Between The Lines 027 : Ray Horacek
The Quiet Architect: Puma’s Experimental Resurgence
Fig. 01 Mikoshi
As design circles lean deeper into the archival renaissance, certain silhouettes from the early 2000s are finding their second wind. But for Ray Horacek, longtime Puma designer and now freelance creative, the present-day fascination is less of a surprise and more of a long-awaited recognition. During a recent sit-down, Horacek opened the vault on his extensive design history, offering a glimpse into one of the most radical eras in Puma’s creative timeline.
Fig. 02 Sketchbook
From around 2002 to 2009, Puma operated in a rare creative vacuum where risk-taking wasn’t just allowed, it was expected. Internally labeled the Motion category, this division in particular became Puma’s unofficial experimental lab. “It was basically Puma’s wild design lab or free design lab,” says Horacek. “Just experimental design… pushing the envelope on cultural references, constructions, and what a sneaker could even be.”
One of the clearest examples is the Niwa, a concept in the exclusive “The List” program developed alongside the more production-friendly Sono. Both designs were rooted in Horacek’s experiences living in Japan, blending traditional elements with bold design moves. “The final version of the Niwa had kimono-style embroidery and was made in Japan, but it only released 500 pairs,” he recalls. “The Sono was the catalog version, basically the same, just simplified.”
Even among niche sneaker collectors, the Niwa is elusive. But its visual DNA layered segmentation, thick sculptural soles feels perfectly in step with today's trend toward hybrid design.
Fig. 03 Niwa
Another standout, the Deba, was inspired by the forms of Japanese umbrellas and samurai sword grips. “Deba actually means ‘tooth that sticks out.’ It started as a sketch that blended traditional craft and aggressive form,” Horacek explains. Though it never reached stores, the Deba’s tension between delicacy and intensity still feels relevant in today's landscape of engineered fashion footwear.
Fig. 04 Deba
Possibly the most radical concept Horacek touched was the Mikoshi - his reinterpretation of Jikatabi, the traditional split-toe footwear seen in Japanese festivals. After taking part in one of those festivals himself, Horacek came away with bruised shoulders and sore feet but also with an idea. “I actually participated in a Japanese festival, carrying these massive shrines,” he says. “The traditional Jikatabi have paper-thin rubber soles. I thought, these need cushioning.”
Fig. 05 Mikoshi
Using the lotus root as a metaphor and design cue, his version of the Jikatabi featured a biomorphic sole unit, bringing together cultural authenticity and performance insights. “It wasn’t parody. It was trying to bring something sacred into the future in a way that still respected its origins.” The Mikoshi was released in limited quantities and photos of it now circle back through design feeds, often mistaken for recent avant-garde drops. “Some of the stuff that felt a little ridiculous back then is getting real attention now. Maybe it just needed to lay dormant.”
Fig. 06 Mikoshi Sketches
Then there’s the Shanghai Motion. Built ahead of the 2008 Beijing Olympics, this concept was inspired by bamboo textures and traditional Chinese tailoring. “There were something like 70 to 80 closed seams per shoe,” Horacek explains. “Each row stitched into the next, designed to mimic the tactile structure of bamboo.” The shoe’s form echoed Eastern design but interpreted it through the lens of hyper-modern sportswear. Other entries, like the gold-and-red variation of the Shanghai, or the Africa-influenced versions of the 917, were equally bold but met a similar fate. “Even when Puma was encouraging risk, some of these were still too far out.”
Fig. 07 Shanghai Motion
One Horacek design to cross into high-volume success was the 917, Puma’s motorsport-inspired answer to the Chuck Taylor. With foxing tape that wrapped up the sidewalls and a distinctive toe cap, it became a sleeper hit. “We sold over two million pairs a year at its peak,” he notes.
But Horacek saw it as more than a commodity. It became his medium for visual experiments. One version was created by photocopying the shoe dozens of times, degrading the image until it resembled a halftone cartoon, then screen printing that pattern directly onto the upper. “It was a cartoon of itself,” he laughs.
Another concept included removable straps inspired by seatbelts. Yet another version nodded to Kehinde Wiley’s artwork and African textiles. “It wasn’t just about pushing materials. It was about embedding meaning into form.”
Fig. 08 917 Mid Factory
Central to Horacek’s philosophy was the “Puma Twist” a term used within the brand to describe the essential strangeness each shoe needed. “If your design just met the brief, it felt like you’d missed the point. You needed something that made people stop and look again,” he says. That twist could be visual, conceptual, or cultural. Sometimes it was as literal as twisting a sneaker silhouette itself, like with the aptly named Barrel Roll. “It was as simple as taking a shoe and rotating its structure. Visually it made zero sense and that was the point.”
Fig. 09 Barrell Roll
Behind this wild creative freedom was a design team built on diversity. “We had designers from Ireland, Korea, Bulgaria, Norway, Japan, Austria, France, America, Germany, Taiwan, Italy...I mean, it was like a Benetton ad,” Ray recalls. More importantly, many of Puma’s developers and business leads were ex-designers themselves. “There was less explaining to do. People just got it.”
Fig. 10 Yutori Sketches
Today, Horacek continues to consult with Puma's innovation team, balancing performance R&D with his archive of narrative-rich footwear. His designs have found kinship with designers like Singapore’s Shun Ping Pek, whose 3D-printed footwear explores similar ideas through computational methods.“There’s a purity in Ping’s work,” says Horacek. “He’s digital-native, but grounded in form. That’s rare.”
Ping, for his part, has expressed interest in reinterpreting one of Horacek’s archived designs through 3D printing potentially the Jikatabi concept. “That would be wild,” says Horacek. “It’s kind of the perfect metaphor. Something born of history, rebuilt for the future.”
Horacek doesn’t see this archival resurgence as a trend. It’s more like the fruition of long-sown seeds. He references a quote by musician Brian Eno, comparing designers to either architects or gardeners. “Architects define every element. Gardeners plant the seeds and see what grows. I’ve always seen myself as a gardener,” he says.
Looking at his body of work, from modular vulcanized concepts to culturally layered hybrids - it’s clear that Ray Horacek wasn’t just designing for his time. He was designing for a future he hoped might arrive.