Sculpture
Isabel Lauren Loewe
Nov 4, 2025
Airforce 111, 2022
In the couple of years since Melika’s sneaker-sculptures started ricocheting across feeds, the Coventry-born artist has become a name to know in the crossover space between footwear culture and fine art. She doesn’t treat Air Force 1s and Forums like canvases so much as raw anatomy to be cut apart, re-stitched, heated, and coaxed into new, living shapes. A viral “sneaker apartment,” a tentacled Air Force, and a quietly devastating brain-shoe called My Brain have defined a lane that’s unmistakably hers: commercial enough to sit beside product on a sales floor but personal enough to carry a story.
Her work now shows in Paris galleries and is stocked in streetwear shops. But she’s not interested in glass boxes. She wants her pieces in people’s hands. She hides messages in her drops, builds secret rewards for loyal fans, and treats every release like a world you can walk into.
Can you tell us a little bit about where you grew up?
I grew up in Coventry. I was born there. It’s a city in the UK, not one people tend to brag about. It took a while for me to be proud of being from Coventry, but in the last six years, I’ve really enjoyed it. The love just keeps growing.
When I was younger, I started getting into photography, mostly trying to take cool fit pics. At first, it felt like, well, this is what I’ve got. This is my backdrop. But then I started seeing it differently. I’d frame a part of a building and think this looks kind of sick. Over time, I started spotting places like that everywhere. And now I think, this is cool. This is actually a beautiful place. If I ever open a store or do a pop-up, I want it to start in Coventry. I want people to know it started here.
Do you feel connected to your Iranian heritage?
It’s a mix. I never really feel British. People who are mixed heritage often say they don’t feel enough of either, and I get that, but I wasn’t born in a British family, so I don’t really connect with British culture. I didn’t grow up watching the same shows. Even going out to dinner with friends sometimes feels unfamiliar. Like, I’ll look at a menu and think, what even is this? But Iranian culture doesn’t feel fully mine either. I wasn’t raised in Iran. I speak Farsi at home, and I visit family there, but it’s still not a place I feel totally at ease in. When I go, I don’t always like it. It’s so different from here. And here, I don’t always get what’s going on either. It’s just a bit in between. But I like it that way.
Has that in-betweenness affected how you move through the world?
I think it’s given me perspective. I go by Mel instead of Melicka, mostly because it’s easier for people to say. And when people find out my full name, they’re like, “Wait, where are you from?” They assume I’m British, and then I explain. But it makes me more aware of where I come from and what my family went through. I’m the only person in my whole extended family born outside of Iran. That’s a big thing. It makes me feel lucky, but also like… there’s pressure. If I’m the one who got to be born somewhere else, maybe that means I have to do really well now.
Melicka fouri
What was your upbringing like?
I don’t think about my childhood much. I don’t remember a lot of it. I think it was good. It just wasn’t very memorable. But it was hard in ways that I only understand now. My parents moved here with no real support and a newborn. A lot of my life was them navigating a new country, trying to figure it out. At the time, I probably felt frustrated. But now I get it. There wasn’t anything they could really do. Now I feel like, okay, maybe I can make up for that. But also, I’m not the type of person to go searching for some big healing experience. It is what it is.
Were you creative growing up?
I always drew. I didn’t paint much, but I always had pencils, coloring pens, scraps of stuff. I’ve got drawings I made when I was three; they’re terrible, but my family kept them. That meant something. I was really into little objects. Trinkets. Memories. I held onto everything. I think that kind of collecting, that memory-keeping, is still in my work now.
Were you into sneakers before you started designing?
Always. Buying sneakers was a big deal for me. I remember getting my first pair of Air Force Ones in Year Seven. I had worn the same Adidas All Stars for four years before that. Someone commented on it at school, and that night I was like, “Mum, I need new shoes. I’m serious.” I wore those Forces for six years. They still fit.
Airforce 111, 2022
If you could expand Okki’s Planet into any kind of product, what would it be?
Tracksuits, for sure. I love wearing them. They’re easy to style, they look good, and they’re comfortable. I think sneakers are actually pretty low on the list. There are already so many cool sneakers out there. I’d rather collab with someone on a shoe than make my own. But hoodies, tees. I just want to make stuff I’d actually wear. Most of OK Spin is like that. It’s not calculated. It’s just stuff I love.
Okki’s Planet feels like more than just a brand. Do you think of it as a community?
Yeah, I really care about that part. I try to do giveaways without making it a big thing, and people won’t know they’re entering anything. Once, I released some Okki pins, and before that, I’d dropped a hoodie, and I picked one person who had bought a pin to get free Rockies Closet gear. They didn’t know it was happening; they just got something in the mail. That kind of thing really matters to me. If someone supports what I do, especially if they don’t have to, if they’re just doing it because they care, I want to give something back. I don’t want it to feel like a transaction. I want it to feel like love. Even if it’s just a little Easter egg in a package or a secret message in a caption, I want to give something small that means something.
What do you want Okki’s Planet to become?
I want it to feel honest. Not curated. Not too polished. Not led by trends. Just real. A visual diary. If someone sees a T-shirt or a caption or even a photo I post and goes, “That feels like something I’ve felt,” then that’s enough. And I want it to feel kind. I want people to see themselves in it. A lot of streetwear brands feel intimidating or cool, really aesthetic. I want mine to feel soft. Something you could hug.
What would you want someone to take away from your work?
That you don’t have to wait. You don’t have to have all the answers to start something. You’re allowed to make stuff that doesn’t make sense to anyone else yet, because eventually, it might. I just want it to feel real. You don’t have to have the cool friends, or the money, or the perfect brand identity. You can still make something that matters. You just have to want to say something, and trust that’s enough.
