Shame as Software: Ramona Beattie Turns KGB Bar Into a Cyberpunk Dressing Machine

Reclaiming your name is one thing, redefining what it stands for is another. For Heron Preston, the relaunch of his eponymous label marks less of a comeback than a recalibration. After a prolonged battle to regain full ownership of his trademark from New Guards Group, Heron returns not with spectacle, but with stillness – stripping everything back to intention, authorship, and control.

“It feels like breathing again,” he says, describing the clarity that comes with independence after years of creative friction. That clarity forms the backbone of Foundation: Blue Line Edit, a quiet but deliberate reintroduction to the brand as a system of ideas rather than a constant cycle of seasonal releases.

How does it feel to have full control of your brand again?

It feels like breathing again. Truly a breath of fresh air! There's a lightness that comes with full ownership that I didn't realize I had lost until I got it back. Every decision, big or small, is mine now. That sounds simple but it's profound when you've lived the alternative. When your name, your identity, something you built with your own hands, is controlled by someone else, there's a constant friction. A constant negotiation between who you are and what the system will allow you to be. That friction is gone now. What's left is just clarity.

What was the first thing you wanted to do once everything was back in your hands?

Slow down. Which sounds counterintuitive, I know. Most people would expect me to come out swinging, announcing my return loudly. But the first thing I wanted to do tear it all down and rebuild. Use the time to think and reconnect with why I started this in the first place. I went back to the original intentions — what did I actually want to say? What did I want to build? I've grown up. I've matured. I stripped everything back to the foundation and started from there. No rush. No pressure from outside forces. Just me and my ideas.

Was there ever a point where you considered walking away from your own name entirely?

Yes. Genuinely, yes. I wanted to move to the farthest corner of the world, change my name and start over. Live on a farm. When you're in the middle of a legal battle against people with more resources and deeper pockets than you, walking away starts to feel rational. They were counting on that. They wanted to break me. Most creatives in similar situations do walk away — not because they want to, but because the system makes it feel impossible to fight. I almost let them have it. But something in me couldn't surrender my own name. It felt too fundamental. Your name is your authorship. It's your identity.  It's the one thing that's supposed to be yours unconditionally. I chose to fight even though I didn't want to. I'm glad I did! Never give up!

Did regaining ownership change how you see the brand?

Completely. When I was within the larger group, the brand was being shaped by consensus, by growth targets, by the agenda of a larger machine. It was being shaped by people who did not love me or care for my voice. I was fulfilling other people's expectations. Now I see the brand for what it actually is; a medium. A vehicle for ideas. It's not just about clothes. It's about cultural contribution, sustainability, community, storytelling. Fashion is the entry point but it's not the destination. Regaining ownership gave me permission to think that expansively again. To build something that evolves without losing its core.

When we spoke in 2023 before your New York Fashion Week show you spoke about two main aspects of your design process — looking at past designs to see what worked, and referencing the many photos you take. Designing this new collection, was the process the same as before?

The tools were similar but the intention was different. I still look back; at the archive, at what resonated, at what still feels true. And I still photograph everything. That never stops. The camera is how I process the world. But this time, the process was more internal. More personal. I wasn't designing for a runway or a calendar or a buyer's meeting. I was designing to find out what I actually believed in. What I wanted to stand behind. The Foundation assortment emerged from that kind of honesty. It's quieter than what people might expect from me. More restrained. But every choice in it is intentional in a way that feels new to me. Foundation urges the wearer to celebrate themselves. It's about believing in the power of you.

What did you learn from the period when you didn't fully own your brand?

I learned that protection is everything. Legally, yes, own your trademarks, understand your contracts. But here's something that surprised me: you cannot just trust the experts. Even your lawyer. That sounds crazy to say but professionals can fail you. They have their own limitations, their own blind spots, their own interests. What I wish I had done sooner was seek an outside opinion from a trusted mentor, someone with real business experience who had my best interest in mind and nothing else. That layer of perspective is invaluable and I didn't have it early enough. 

I also learned that in business, people do not care about you, your family, or your personal well being. That was a hard and painful lesson. When the relationship didn't feel right, I simply wanted to leave. I didn't want to fight. But when I tried to walk away, it felt like they were trying to kick me and my family out onto the streets. It was cold blooded. They made me fight. And that experience changed how I move in every business relationship going forward. Trust is earned slowly and protected carefully.

Beyond that, I learned that my energy is limited and not everyone deserves access to it. I learned that solitude is productive. That stepping back from the noise isn't weakness — it's discernment.

During those years when the trademark "Heron Preston" was owned and controlled by my former partners, every idea, every project, every expression that involved my name required their approval. As an artist, that felt like wearing handcuffs. So I flipped the label. Literally. I turned old orange labels from my DSNY project backwards, revealing the blank side, and used them as my tag. No name. No trademark. No approval needed. That flipped orange label became my escape route. A loophole. A quiet rebellion. A reminder that creativity will always find a way out. When systems try to limit the artist, the artist will reinvent the system.

Does your relationship with the brand now feel the same as before it was acquired?

No. And I think that's a good thing. Before, there was an excitement that came with access — being part of the system, contributing to it, pushing it forward from the inside. That energy was real and I don't dismiss it. But it was also younger. Less considered. Now the relationship is more mature. More deliberate. I'm not chasing the industry's pace or expectations anymore. I'm not trying to prove anything to anyone. The brand and I have been through something together. That changes you. What we have now is harder earned and because of that it means more.

What excites you most about starting again independently?

The ecosystem. Previously I was limited to what the larger structure would allow. Now I can build the full picture — fashion, music, food and beverage, objects, experiences, research. Ideas that connect to real life in multiple dimensions. I'm excited about building something that isn't just a clothing brand but a living, evolving body of work. Fewer things, made better, with deeper meaning behind each one. And doing it entirely on my own terms. Direct to the people. No intermediaries between me and the audience. That directness is everything to me right now.

Last time you said that your greatest achievement to date was simply, "keeping the lights on" and being able to continue doing what you do, and be happy doing it. Does getting through the last couple of years and regaining independence now feel even greater?

Without question. Keeping the lights on was about survival — about persisting through uncertainty and finding joy in the work itself. That still matters to me deeply. But what happened these past few years was something different. This was a fight for authorship. A fight for freedom. For the right to my own identity. I went up against a system that was designed to outlast me and I didn't walk away. I came out the other side with my name, my trademarks, my integrity fully intact. I have a family now. A daughter. And I want her to know that when something truly belongs to you, you don't give it up without a fight. Getting through this feels greater, yes. But more than great, it feels necessary. Like it had to happen exactly this way.