Justin Dougan-LeBlanc on Inclusion, Innovation, and the Future of Fashion
Justin Dougan-LeBlanc’s solo exhibition “Background Noise” at the Dyer Arts Center at NTID explores core memories of growing up Deaf, capturing moments of silence, misunderstanding, resilience, and joy. Photo by Matthew Sluka.
Through his work as a designer, educator, and advocate, Justin Dougan-LeBlanc is opening doors for Deaf creatives and reshaping the conversation around access and inclusion in fashion.
I was shocked. It's 2025. We’ve made incredible strides in technology, global communication, and awareness, yet this revelation made me pause and realize how far we still have to go.
Professionally, this milestone affirms the years of hard work, resilience, and advocacy I’ve poured into my craft and my teaching. But it also fuels a deeper sense of responsibility. I’m not here just for myself. I’m here to open doors and hold them open for those coming behind me.
Looking back, what were some of the biggest challenges you faced in your journey through fashion and academia, and how did you overcome them?
The journey has not been easy. While others might walk a steady path, I’ve often had to sprint to keep up, to prove my worth, and to be, funny enough, heard. Being Deaf meant I was constantly navigating systems that weren’t built for me, whether it was communication barriers in the classroom or being overlooked in professional spaces due to assumptions about my capabilities.
I overcame these challenges by refusing to let them define me. I relied on my passion for storytelling through design, the support of mentors and allies, and a stubborn belief that I belonged in the room, even when others weren’t ready to make space. Earning tenure at Ƶ was the first time I truly felt seen for the totality of my contributions—creatively, academically, and as a leader.
How has your experience as a Deaf artist and educator shaped your teaching philosophy or approach to working with students?
My experience as a Deaf artist is the foundation of my teaching philosophy. It has taught me to lead with empathy, to embrace innovation, and to never assume that learning should be one-size-fits-all.
As someone who has faced constant barriers in education, I’m hyper-aware of how traditional systems can unintentionally exclude. That’s why I challenge myself, and my students, to reimagine what access and inclusion can look like. My “invisible disability” becomes visible through my teaching. I show students how to use design as a tool for advocacy, how to create with intention, and how to recognize that the choices they make as artists and designers impact real people.
In what ways has Ƶ supported your growth and helped you reach this milestone?
Columbia has played a vital role in my growth as both an artist and educator. I am especially grateful to Dr. Colbey Reid and my colleagues in the School of Fashion whose belief in me has been unwavering.
Columbia has fostered an environment where I’ve been able to explore bold, cross-disciplinary collaborations. Whether partnering with departments outside of fashion or mentoring students through complex, socially driven projects, I’ve been empowered to push the boundaries of what fashion education can be.
What do you think the fashion industry—and fashion education—still needs to work on when it comes to accessibility, inclusion, and representation?
Fashion loves to market itself as progressive, but there’s still a huge gap between performative inclusion and actual systemic change. Accessibility isn’t just about installing a ramp or offering captioned videos—it’s about deeply understanding the lived experiences of those who have been left out of the conversation. We need to teach students that designing for disability isn’t “niche,” it’s essential. We need disabled models on runways, disabled designers on design teams, and disabled scholars shaping curricula.
At Columbia, I’ve seen the power of encouraging students to question norms and look critically at the industry. We teach them not just how to make clothes, but how to think. That critical thinking, combined with empathy, is how we start building a more equitable fashion future.
What advice would you offer to young creatives with disabilities who are navigating higher education or trying to break into the fashion world?
First and foremost: You belong here.
Surround yourself with people who see your brilliance. For the longest time, I felt like a token, someone others could point to and say, “Look, we’re inclusive!” But I’ve learned that our stories are not accessories. We are the main characters in our own narratives.
To this day, in over twenty-one seasons and more than 200 designers, “Project Runway” has only featured one contestant with a disability—me. That says everything about the work that still needs to be done. But let that motivate you, not discourage you. Use your voice, use your art, and never let someone else’s limited vision define your potential.
You are not alone. And the fashion world needs you more than you know.
How do you hope your promotion—and your presence in fashion academia—will inspire future generations of designers, artists, and educators?
I hope that my promotion sends a clear message to young people with disabilities: Your dreams are valid. Your work matters. You are not an afterthought.
As a new father to twins, this moment means even more to me. I want my children—and all children—to grow up seeing role models who reflect the full spectrum of human experience.
I’m excited to continue mentoring young designers, expanding interdisciplinary projects, and pushing the boundaries of what inclusive design can look like. The work doesn’t stop here—it’s just beginning.
When Justin Dougan-LeBlanc received news of his promotion to professor of Fashion Studies at Ƶ, it came with a surprising and sobering revelation: he may be the first Deaf full professor in fashion academia. An acclaimed designer known for fusing technology, storytelling, and accessibility, he gained national attention on "Project Runway" before joining Columbia’s Fashion Studies department, where he challenges students to rethink what fashion can be and who it serves.
Dougan- LeBlanc, who has deep roots in both the Deaf and academic fashion communities, believes he may be the first Deaf full professor in fashion—a possibility that makes his recent promotion especially meaningful to him and underscores the ongoing need for greater accessibility and inclusion in the field. Through his work at Columbia, he helps fulfill the college’s mission of preparing students to influence culture and build a more inclusive world. Below, he shares his reflections on this milestone, the barriers disabled creatives continue to face, and his hopes for the next generation of designers and educators.
For more on his work, visit his official website: .
Q&A With Justin Dougan-LeBlanc
What went through your mind, personally and professionally, when you discovered you might be the first—and only—Deaf full professor in fashion?I was shocked. It's 2025. We’ve made incredible strides in technology, global communication, and awareness, yet this revelation made me pause and realize how far we still have to go.
Professionally, this milestone affirms the years of hard work, resilience, and advocacy I’ve poured into my craft and my teaching. But it also fuels a deeper sense of responsibility. I’m not here just for myself. I’m here to open doors and hold them open for those coming behind me.
Looking back, what were some of the biggest challenges you faced in your journey through fashion and academia, and how did you overcome them?
The journey has not been easy. While others might walk a steady path, I’ve often had to sprint to keep up, to prove my worth, and to be, funny enough, heard. Being Deaf meant I was constantly navigating systems that weren’t built for me, whether it was communication barriers in the classroom or being overlooked in professional spaces due to assumptions about my capabilities.
I overcame these challenges by refusing to let them define me. I relied on my passion for storytelling through design, the support of mentors and allies, and a stubborn belief that I belonged in the room, even when others weren’t ready to make space. Earning tenure at Ƶ was the first time I truly felt seen for the totality of my contributions—creatively, academically, and as a leader.
How has your experience as a Deaf artist and educator shaped your teaching philosophy or approach to working with students?
My experience as a Deaf artist is the foundation of my teaching philosophy. It has taught me to lead with empathy, to embrace innovation, and to never assume that learning should be one-size-fits-all.
As someone who has faced constant barriers in education, I’m hyper-aware of how traditional systems can unintentionally exclude. That’s why I challenge myself, and my students, to reimagine what access and inclusion can look like. My “invisible disability” becomes visible through my teaching. I show students how to use design as a tool for advocacy, how to create with intention, and how to recognize that the choices they make as artists and designers impact real people.
In what ways has Ƶ supported your growth and helped you reach this milestone?
Columbia has played a vital role in my growth as both an artist and educator. I am especially grateful to Dr. Colbey Reid and my colleagues in the School of Fashion whose belief in me has been unwavering.
Columbia has fostered an environment where I’ve been able to explore bold, cross-disciplinary collaborations. Whether partnering with departments outside of fashion or mentoring students through complex, socially driven projects, I’ve been empowered to push the boundaries of what fashion education can be.
What do you think the fashion industry—and fashion education—still needs to work on when it comes to accessibility, inclusion, and representation?
Fashion loves to market itself as progressive, but there’s still a huge gap between performative inclusion and actual systemic change. Accessibility isn’t just about installing a ramp or offering captioned videos—it’s about deeply understanding the lived experiences of those who have been left out of the conversation. We need to teach students that designing for disability isn’t “niche,” it’s essential. We need disabled models on runways, disabled designers on design teams, and disabled scholars shaping curricula.
At Columbia, I’ve seen the power of encouraging students to question norms and look critically at the industry. We teach them not just how to make clothes, but how to think. That critical thinking, combined with empathy, is how we start building a more equitable fashion future.
What advice would you offer to young creatives with disabilities who are navigating higher education or trying to break into the fashion world?
First and foremost: You belong here.
Surround yourself with people who see your brilliance. For the longest time, I felt like a token, someone others could point to and say, “Look, we’re inclusive!” But I’ve learned that our stories are not accessories. We are the main characters in our own narratives.
To this day, in over twenty-one seasons and more than 200 designers, “Project Runway” has only featured one contestant with a disability—me. That says everything about the work that still needs to be done. But let that motivate you, not discourage you. Use your voice, use your art, and never let someone else’s limited vision define your potential.
You are not alone. And the fashion world needs you more than you know.
How do you hope your promotion—and your presence in fashion academia—will inspire future generations of designers, artists, and educators?
I hope that my promotion sends a clear message to young people with disabilities: Your dreams are valid. Your work matters. You are not an afterthought.
As a new father to twins, this moment means even more to me. I want my children—and all children—to grow up seeing role models who reflect the full spectrum of human experience.
I’m excited to continue mentoring young designers, expanding interdisciplinary projects, and pushing the boundaries of what inclusive design can look like. The work doesn’t stop here—it’s just beginning.