Aidan Wilder (born Aidan Wilder Thieriot, late 2000) never got into fashion to impress anyone.

He had other paths — ones that promised quicker money and safer outcomes — but it was never about that.

What he wanted couldn’t be bought.

He was chasing a feeling — the one he remembered from being a teenager with no weight on his shoulders, full of possibility and freedom. That feeling faded as times changed and the world grew dull.

The way he saw it: “grey became the main color of the world.”

The fashion industry, like most things in this era, started to feel hollow — all full of exaggerations and phoniness, no soul.

He couldn’t stand to watch it anymore. He wanted new-age pieces that felt real again, but nothing existed that matched his vision or standards.

So he decided to bring that feeling back — for himself, and for anyone who saw what he saw — people still searching for something real, something artistic, something that hits you like electricity.

Through his label Amavi Amor, Aidan started building clothes the way artists in older times — and the mid-2010s — would write songs: with emotion and feel first.

Every piece he designed and constructed was intentional — heavyweight cotton, real silk, high-end materials — built from scratch with obsessive attention to detail.

Every stitch had a reason. Every fabric told a story.

Always custom cut. Always built to last. No shortcuts. No exceptions.

It was never about flexing. It was about chasing that rush — the same one that feels like your favorite memory from when life still felt infinite. The kind of nostalgia that makes your chest ache.

“The real flex nowadays and forever,” he says,

“is what we’re doing here — making clothes that create memories and make you feel good, like the world isn’t so bad and some stuff is kinda cool.”

Aidan doesn’t sugarcoat.

“Modern fashion sucks,” he insists. “There’s no creativity anymore. Anyone with real talent got pushed to the side while the same recycled, soulless garbage keeps getting glorified. Everyone’s chasing quick money. It’s pathetic.”

That frustration became a direction — a mission.

He wasn’t trying to prove anything. He just wanted to do it right.

No hollow drops. No fake hype. No plastic emotion.

Just pure effort, imagination, and raw artistry.

Some call it ego. He calls it honesty.

His philosophy cuts deep.

“What I’m building isn’t like any modern brand — or even a 100-year-old one. When they start caring again, they’ll catch up to my level.”

He’s not saying that for attention. He’s saying it to wake people up — to make them feel something again.

“If you don’t love what you’re doing, don’t do it. And if you’re only doing it for money, you’re already lost.”

To him, it’s bigger than clothes. It’s about building a world where people feel alive again.

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Life for young Aidan never stopped changing.

Becoming a father early didn’t break him — it gave him focus.

It stripped away every distraction, every excuse, every bit of fear. It made him bet on himself and turn all that energy into purpose.

His goal? To leave something that outlives him — a legacy that inspires others to be real, to express themselves, to take risks, to create something that could never be faked.

Amavi Amor was never about perfection — and definitely never about rules.

It’s about energy. Imagination. Vision.

For the ones who don’t fit in.

For the ones who feel too much.

For the ones creating worlds out of thin air.

“Everyone wants to be the same,” he says.

“I just want to be myself — you should too.”

Now, the hate doesn’t matter.

The trends always die.

But feeling — that stays forever.

All that’s left to do is make something that feels alive.

Something different.

Something extraordinary.