Weaving the Wind: The Translucent Legacy of Lee Young-hee

In the crisp, golden light of a Seoul autumn, where the sun-kissed shades of fallen leaves dictate the palette of the season, one finds the spiritual origin of Lee Young-hee’s design philosophy. Before her passing in 2018 at the age of 82, Lee was not merely a guardian of Korean tradition; she was an innovator who understood that for heritage to survive, it must breathe.

Her medium was the hanbok, but her muse was nature itself. To Lee, the traditional garment was a canvas where the natural world’s brushstrokes-from the magenta of a flower to the deep green of a pine forest-could be captured and worn.

Korean designer Lee Young-hee’s pursuit of perfection awarded her with international praise for her traditional and modern hanbok designs. ©Jungman Kim/Young-hee Lee

The Architecture of Softness

The hanbok is a garment defined by its silhouette and social resonance. Rooted in the Three Kingdoms period (57 BC – 668 AD) and influenced by the aesthetics of the Tang Dynasty, it is an assembly of volume and line: the chima (a full, high skirt), the mujigi (petticoat), and the jeogori (a short, long-sleeved jacket) tied with the goreum.

For Lee Young-hee, however, these were not static historical artifacts. They were vessels for “good intentions.” She often spoke of her work not as a business of fashion, but of spirit. This conviction drove her to establish the Lee Young Hee Korean Museum of Culture in Manhattan and to showcase her works at the Smithsonian, proving that the language of authentic beauty is universal.

Yet, the transition from historical reenactment to high fashion required a material revolution. Forty years ago, as she began her journey, the South Korean textile industry had not yet blossomed into the powerhouse it is today. Lee faced a scarcity of sophisticated fabrics capable of translating her vision. She looked backward to move forward, reviving forgotten tradecrafts-antique weaving techniques, direct cloth painting, and brilliant sheen dyeing-to restore the dignity of the materials.

This collection was inspired by Young-hee’s knowledge of the Joseon Dynasty, when families would mix and match torn strips of fabric to form a striped patchwork piece of clothing. Courtesy of Lee Young Hee

The Alchemy of Organza

The turning point in Lee’s artistic evolution was her mastery of organza. Seeking a fabric that could convey both regal elegance and ethereal lightness, she turned to this translucent silk, traditionally reserved for Western bridal wear. It was a daring choice; organza is notoriously difficult to tame. Its loosely woven fibers unravel easily, and its transparency demands a flawless interior.

Lee saw opportunity in this opposition. To create depth, she developed a layering technique, placing two linings of different colors beneath the outer organza. When the layers moved against one another, they conjured a multidimensional richness-a shifting color that mimicked the organic unpredictability of nature.

To solve the structural fragility, she revived a labor-intensive traditional Korean sewing method: stitching every edge three times. This “triple stitch” was invisible to the naked eye but essential to the garment’s integrity. It was an act of economic defiance; the technique added hours to production and ballooned costs, yet Lee refused to compromise. “Beauty is an endless pursuit of perfection,” she maintained, prioritizing the unseen quality over market efficiency. Even when critics warned that the lightweight fabric would limit the clothes to seasonal wear, Lee trusted the changing times-and the advent of modern climate control-to make her vision viable year-round.

To compensate for the delicate, loosely-woven organza fibers, Young-hee revived a traditional Korean sewing method, stitching each edge three times. Courtesy of Lee Young Hee

Clothes of Wind

The crystallization of Lee Young-hee’s legacy occurred in 1993 at Prêt-à-Porter Paris. Here, she unveiled a collection that would redefine the hanbok for the modern eye: Clothes of Wind.

In a bold subtractive move, she removed the jeogori (jacket), leaving the dress to stand alone. The result was a stunning, high-waisted silhouette that flowed with the grace of the elements. The shimmering, fairy-like fabrics did not just clothe the body; they interacted with the air around it. Laurence Benaïm, a noted fashion critic, observed that Lee’s strength lay in returning to the source, describing her robes as telling “the colors and fragrances of her childhood,” like a walk through a pine forest dancing in the winter breeze.

This modernization was not a rejection of the past, but a distillation of it. The Clothes of Wind captured the aristocracy of the spirit, maintaining the classic high waistline while slimming the volume slightly for contemporary movement.

Courtesy of Lee Young Hee

A Cultural Anchor

Lee Young-hee’s life was a testament to the words of South Korean patriot Kim Koo, who believed that culture is the ultimate source of happiness and peace. “I really hope that our nation will not imitate the fruits of other nations,” Kim once said, “but that it becomes the source, the goal and the model of elegance.”

Through her persistence, Lee fulfilled this hope. She navigated the skepticism of the fashion industry and the indifference of a changing society by adhering to her mother’s advice: to lead a life of faithfulness, trusting that the truth of one’s work will eventually be revealed.

Today, as the hanbok enjoys a global renaissance, the threads Lee Young-hee wove remain central to the tapestry. She did not just design clothes; she constructed a bridge between the Joseon Dynasty and the modern runway, proving that tradition, when treated with reverence and innovation, is never static. It moves, like the wind.