweber

Grooming by @kentoutsubo

Casting by @f10casting

Production by @26mjeremy @modem_creative_projects_

Grooming assisted by @yuhi_kim

Production assisted by @juliettekemps

 

I love that. Can you tell us more about the three archetypes you design for with this line?

We want PD-168 to be a genderless brand. From the start, we thought about three pillars where a uniform could exist and be of service.

The first is creative people: singers, artists, poets, photographers. I was thinking back to being a student, and now, as a creative in my mid-thirties, what I actually need from my clothes. The goal with the system was to create something almost invisible, so people can focus on what they do best. 

The second pillar is about movement and how we can become the uniform for people in motion: athletes, bodybuilders, fencers, runners. In every city, there’s this active side to creative life, the gym or dance or movement. Even my trainer once wore a Peter Do cashmere tank to work out, and I thought it was funny he was wearing that to the gym. We chatted about it and it reminded me that people want to express themselves and feel good, even in a functional setting. 

The third pillar is more open. It’s a kind of modern service uniform that moves between offices, agencies, gyms, even airplanes. The dream is to eventually design for places like Din Tai Fung, Atomix, or Michelin-starred restaurants, or even airlines or hotels. Anywhere we can create a shared identity through clothing and create a special label for them.

I wanted to ask about the technical details of the fabrics. I read there are three primary fabrics you use across the whole line. How did you land on those and what was the timeline of finding them?

It took nearly two years of testing. I’ve been living in PD-168 for that long. It’s been through the wash hundreds of times. I travel in it, sleep in it, work out in it. We wanted fabrics that were technical yet easy-care: machine washable, where the black color won’t fade, can stretch and move with you, where they don’t absorb odor. That was really important for me, especially since I’m always on the go, eating out, and living out of a suitcase. We’re asking a lot from the fabric, and it’s not perfect yet. But it feels like a good starting point.

How do you edit things down to the final pieces you end up with? And how does that process compare between PD-168 and creating a full collection for the main line?

It’s tough, we edit a lot out. Because I wear everything myself, it’s a personal process. I’ll ask, Would I actually wear this again? If something feels too ‘special occasion’, we’ll move it to the main line.

With the main line, especially lately, we’ve been really focused on craft—on how each garment is made. We get a little geeky about it. Like, we’ll find silk from Vietnam that was once made for royalty and figure out how to modernize it. It’s a much more emotional process.

But for PD-168, the clothes need to feel unisex and genderless, not too feminine or too masculine. Everything’s grounded in heritage and authenticity, often inspired by pieces from my own wardrobe. The shirt came from a vintage one I wear all the time, and the cargo pants are similar to a pair I have from high school. Sometimes even stuff from Goodwill. I love reworking things like that, adding elastic, adjusting the fit.

As I wear the pieces, I keep asking: Do we really need three shirts, or is one enough? Another coat, or can the bomber layer over it when it’s cold? That’s the kind of editing we do all the way through.

You mentioned wanting the clothes to be genderless, and I know inclusivity is a big part of your philosophy. How have you approached that from the start with this project, and who are some of the people that inspire you?

I think with 168, I’ve always wanted the person to be the star. I see the clothes as perfect blanks, like pieces that don’t distract or overpower the person wearing them.

I want them to feel familiar- like a cargo pant, a shirt, a blazer- so the artist or chef wearing them comes through. With the main line, sometimes the clothes can wear you a bit more. If you’re not that person, a bonded, pink, statement-making piece might feel like a lot. 

That’s the distinction. When we shot the campaign with Vietnamese creatives in Saigon, everyone shone through because they chose what felt like their own uniform. Seeing how people make the pieces their own.

There’s so much change happening in fashion right now, and it feels like there’s more attention on the industry than ever. What’s exciting you most at the moment? 

I feel like there’s so much changing in fashion right now. But fashion’s always changing, and it kind of thrives on that. That’s what makes it exciting, and honestly, what drew me to it in the first place. I always like to look forward and not look back, and I feel like fashion does that.

What I’m excited about now is seeing so many designers and brands doing things on their own terms. The internet’s made the world so small that everyone can participate in fashion in their own way. You can be a small brand in Asia with a store that serves your local community, or you can be in New York but doing things outside the traditional show system.

I love seeing that. There’s space for everyone now, and I’m excited to keep discovering all these different kinds of brands doing their own thing.

You’ve mentioned learning to say no and focus on doing a few things really well. How do you decide what’s worth saying yes to now, and what to let go of?

I used to take on too much—too many projects. I wanted to do everything. This year, I’ve been thinking more about doing a few things really, really well. Maybe even just one.

I went to Japan earlier in the year and met people who’ve been making silk for 30 years or jeans for 40. It’s all passed down through generations. Some of them said, I just make jeans, and if I sell three pairs this week, I’m good. And that really stuck with me. It was so inspiring to meet people who believe deeply in their craft and focus on perfecting it, rather than trying to be ten different things at once.

That’s what I’m trying to do with Peter Do Club and 168—build something with integrity, do it really well, and not overextend. Now, when I take on new projects, I ask myself: Does this bring me joy? Does it make sense? Can I do a good job? Am I inspired by it?

I don’t want to do things just to have my name out there anymore. That’s not what I’m chasing.

You mentioned earlier how you’ve been focusing in and learning to say no, which is a beautiful testament to the platform you’ve built and the freedom that comes with it. Where do you hope to take things next, whether with Peter Do Club, PD-168, or something entirely new? What’s exciting you right now?

What’s exciting for me right now is real-life interaction—the intimacy between me and the people who wear the clothes. For so long, I felt like I was always online, kind of hiding behind the mask. Not intentionally, but I wanted the work to speak for itself. And in doing that, I think I created a bit of distance between myself and the audience.

That’s why we started doing more pop-ups this year with Peter Do Club, and we’re planning five or six more around the world next year. I just want to meet people—to talk to the ones who actually buy and wear the clothes. Less about reviews or critiques, and more about direct feedback: Do you like the product? How can we make it better? How can we make your life easier?

That kind of intimacy, that real dialogue, is what I want to keep building on next year.

Let’s go back a little bit - what were you like growing up, and what originally drew you to design and creativity?

I moved to the U.S. from Vietnam when I was 14, to Philadelphia. No one in my family was creative, really, though my grandma had a sewing machine and taught me some basics when I was little. In high school, I taught myself how to sew. I was president of our sustainability club, and we decided to put on a fashion show using discarded materials—curtains, trash bags, whatever we could find. My mom bought me a $20 sewing machine from Kmart, and I learned at the kitchen table.

The clothes were terrible—you could barely get them on or off—but I remember how people felt when they wore them. Even though the garments were rough, something changed in them. That feeling was addictive. Up until then, I’d been a painter and sculptor, always working alone. But seeing my work come alive on someone’s body was the first time I felt a real dialogue between what I made and the person experiencing it, and I never really looked back.

When I first started, I didn’t know anything about the fashion world or industry or anything. I was just obsessed with the process—how fabric is made, the techniques, tailoring, all of it. Later, when I worked at Celine in Paris, that’s when I truly understood fashion. But even now, what I love most is the transformation that happens when someone puts something on and feels like themselves—but maybe ten percent better. If my clothes can make someone feel more confident, sexier, like they can take on the world, that’s when I know I’ve done my job.

You were at Celine in Paris under Phoebe Philo, which is incredible, and later with Derek Lam. Are there things you learned from those experiences that still guide you or influence how you design now?

Yeah, always. Those two experiences really prepared me to start my own brand. Celine was my bootcamp. That’s where I learned how an atelier really operates and what fashion with a capital F means. Working under Phoebe was something people dreamed of at the time, and I was lucky to be there. It was such an incredible moment in fashion. But it was really hard too, because we worked long hours and I never saw my friends and family. There was no work-life balance. 

And then when I moved back to New York, I worked at Derek Lam and that was interesting too, because then it taught me how to operate in the garment district in Midtown. I learned how to make clothes in New York, which is very different from making clothes in Paris and Italy, where you would typically have a factory where they can do everything for you in one place. In New York, you have to go to one place to get a pattern made, and then go to another place to get it graded, and somewhere else to get a buttonhole done. That was my New York garment district story. I fell in love with the garment district from my job there.

But those two jobs definitely prepared me for PD, which was a mishmash of both of those things. We started by working with some of the same fabric mills I knew from Celine, and the factories I used at Derek Lam. There are many things from those chapters that combined to form the foundation of PD.

You mentioned earlier what it’s like to have your name on something, to have it become a brand. How have you come to terms with that level of success, and how do you think about it now?

I don’t know—it’s something I still think about. There are challenges that come with it. Sometimes it feels almost like an out-of-body experience, seeing my name on a label or on the door. It’s not really me anymore. It’s become something much bigger, an idea that people have about “PD,” often without even knowing who I am personally. They see the collections, the interviews, the work, and they build their own version of what the brand is. That’s been interesting to navigate.

When I started PD, one of the biggest shifts for me was realizing when it stopped being just me designing and became a real brand and a business. That transition from being a designer to being a manager was hard. A lot of my peers say the same thing. Suddenly, you’re only doing ten percent creative work, and the rest is budgets, payroll, cash flow, projections for Q1 or Q4 or whatever. All these things that fill your days and your stress levels. That part was really tough in the beginning.

We were lucky to find success quickly, but that also meant we had to learn fast—how to operate, how to manage, how to delegate, how to build structure. We made tons of mistakes, but we’re still here, and I think that’s made us stronger. It’s definitely a tough transition, though.

You’ve always had such a strong visual point of view. Can you talk a bit about how you’ve honed that over time? 

Yeah, I like when things aren’t too planned and when they happen organically. I love accidents and mistakes. A lot of my favorite pieces from PD actually came from factory errors, or when we cut something wrong, or the fabric came out differently than expected. I love that. If you trust the process, something unexpected always comes out of it.

It’s the same with images. I’ve always loved photographers like Juergen Teller or Mark Borthwick where something looks like a mistake, but it’s not. It feels alive, in the moment. The best shot is often when the model’s waiting, mid-hair or makeup or whatever, when everything feels natural and a little imperfect.

If something turns out exactly how you planned it, it’s almost less interesting. I like when it comes out a little off. You need a solid foundation and plan, but you also have to leave room for mistakes, for chance, for getting out of your comfort zone sometimes. That’s where the magic happens.

A lot of the garments I’m most proud of came from moments that weren’t supposed to happen—not struggles exactly, but situations where something went differently than I expected. Maybe someone made it a different way, and I thought, Oh, that’s actually interesting, or we couldn’t find the fabric we wanted, so we went in a new direction and discovered something better.

We’ve talked a bit about references. You also mentioned taking time this year to step back—traveling to Japan and seeing craftsmanship at such a high level. Where do you look for inspiration now? How do you fill up your creative well?

For me, it always comes back to people. Talking to people, watching people - that’s where I get the most inspiration. I’m fascinated by how people get dressed, what they choose as their uniform, how they show up in their day-to-day lives.

This year has also been about slowing down a bit. Taking breaks, having more conversations, exploring, seeing different perspectives. I didn’t really have time for that before, and it’s been so energizing. I’ve also been thinking a lot about giving back and doing more mentorship, guest critiques at schools, talking with students. Those moments are really inspiring too.

Seeing a new generation of people doing things on their own terms, with such different perspectives, pushes me to be braver and more fearless in my own work. That’s been really inspiring.

This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity. This story first appeared in print for TAX Magazine Issue [6].