Lebanese designer Eric Mathieu Ritter isn’t interested in fashion for fashion’s sake. After years of feeling disconnected from the industry’s hierarchy and routine, he built something different — a label born out of creativity, community, and purpose. We sat down with him to talk about finding meaning in design and building a brand with the mission.

— The story of Emergency Room began when you started teaching women in Tripoli how to make clothes. But before that — what was your life like? What kind of background did you come from?

— I grew up in Beirut, where I still live today, and spent pretty much my whole life here. We had a very social, busy household, always with many people around. Fashion and clothes were important in my family: everyone liked to dress up. And I was always fascinated by anything artistic. As a kid, I loved theatre, singing, and drawing.

— Do you remember the moment when your love for fashion started and when you decided to dedicate your life to it?

— I was around 14 when I thought about working in fashion. I did an internship with a designer in Beirut, and I loved the atmosphere of the workshop — it felt like a family, where everyone was having fun. It didn’t feel like work. That is when I realised what I wanted to do for the rest of my life — I didn’t want to feel like I was “working.” So, I studied fashion in Beirut, and after graduating, I went to Paris. But I didn’t feel good there.

— Why didn’t Paris work out?

— It felt too corporate — you wake up, work, sleep, repeat. I didn’t reconnect with that spark I had at 14. Also, it was partly the city — it is cold, and so are the people. I missed my family and my comfort zone. But also, I didn’t feel useful there. It was all hierarchy and routine. I couldn’t see myself climbing that ladder just to make more money each year. It felt meaningless.

That is why I returned to Beirut, started working for a designer here, and again it felt the same — structured, routine, lifeless. Eventually, I quit and started working with NGOs, and then — teaching at universities. I was teaching women how to sew, and that is when I rediscovered the sense of community and creativity that made me fall in love with fashion in the first place. That is what eventually led to Emergency Room.

— You have French roots too, right?

— Yes, my father is French — that is how I have French nationality, which made it easier to move to Paris.

— And growing up between cultures — how did that shape you?

— My father wasn’t very present while I was growing up, but Lebanon itself is quite multicultural. Many people here speak Arabic, English, and French, so from a young age, you are exposed to different languages, films and ideas. I think that is what shaped me most — being raised in a place where you are constantly learning to accept differences. That diversity really influenced me, even more than the mix of my own heritage.

— Let’s get back to your professional journey. When working in fashion became unfulfilling, you started helping women from unprivileged societies. How did that shift happen?

— It was a conscious decision — but also an opportunity that came at the right time. I was tired of being in design studios, so when I got the offer to teach, I thought, why not? It was something new, and I am so glad I said yes. It helped me discover something important about myself — something I probably wouldn’t have learned otherwise. That is why I always encourage people to try new things.

— And this experience eventually led to Emergency Room. What is the story behind it?

— I had always wanted to start my own brand — that has been a dream since I was 14. But I was disappointed with the fashion world. It felt like a lot of ego and very little meaning. I didn’t want to start “just another brand.”

When I began working in Tripoli, I met incredible craftspeople — talented, skilled individuals who simply lacked opportunities. I also discovered the city’s flea markets, where secondhand clothes from Europe are sold by the ton. At the end of each season, anything unsold is thrown away — often directly into nature.

It struck me: we have people who know how to make clothes but no work, and we have mountains of clothes being discarded. So I thought — why not combine the two? I had already experimented with upcycling before, so I decided to build a brand around it. That is how Emergency Room was born — using secondhand garments and turning them into something new, working alongside local artisans.

From the beginning, I didn’t want it to be marketed as a “pity project” or just “sustainable fashion.” I wanted it to be desirable because it is cool, not because it is ethical.

— How did people in the industry react when you approached them with your idea?

— Most people were intrigued — some were amused. Suppliers who were used to making plain shirts suddenly had me asking for bold prints and unusual materials. It was new for everyone, but they enjoyed the challenge. Customers, on the other hand, loved it from the start. It looked different, fresh, and daring.

— You have come a long way since then, from fashion weeks to major collaborations, but what was the first moment you realised, “This is actually working”?

— For me, every day is a success. Just keeping the business running in Lebanon — especially since 2019 — is a huge achievement. The first success, though, was when I made my first 12 jackets and sold them in a local boutique. Seeing people buy them, validating my idea, that was everything. Every milestone since then has just built on that.

— Your collections always feel personal, and you often reflect publicly on what is happening around you. Can you walk me through your creative process?

— I usually start with either a story I want to tell or with the materials themselves.

Sometimes the fabrics inspire the story; sometimes the story determines what materials I look for. But it always ties back to what’s happening around us — socially, politically, environmentally.

I don’t believe in fashion that sells fantasy. I believe in fashion that reflects reality. You can’t talk about sustainability without acknowledging what’s broken first. For me, it is all interconnected — environment, society, politics — and fashion should reflect that.

— Emergency Room originally had four lines reffering to four colour codes, then expanded, and now you have returned to the foundations. Why?

— The idea of the codes was to categorise our materials — whether they were new, deadstock, or upcycled. It helped explain where things came from. We moved away from that for a while and launched a sub-brand called Overworked during the economic crisis, offering more affordable pieces. It worked well for a few years but managing two brands was difficult, so we shut Overworked down and brought everything back under Emergency Room, reorganised around the code system again. It keeps things clearer — different price ranges, from commercial to one-of-a-kind.

— Is there a piece that holds special meaning for you?

— Not really. In the beginning, it was hard to let go of pieces I had spent so much time on, but now I have learned not to get attached. I am always more excited about what is next.

— There is one person I can’t help but picture whenever I think of Emergency Room — Hoda Ziade. How did you convince your gorgeous grandmother, who was then 80 years old, to become a fashion model?

— It is a funny story. When we opened our store in Beirut, I wanted to change how we communicated — to show real faces, real people. I did a casting of 24 people of all ages, backgrounds, and religions. I included my grandmother because she is such a force — fierce, elegant, bold.

At the time, she was in mourning and only wore black. I thought modelling for us might lift her spirits. She agreed immediately — “I’ll do anything for you,” she said. I dressed her in bright colours, and people loved her photos. She completely stole the show. Since then, she has been modelling for other designers too — it became its own story.

— That is amazing — you have basically become her agent!

— (Laughs) In a way, yes. I wear many hats.

— Was she always into fashion?

— Always. When I was a kid, we all lived together, so I saw her every day. She always put a lot of effort into how she looked. Every morning she would get fully dressed, hair and makeup done, jewelry on — that was how she started her day.

She was very social, always out for lunch or playing cards with her friends. Sometimes she would take me along, other times they would come over — all of them beautifully dressed, elegant, and composed. I grew up surrounded by women who cared deeply about how they looked, spoke, and carried themselves.

— Before we wrap up — what is life like for you outside of Emergency Room? What inspires you today?

— I don’t have much free time. Besides my brand, I also direct the fashion department at ALBA, which takes up half my week. When I do have time, I try to listen to what my body and mind need — food, friends, a drink, whatever comes to mind. I am very impulsive — if I want to do something, I will do it. I like to live by that. What we have is today, so I try to enjoy it fully.

— And finally, what is next for Emergency Room?

— Honestly, I don’t think much about the future. I focus on the present — it is stressful enough to run a business in Lebanon without worrying about what is next. Of course, I want to grow, but in a way that feels right. My goal isn’t numbers, it is impact. If I can keep creating jobs, inspiring people, or sparking change through what we do — that is enough.