Our annual GRAZIA Game Changers initiative celebrates bold ambition and fearless innovation. These are the people reshaping industries, communities, and culture—one daring move at a time.
Here, meet Liu Tingzhi, the founder and designer behind circular design studio WASTD, where she reimagines waste as a resource for materials, objects and installations.
What inspired you to pursue this path?
At the core of it, I’ve always just loved materials. I’m a bit of a material nerd. Because materials are all around us, we’re so used to them that we don’t really question what the world is made of. But when you start to understand materials, you start to understand how everything is built—from traditional materials such as concrete and marble to newer, emerging ones. It gives you a completely different perspective on the built environment. What inspires me in this current stage is creating a place for people who believe that the world can be built better. For us, that means materials that are less extractive, more craft‑led, and overall more rich and interesting.
What ultimately prompted the shift from working within major fashion houses and local fashion labels to founding your own studio, WASTD?
It wasn’t one defining moment, but a series of experiences that made the shift feel inevitable. Coming from fashion, I saw waste and deadstock up close, and moments like witnessing luxury goods being destroyed stayed with me. Over time, I realised there was an opportunity to take waste from one industry and transform it into value in another—like turning fashion waste into materials for interiors. Combined with having the right experience and the freedom to take that risk, that’s what led me to start WASTD.
Many people see waste as the end of a product’s life cycle. How do you approach it as the beginning of a new creative process?
I see waste as a resource in the wrong place. I’ve always been drawn to design as a way of finding new perspectives, finding beauty in the everyday and the overlooked. Even things people see as failures, I tend to see as raw material to work with, something you can reshape into something new, novel and meaningful. Of course, working with waste comes with a lot of constraints. Things such as inconsistent colour, unstable feedstock and variability in supply. But that tension, that back and forth, is actually what shapes the outcome. It makes the process more interesting.
I think this is also where systems thinking comes in. Traditionally, design can be quite linear. You start with an outcome in mind and then you source the materials to achieve it. But with waste, it’s much more of a dance. You’re constantly negotiating between what waste material is available, what it can become and what you’re trying to create. And then you’re trying to marry all of those elements.
Even things people see as failures, I tend to see as raw material to work with, something you can reshape into something new, novel and meaningful.
Is there a particular discarded material you’ve worked with that surprised you the most in terms of its potential?
I think for me, it’s really the everyday discarded fabric and textile. They’re so common, but incredibly difficult to recycle, and there’s so much variation in how they can behave. One of our core materials, Wonder, is made from recycled textile offcuts—it looks like stone, but it’s lightweight, workable and even bendable. What surprises me most is its range: depending on the fibre size, textile type and processing method, the finish can change dramatically. Coming from fashion, it also feels especially meaningful to take a material I once helped produce as waste and transform it into something new.
Have you ever faced a moment of self-doubt? How did you push past it?
Definitely—it comes in phases. I’m a recovering perfectionist, so I’ve had to learn how to manage self-doubt rather than let it spiral. What helps is structure: during the week, I stay focused on execution instead of overthinking. I also lean on close friends and industry peers who act as a kind of informal advisory board and help me regain perspective. Over time, experience has helped too—I’ve built the confidence to know that even when doubt shows up, I’ve figured things out before and I will again.
Singapore isn’t traditionally known as a materials innovation hub. What opportunities do you see here for experimentation and circular design?
I see Singapore’s strength as a knowledge hub, system builder and connector. There’s definitely room for more experimentation—we have the infrastructure and it’s relatively easy to find collaborators and test ideas on a smaller scale. The challenge comes with scaling, as innovation often requires a bigger appetite for risk. On circular design, I think Singapore’s opportunity lies less in handling every recycling process locally, and more in driving demand and connecting regional capabilities. With so many brands and decision-makers based here, Singapore can play a key role in bridging supply and demand for circular materials.
What’s a belief or idea you held at the start of your career that you’ve completely rethought?
Earlier in my career, I romanticised the idea of being a pure creative—that thinking about money somehow made the work less authentic. I’ve since learned that being a creative and a business owner can coexist, and that building something commercially viable doesn’t mean compromising your values. In fact, having scalable parts of the business helps fund more intentional work. I’ve also moved past the idea that good work speaks for itself—you still need to know who it’s for, how to present it, and how to tell its story.
What’s a system, standard, or stereotype you hope to completely rewrite?
If I had to pick one thing, I hope more people, especially in Singapore and across Asia, find the courage to try things that are a bit more game-changing or to simply find the courage to try at all.
I think a lot of decisions here are shaped by what people feel they should be doing, rather than what actually feels right for them or what they genuinely want to explore.But the reality today is that the playing field is much more levelled. With social media, with AI, with access to global networks, it’s actually never been easier to test ideas, make connections, and work across borders. Now, trying something new doesn’t necessarily mean you have to blow up your entire life, or have huge savings, or quit your job immediately. There are so many ways now to experiment in smaller, lower-risk ways.
A lot of people accept daily frictions or things they’re unhappy with as just “how life is,” without realising that the world around us was created by someone. Every service, every product, every space you interact with, literally was imagined and built by someone else. So you can either be a passive participant in this world, or you can choose to be an active part of creating the future you want to see. I think that’s the shift I’d love to see more of: people having the courage to step into that role.
What’s next for you? How do you plan to keep changing the game? What kinds of collaborations or industries would you love for WASTD to work with next?
After two years of experimentation, we now have a much clearer sense of what works. Our focus is on expanding our signature materials so they can be specified into spaces, while also launching a consumer-facing, customisable furniture line in Q2. Looking ahead, we want to stay close to the built industry and grow more closed-loop projects—working with brands to transform their own waste streams into materials for their spaces. That kind of embedded circular storytelling feels especially exciting to us.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Photography Joel Low
Creative Direction Kelly Hsu
Styling Marisa Xin
Hair Sveta Klyn/The Suburbs Studio, using Goldwell
Makeup Kat Zhang/ The Suburbs Studio, using Armani Beauty
Producer Cheryl Lai-Lim
Photography assistant Eddie Teo
Fashion assistant Nur Hazwani
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