Connect with Fast Company

Struggling to articulate his personal aesthetic, the best Jochen Zeitz seems to be able to do is, not Karl Lagerfeld: "I'm more the person for clean design," says the CEO of Puma AG, in a Teutonic staccato. "I think my taste is very straightforward, as opposed to a Lagerfeld--over the top."

Asked if he considers himself a designer, or even thinks like one, Zeitz shoots back, "No." Yet since 1993, when he took over the now 58-year-old feline brand (at age 30, when he was the youngest chairman of the German Stock Exchange), he has harnessed design to give it still another life.

At the time, Puma North America was on the verge of bankruptcy after its parent's eight consecutive years of losses; it had little cash and even less cachet in an industry of heavyweights such as Nike, Adidas, and Reebok. So instead of trying to one-up the peddlers of performance-enhancing gear, Zeitz inverted industry priorities, deemphasizing sport in favor of more fashion-driven thinking: color, line, and style.

Puma has since become the fourth-largest athletic apparel company in the world, a transformation that testifies to Zeitz's vision and willingness to roll the dice. After spending several years kicking the company's bad habits--by slashing production costs and regaining control of U.S. distribution, among other things--he decided to put an unrestrained 21-year-old skateboarder named Antonio Bertone in charge of a new division called "sport lifestyle" to incubate experimental fashion projects. Bertone and Puma's collaboration with Jil Sander in 1998 was a symbolic turning point, with the German designer taking visual elements of Puma's classic '60s soccer cleat and retooling them with suedes and edgy colors.

Zeitz's move was greeted with plenty of industry skepticism. Sports retailers scoffed that he'd kill the brand; consumers couldn't imagine Puma as anything other than Pelé's famous soccer shoe. And the runway was certainly the last thing on the minds of employees based in the tiny, insular German sneaker town of Herzogenaurach (home to both Puma and Adidas, which were started by two brothers and remain bitter rivals). But Zeitz got the last laugh when fashionistas suddenly began piling onto waiting lists for Sander's shoe. "It took a while--and from my perspective, a lot of energy--to protect this new little child [the lifestyle group] of Puma from getting killed," says Zeitz. "Eventually, it became the entire company."

Now the retro sneaker that used to be found only in the Foot Lockers of the world is a fixture in high-end department stores like Barneys. It has its own glam boutique in Manhattan's Meatpacking District, and there are 74 stores around the world. And while Puma today holds about 6% of the global sports-apparel market, it has had nine consecutive years of double-digit growth--with annual sales now at $2.3 billion--and enjoys the highest margins among its competitors.

Zeitz, meanwhile, has gone on to turn his company into an open-source design playground. He has enlisted outside designers--from France's Xuly Bet to Japan's Yasuhiro Mihara--to produce an ever-expanding list of product reincarnations, pioneering a new sports-lifestyle category that fuses fashion and performance. "Basically, everyone said we were crazy," recalls Zeitz. "But if you want to change the industry and do something completely new and innovate, research is a bad tool because all you will get fed back is perception today and not tomorrow."