Good People of vitruta: Mustafa Özgümüş

Mustafa, welcome. We always start with the same question, so let’s not break the routine. How would you introduce yourself to those who don’t know you? Who is Mustafa? How did it all begin, what have you done so far, and how does it continue today?

I usually default to the origin story, even if it’s a bit much for a simple question. I grew up between two poles: a sister who did everything right—disciplined, academic, flawless—and me, fully convinced I was going to be a professional basketball player, with little interest in alternatives. Add a very social, slightly irreverent dad, and you get a mix of structure and chaos that kind of set the tone. Then there’s my mom, who is essentially the opposite energy—quietly angelic, grounded in love and kindness above all else—and somehow held everything together.

Basketball gave me more than an identity; it taught me how to move through the world: teams, rhythm, showing up. That slightly obsessive wiring never really left, it just found new outlets.

Now I’m a project manager at Meta, where that energy gets shaped into structure and occasionally passes for professionalism. Outside of work, I still operate in phases of obsession—tennis, football, backcountry skiing, food, clothes, politics. Whatever I’m into at the time, I’m all in. Running in parallel is a constant interest in how people present themselves: clothes, hair, the small choices. Less about “fashion” and more about signals—culture, intent, identity. I like observing how people put themselves together, what they’re trying to say without saying it. That curiosity has been a throughline; the medium changes, but the instinct stays the same.

You’re part of a global and highly dynamic structure like Meta. How would you describe it from your own perspective?

From the inside, Meta feels like a system that is half extremely high-functioning, half slightly chaotic. On one side, you have very smart people trying to build things at massive scale; on the other, you can spend a good part of your day figuring out why something very simple isn’t working. Everything moves fast, sometimes in a way that’s genuinely exciting.

From my perspective, it’s a bit like a high-performance sports team mixed with a slightly unhinged internet forum. When it clicks, the pace can be really fun. At the same time, everything feels a little “still under construction,” which is kind of the point—you’re constantly adjusting, recalibrating, and figuring things out as you go.

Alongside an intense and digitally driven work life, how do you protect your personal space? How do you create balance—or do you believe in balance at all?

I’m not sure I believe in “balance” in the clean, symmetrical sense people talk about. My work is pretty digital and always on, so trying to perfectly separate things usually just creates more friction. I think of it more as managing energy rather than splitting time evenly. There are weeks where work takes over, and weeks where I disappear a bit more into my own world.

Your way of dressing feels quite distinctive. How did your style evolve over time? What are the key pieces you keep returning to—those that best represent you?

My dad made fur and leather jackets, so I grew up around that whole world—factories, glue, people hunched over machines actually making things. For me, that was normal. I remember him bringing home a runway invitation from Tokyo, printed on this leather, parchment-like material, and thinking it was the coolest object I’d ever seen. Not even the show, the invitation itself. It felt like a lesson in how far you can take an idea if you really care about it.

I also remember him by the door mirror, fully dressed, debating shoes like it mattered. I definitely clocked that early—clothes aren’t just clothes.

My teenage years were… less elegant. I was trying to “have a style” before I had any real taste, which is a dangerous place to be. People were confused, I was confused, it was a whole thing. Eventually, I relaxed into it and realized the only rule is that it has to feel like you.

Skirts came from that same instinct to push boundaries a bit. Where I’m from, it wasn’t exactly the obvious choice, which made it more interesting. At first, it may have been slightly provocative for the sake of it, but it stayed because it actually worked for me. I’m not overly conceptual about what I wear—I just put on things that feel right and look good on me. Skirts just happen to pass both tests.

Where would we most likely find you during the day in London? And how does that change in the evenings? Do you have any regular spots?

There’s a small Italian deli, Gallo Nerro, in my neighbourhood in Stoke Newington that does sandwiches between Tuesday and Friday, 11 to 3, and they’re always out of something. I still don’t fully understand their hours—I think that’s part of why I like it. Get sandi no.15.

Then there’s the Bagel House, also in the neighbourhood. Open 24 7, very cheap, run by Eastern European women who are consistently slightly hostile toward me. One of them once got upset because I listed the ingredients I wanted in my salt beef bagel instead of just saying “no mustard.” Fair enough.

Dough Hands in Spurstowe Terrace is my favourite pizza spot. I used to live right by there, and the moment I realised my local pub had quietly opened an excellent pizza place, everything changed.

Lastly, and I say this every time, even though I could name places that are technically better, the Clarence Tavern. Your favourite place should be in your neighbourhood, accessible without a reservation, almost any time of day. The whole roast chicken, lamb, dauphinoise potatoes, chicken liver pâté, and simple greens on a Sunday—that’s as good as it gets for me.

Are there any events or festivals on your agenda this spring that you’re particularly excited about?

Festivals and martinis are two things I desperately want to like. Every time I try either one, I’m immediately reminded that I’m not that guy. Then enough time passes, the memory fades, and I convince myself it’ll be different this time—“you know what, let me get a burger and a martini tonight”—and within two sips, I remember. It’s a cycle I refuse to learn from.

I’m still recovering from my last festival, so I need a bit more time before the delusion kicks in again. I checked my calendar, and the only thing coming up is a Lisa O’Neill concert in Bath in August, which is more my lane: a room, a stage, and nobody asking if I’ve “explored the healing tent.”

If you had to describe London in three words, what would they be?

Damp, opinionated, layered.

Today’s shoot is with Kubilay, and from the outside, there’s a strong sense of harmony between you. What do you love most about him, and what occasionally challenges you?

Kubi is the person I’d call if the ship was sinking—not because he’d have a plan, but because he’d be calm enough to make you think there was one. He’s incredibly stable, almost no mood swings. I’m more or less the opposite, which is probably why it works. I tend to seek out that kind of consistency in the people I keep close—it balances whatever I have going on. Someone has to be the adult in this friendship, and it’s never going to be me.

What drives me insane is his taste in restaurants. He keeps inviting me to dinners that are too good to say no to, and I always leave having spent more than I planned. Every time. It’s a trap disguised as friendship.

Finally, what comes to mind when you think of “vitruta” and “Good People”?

To me, vitruta is one of those rare things that feels like it genuinely comes from a specific group of friends with a distinct taste, rather than a moodboard assembled by a marketing team. It reads like a neighbourhood shop that quietly scaled. They carry things I would actually wear, which isn’t always easy to find these days.