I read this Business of Fashion article last week about ShopMy’s explosive growth and potentially “murky” ethics. TLDR, monetizing how a consumer was influenced to finally purchase a given item is not an exact science, and leads to dubious results, especially when the system is made up of ethically ambiguous players. If there’s money involved, people will find a way to game it for an easy buck. This is not revelatory.

Writer Diana Pearl closes with this: “Ultimately, it may be impossible to determine which particular affiliate partner was actually the most influential in actually making a sale for a retailer, but affiliates are doing all they can to make sure they’re the ones getting credit. But with a messy attribution funnel and rising competition, it’s likely we’ll only see more platforms give retailers a reason to prioritize their commission, whether it’s connection with creators or access to data.”

It got me thinking about a recent incident involving my wife. She manages a vineyard on the North Fork called Croteaux, but she also does all the buying for a small lifestyle shop-in-shop she runs there. When she wears stuff from the shop during a shift, by the end of the day it’s usually sold out. She’s beautiful and stylish, bias aside. She tells me stories all the time about drunken women coming up to her, looking to buy the exact garments and accessories she has on in the hopes they might look like her. If it’s sold out at the shop, they’ll go and find it elsewhere online, then proudly accost her with a confirmation email moments later. She makes no commission on her sales.

Recently, a friend of ours, a budding influencer, visited her shop and became obsessed with an item—I will keep the item a mystery so as not to expose her. She bought it on the spot. A few weeks later, she posted an array of stuff she’s loving, along with affiliate links for each. To my wife’s surprise, it included the same item she had purchased at her shop. It’s from a small, fairly unknown maker. My wife was not mentioned as the source, nor was her shop. Our friend has a decent, loyal following, and she will likely make some money when her followers purchase the item. This isn’t the first time it’s happened to my wife, nor will it be the last.

This was not remotely malicious. In fact, our friend is one of the most conscious and empathetic people we know. This moment was innocuous to her, but it felt like a bit of a betrayal to my wife. Commodifying taste is suspect and will push people into further unscrupulous territory, likely without them realizing it. We need to do more real-world living and less monetizing. When everything is for sale, things get sleazy.

“Handmade, hand finished, singular garments,” reads New-Zealand-bred-Paris-based-designer Oliver Church’s Instagram bio. I’ve been exchanging DMs with Church for a few years, and though I’ve yet to purchase any of his garments, I’ve photographed a few on friends. I hadn’t been to Paris since he’d started his brand, so this past June, I made time to meet with Oliver at his studio and see more of his work up close.

Church grew up in the mountainous, densely-forested west coast in West Auckland, a dangerous surf region with black sand beaches. Because he had four brothers, his wardrobe was made up of hand-me-downs, except on birthdays, when he’d receive clothing of his own. Church thought he’d never leave his home, but after finding himself tired of academia in high school, he made the decision to apply to art school to pursue fashion—but in the eleventh hour, without a portfolio.

They allowed Church to make one in a short period of time, which included a collage of illustrations and some ideas about clothing. Reflectively, he says that though he liked some of his sketches, it was an embarrassing endeavor, but one that gained him entry nonetheless. “If you asked any of my contemporaries from that time, I was probably, technically, one of the worst students when I started. I hadn’t used a sewing machine before,” quips Church. “I’d been very loud in the creative processes class because talking about design is a lot easier than designing and making successful work.”

The following year in school, Church spent the summer sewing, halting his extracurriculars—football and playing in bands—in service of becoming a better designer. Church found himself demotivated coming out of university looking for work in New Zealand. He managed a retail store for a fabric wholesaler for two years. Realizing many in the domestic industry didn’t come from fashion backgrounds, Church decided to move to London to learn under an expert.

“I did random things for about a year there trying to find a job. I applied to lots. I couldn’t afford to do an internship,” he says. “Designers at big brands were saying, ‘We’ll cover your transport, and sometimes lunch, if you want to be an intern here.’” Dejected and burning through his savings, Church nearly left, but soon found a job as a production assistant at Garbstore’s in-house brand. Though the salary wasn’t much, it was livable, and most importantly, he saw an opportunity to learn from a real designer in Ian Paley. “He was a really good illustrator and concept designer,” he recounts. “We did lots of projects for different brands. It was a cool place to see lots of products go through. I liked the dynamic of being attached to the store, so you could do direct research as the production assistant.”

Church showed in his first few months that he was willing and able to do technical work, quickly rising to become Ian’s assistant—second for design and production. “He had a really cool, non-ego-based approach to work. If there was something that we had to get done, it was, ‘How would we get it done?’ instead of things that you hear about in the fashion industry with people losing their minds and pointing fingers.” He stayed at Garbstore for three and a half years, taking note of all the product, of his conversations with clients, and of how to run a business. He also had his own atelier with a sewing machine where he did pattern making. “The most important things are to be able to deliver on time, and to be able to find time to be creative. Work is work. If you’re doing the work, it doesn’t have to be in a panic. I’ve never done all-nighters because if you need to work tomorrow, you can’t work like that for a long time.”

Oliver found himself at a crossroads in London. He continued to meet people in London who were changing jobs frequently, rising the corporate ladder. Though he loved his job, he knew working at a big fashion house was a tried-and-true alternative to making a career in the industry.

After meeting and falling in love with a French woman, he moved to Paris to be with her. “I wrote a list of places I would contact. I believe in cold-calling. I don’t want to be competing with other people for a job when it becomes available. I thought I had something to offer, so I had a list, and Casey Casey was on the top of it. I sent them an email. I knew [from] working in a small company that everyone reads their emails, which is my biggest advice for anyone. They might not respond, but they’ve read it. I got an interview two weeks later, and then they made a position for me.”

He spent two years at Casey Casey as a direct second, just under the boss, doing a bit of everything. “I learned about [a new] part of the industry. Casey Casey was not doing any PR. They were very undercover. They were in so many good stores, but [when] you looked [them] up online, you couldn’t find much information.” Church was intrigued by this independent side of “slow fashion,” by the opportunity to work differently but in a financially viable way. He spent a decade “tapping into nostalgia” as he calls it. About four years prior, he started visiting France’s famed flea markets, collecting fabrics and developing ideas. Church sought to combine a mixture of antique textiles and methods to create something timeless, as he puts it, “not commercially, but in a way that [the product] does not belong to any time in particular.” He hopes that his product is nearly unidentifiable, and that the draw is the mixture of handwork, fabric, and construction rather than a label.

Emboldened by the empirical success of Casey Casey, and brands like Chez Vidalenc, Sofie D’Hoore, he made the decision to leave in 2019 and start his own brand. To recenter himself, Church and his partner went to New Zealand to see his family, where they were stuck due to the Covid-19 pandemic. Below, Church and I discussed how he got his brand off the ground during a global pandemic, the benefit of starting his business in France, what makes his product unique, practical notes on where and how to buy his wares, and a new product category to come in the near future.

What was the pandemic like for you and your business?

Oliver Church: We didn’t know what was happening. I was talking to people in the industry who said, “People aren’t paying bills. Shops aren’t opening.” There was that part of the start, which was really scary for the industry. Then people started making a lot of money from those who had spare money—because they weren’t able to consume in different ways and they were bored maybe as well. I thought, “I don’t want to run a company that relies on a lot of different processes like factories, wholesale, PR, marketing, to run effectively.” I didn’t have capital, so I didn’t want to be leveraged. I’d seen and made so much product for so long. I wanted to exist where I didn’t have to make thousands of things to have a business. With small brands, it’s not like we’re making a fortune, but there are lots of costs, and to pay for them all, you have to sell more. I didn’t want to compete in that way either. I reckoned I could do it alone. My feelings about what I wanted to do were really reinforced by that moment where people were like, “Oh, we’re not taking your orders anymore. We’re canceling orders.” And all these brands got left with a lot of stock, shops were closing, all of these things reinforced my position, which affected how I designed. I thought, “If I make everything myself, the way I want to make it, I can only meet a volume of 200 pieces a year.”

To be honest, from my archive of patterns there are probably only five models that would allow me to produce 200 pieces a year, so it’s the maximum. And then if it ended up that I was in a situation where somebody left an order behind, it’s not a financial burden in the same way. So, I started designing, and I had time. I could do anything. The social system in France is great. I had le chômage from having worked for a company for nearly 2 years.

This is an unemployment benefit?

Oliver Church: Yeah. Living in France, you have a certain security. It’s hard to fire people [here]. It’s hard to kick people out of a house in France. It’s hard to raise rents in France. If I’d stayed in the industry in London, it would take me 10 more years to be in a position where I could start my own brand. In France it was a calculated decision, not so much of a risk.

How did you get things going in the beginning?

Oliver Church: Le chômage lasted up to two years (however now it is much less). It creates innovation. Just having the peace of mind for maybe the first time in 10 years really helped. I was thinking about the space I would work in. I only needed 1 sewing machine. I started sewing buttonholes [by hand]. I sewed 100 buttonholes, because to make something doable, you have to be proficient in it. I’m a fast machine sewer because I’ve sewn hundreds of shirts in my lifetime.

Prior to this point?

Oliver Church: Prior to this point, I’d probably made 50+ shirts. But during this time, I was able to get my focus on speed and proficiency in a way that I hadn’t in a long time. And with hand sewing, that’s the most important thing. When I was at university, we had one of the few bespoke tailors in New Zealand visit. He said, “For us, a hand-sewn buttonhole takes 25 to 30 minutes,” so I’ve always had that in my head. When COVID started, I thought, “I need to be able to do a jacket buttonhole faster than 30 minutes to make this realistic.” I also developed around 25 styles that first year of covid. Mid-December of 2020 I started contacting stores. In April I sent my first piece out to a store because they wanted to see what it was like in person.

This is all through Instagram?

Oliver Church: Instagram and emails.

So, you were reaching out to people about your product?

Oliver Church: Yeah, I had a good idea of who I wanted to work with. When I started, so, I sent these lookbooks out that I made by hand.

Is the brand called Oliver Church or is “Singular Garments” part of the name? I like it. I don’t know that I’ve heard it anywhere.

Oliver Church: This is funny. It’s just Oliver Church, but “singular garments” describes what I’m doing. I was like, “My intention is to always make everything myself. I’m going to follow that through.” So, it felt right to use my own name. It always feels pretentious to name something, I don’t know. When you name something, it’s always a bit weird.

What amount of your business is wholesale, and what amount of your business is direct-to-consumer?

Oliver Church: When I started, I didn’t have a presence at all. Still really, it’s very small. I created this lookbook [myself], and that’s probably the only time I’ve presented my work how I wanted it to be presented.

I did a lot of research about the shops that I was hoping to work with, quite particular stuff, and I really was drawn to stores with their own language and focus on imagery, I liked that a lot of them had a strong editorial aspect. But I’m really happy to see how other people react to [how my retailers present my product]. It’s cool when I get these images from Neighbour, or Maidens, or Mouki Mou, and how that presents my work differently. Then I imagine the different scope of the people [reached]. Sorry. I forgot to answer the question. I’m at nearly 90% wholesale. I needed a salary. I do one wholesale order a month on average.

And nothing is seasonal, right?

Oliver Church: It’s not, working alone it is hard to operate in a traditional seasonal way. However, I know how buyers approach a buy. They have a budget that they spend at fashion week. They look at their numbers before they arrive and they go, “This is where we’re going to add budget and this is what we’re dropping.” I’d seen that happen when I worked at Garbstore. So, just to manage my workload, I didn’t want to do a seasonal drop. [And since I didn’t have] capital, I didn’t want to advance a lot of money and worry about the consequences. I communicated really clearly with stores about how many pieces they could have and how much their spend could be because I didn’t want them to be out of pocket on their budget as well. Even if I’m a tiny order for everyone, it’s still different and different isn’t always a good idea for a buyer. Especially as a new brand, if you’re saying, “I only work like this,” it’s sometimes a hard entry point for buyers, but by communicating really clearly and then doing exactly what you said you were going to do and delivering on time, you’re able to move that needle or tolerance for a different type of system a bit further.

Tell me about the brand. How many styles do you make? What is your house style? What are you doing? What fabrics are you using?

Oliver Church: I might have 30 styles, but I make 15 regularly. I’ve had garments on my linesheet the whole time since I’ve started [that have] never been bought. Partly because sometimes I don’t have the sample, and being able to visualize is really important; that is mostly because when I’ve had people [come to the studio] I’ll sell them the sample because I felt bad that I didn’t have anything to sell them. So, some of my best samples have gone so often it is only very old pieces or the newest styles that I have prototypes of for clients to look at. I work with a bit more new fabrics than I used to, but still the base of my work is antique and vintage fabrics from the 1820s to 1960s. The majority are early 1900s onwards, but sometimes I get a much older fabric.

Who are your clients?

Oliver Church: I don’t know. It’s interesting. I went to Japan, and I visited all my stores. I met my customers, and I thought I’d find the particular type of customer I catered to, but I didn’t. I had school teachers, I had people who had worked in fashion, I had architects, I had scientists, an eye surgeon. I’ve had writers, I’ve had photographers, I’ve had people who work in public administration. It’s really varied. People who are fanatical and very focused on process make up 50% of my customers, but what they do could be anything. They want to ask questions. I like that. That appeals to me. I can be like that.

Talk to me a bit about what makes some of the dyeing that you’re doing special?

Oliver Church: When I was considering taking my education further, I worked for a PhD student who was working on whole garment knitting, merino New Zealand wools. I think they’re called Shima Seiki machines. The great thing about merino is it’s washable. So, it’s more easily garment dyeable in a way that it doesn’t shrink in the same way that other wools shrink. To add to her project (which was largely ecru knits), I got a summer scholarship to dye the pieces. I thought the obvious thing to do was to use natural dyes. I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know what it meant.

I spent the whole summer studying natural dyeing. I went into my dad’s tool shed. I got a few kilos of rusty nails and I made a mordant with it—it’s what fixes the color. I put some vinegar in there and I let it percolate, and I started dyeing things. I was using pomegranates, onion skins etc. I was using stuff that stains a lot like henna because it’s an easy entry. Some things that were more reactive as well when I was adding more dye matter. On top of this experience, I’d worked some natural dyes at different points in my career. Indigos and stuff were really big when I was working at Garbstore. In France, there are places that produce indigo, and madder, [or] garance in France, the pink dye.

Like I said earlier, I like the idea of finding my pieces and not knowing what they are and where/when they’re from. You can’t do that if you use a synthetic dye. Great dyeing artisans might amused by my dyeing because they can get a colorfastness, and an evenness that I’m not necessarily trying to get. I want my clothes to change and age. I want them to be a living document of the wearer, and then I want them to disappear into the ether.

It’d be nice to think if somebody picked up my clothes and really liked it for what it is but doesn’t know what it is. That’s why on nearly all my pieces now the label is not at the neckline. It’s not the first thing you see when you see it on a hanger because I really want people to take the piece apart, take it, open it up and look. I started playing with the idea of natural dyeing and it responded well with the vintage/antique fabrics I was interested in using. So, now I do most dyes myself, except for indigo. I recently started to work with Couleur Garance, which is an incredible collective of dyers and educators and artists. They are indigo specialists and I just don’t have the space for an indigo practice in my atelier. They’re lovely to work with. I like their project. I like what they stand for and they are much better dyers than I am. I’m really happy to be able to do that locally in France.

How can people order from you? What is your price range? What is the lead time if someone orders something with you?

Oliver Church:. It used to be that if I accepted a private order, I’d deliver the month afterwards. But I had these ankle surgeries, which has thrown out my lead times a bit because I was out of work for four months, so I’ve been playing catch-up for a little while

Now it’s probably three months. I would like to get it back down to two months for private orders. The best way to contact me, is to email. I lose everything on Instagram. It’s hard to track messaging.

The pieces are expensive. I start around 700 euros and I think the most expensive piece I’ve sold is about 2,500 euros, but it really depends on [the level of] handwork. I can always add more hand-work to a garment. With that price as a point of entry, I like to have a conversation about what the customers want, what they’re interested in, what they might like about what I’m doing. When they take their time like that, I will offer more fabrics and options. I don’t do true made-to-measure, but I do take a lot of time to find the right size of people and the right style for them for their size because not everything works for everyone. Not all my patterns are the same type of morphology.

I tend to do two or three pieces a month on private orders. I can’t do more because I am still focused on delivering my wholesale orders on time, but it’s nice to do and it’s nice to interact with people.

The customer pays in advance, once they’ve paid, they’re in my schedule and in the last month I’ve been able to deliver within one or two months of that payment. That’s important to me because it’s expensive to buy a shirt from me. I don’t want people waiting a long time, but that’s also why I might put off the payment until I know where I can fit them in my schedule. It would bother me to have between 700 and 2,000 euros on the table and be like, “When is it going to come? What is this? I try to be really clear about what I can deliver and when they’re going to get it so that they don’t have that fear, because also you’re reaching out to a stranger. Maybe I could do more to make [the process] clear, but it’s more work.

Is there anything new on the horizon for you?

Oliver Church: I’m going to do knitwear. I have to do another surgery on my ankle and because I make everything myself, that’s four months that I’m not earning. A good friend put me in touch with a really lovely, small producer in Italy. I don’t know when it’s going to come out, but I would like to have a product that I can always have in the studio. I’m only going to sell it from my studio, no wholesale. I don’t want the price to blow up. I am really wary of that. I’ve got a bunch of Mulberry and recycled Mulberry silk sweaters coming. I didn’t want to be doing production like I used to, where you’re constantly in tension with your manufacturer and go, “I need it now. This is the deadline.” I might get them this year, and that would be great, and it might be next year. But I really like the fibers I’ve chosen. They’re really beautiful. I work with this amazing knitwear designer called Emily Edge. I worked on knitwear at Garbstore and Casey Casey, but I was working directly with the factory, or I was working directly with a consultant. I don’t have a technical knowledge of knitwear. So, I am working with somebody who does have that technical knowledge. She worked at Dunhill, Calvin Klein. I think she worked at Margaret Howell and Joseph. I’ve always appreciated her as a person, but she also has a really nice understanding of color and texture.

I’ll admit the work Jake’s studio produces is a bit modern for my tastes—and obviously expensive—but I do appreciate its unique character and beauty. As manufacturing across the board is further diluted, outsourced, and skimped, craft and handwork like Jake’s is more valuable than ever.

I had to make a special trip to visit his studio is located in the South Bronx, extremely far from where I live on the North Fork. It’s a neighborhood I’ve spent no time in, even though I’m from New York. “The South Bronx has a cool story to tell with a super rich manufacturing history,” Jake wrote to me over email. “Just within our block there are several-generations-old manufacturing businesses.” I saw a bit of everything at J.M. Szymanski—proposals, sketches, first drafts, samples, raw materials, all of the workspaces, and obviously, finished products. Everything is manufactured and finished on site.

To better understand the finer details of his impressive operation, I first wanted to get to know the man himself. Jake grew up bouncing around as a missionary kid, the son of adventurers and mountaineers. He lived in Colorado until he was five years old, where he first learned to ski, followed by Nepal, until he was 13 years old. Then, they settled in Northern Idaho. He credits his diverse upbringing with instilling the confidence to travel and explore from a young age, which also sparked his curiosity of people, color and texture. After high school, following an itch to continue traveling, Szymanski moved to Madrid to teach English. “At that point, Idaho couldn’t hold me anymore, so I made a move to New York City where I went to FIT for interior design. I went on to work for a man named William Sofield, a design legend who really taught me a lot of what I know in terms of decorative arts history. He’s a huge history buff and would reference Italian and French designers. I would absorb all these different names. Then I was able to really start designing for myself, but from a more historical perspective.”

Below, you can check out a bunch of pictures from Jake’s studio and read our interview, which spans topics like his transition from an interest in interior design to a career in furniture design, why his big break has been a gradual incline, advice for running and growing a small business, his thoughts on consumerism and fashion, and more.

What sparked your shift to designing furniture?

The way it started is I saw a picture of these metal vases [by Miyashita Zenji]. I never thought I would be a furniture designer. I wanted to be an architect. Didn’t have the grades for that in high school. So, then I thought, “Okay, I could go to interior design school and it’s a similar world.” Ultimately, I thought I would always have my own business, but as an interior designer. Little did I know I was probably more adept to working with my hands and visualizing on a smaller scale, whereas interior design and architecture are larger scale perspectives. I love working at this scale with my hands and seeing change happen in real time. I ended up taking this continuing education class at School of Visual Arts called Metal Furniture Design. I thought I was going to go in and learn how to design, but it ended up being a welding class in the basement of their school on 18th Street. It was this great shop environment. I came in with these vases that I saw. I thought there was something approachable about them. I felt like I could do it. Those were the first things I ended up making. It was exciting. I had posted a few things on Instagram. As it happened for a lot of us in the mid 2010s, it was a great bouncing board for ideas and what we were doing. There was a real sense of engagement at that time. And Tumblr. I remember that was my daily routine to check all my Tumblrs. It got people reacting to what I was doing, and that felt really good.

How old were you at that point?

Maybe 26.

Mid 2010s you said?

Yeah. I had been building stuff as a hobby for two years. In 2016, I had a small collection. I was getting really good feedback and decided that maybe this was an area I could focus on professionally. While I was still working at the design firm, I did a trade show that doesn’t exist anymore called the Architectural Digest Home Show. It was where the interior designer and architecture trade comes and sources. So, 2016 is when I say my business started because that was my first professional show. Two months after that, I quit my job. This was after William Sofield, [working for] a different guy, a total asshole. It was great timing to get out of there. I took a chance. I remember interviewing at a couple other places just to have some interviews in my back pocket in case I couldn’t get enough orders. But from that show, some orders came in.

How much stuff did you have at that show? Was it a full collection? I don’t know much about this world.

It was probably 12 pieces. I would say it was a full collection. I’m very fond of that time because it was that time in all of our creative lives where we have no resources—it’s pure authentic creativity because you’re just working with what you can. Very exciting, but terrifying because I thought, “I don’t know if this is going to become anything.” In hindsight, it’s very fitting because in college for my thesis I developed this center for young furniture designers. I was always meant to work for myself. I was able to sell my perspective and people wanted, and still want, to buy it and be part of it. I’ll just keep doing this until people don’t want it anymore. But we have the best clients in the world and that transition from the interior design side to the vendor side was really smooth. It was definitely lucky in a lot of ways. I’m coming in with my own perspective and a unique point of view, but a big part of that was luck in that switch because all of a sudden as the vendor, speaking with interior designers, I already knew the language. Pretty soon after, those people became my clients. And then my friends from interior design school, as we all grew up, became my clients. So I do recognize there’s some luck.

I had this conversation with my wife yesterday actually. Obviously, these things require talent, but they do also require a bit of luck to catch on. There are so many perspectives and so many things out there.

100%. It’s humbling to admit that, and recognize that. And then also recognize it’s the hard work of a lot of other people as well and support of friends and family. I’m definitely solid middle class. So, I got the classic American, loving support.

Same for me.

And that’s definitely part of it. There are a lot of factors that play into someone’s career. With that said, it was a lot of fucking work. A lot of work.

At the beginning you were making everything by yourself?

Yeah. For the first three years, I took the same continuing-ed class over and over again at SVA because there was no real limit on how often you could use the studio. For $600 a semester, it was less rent than I would ever dream of paying at my own studio or even a shared studio. After two years, I was actually doing production.

Did they know? Did they care?

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Still, I can tell you I really like Pierce and his philosophy. I love how he approaches his (often) plant-based recipes with a lot of heart, intuition and personality. The short videos he posts on Instagram and Substack are fun and easy.

“Cooking is definitely an expression of love and creativity,” Abernathy told me in 2023. “A big part of why I love to cook is because I love to host. I really love caring for people through food, and creating an environment where guests feel welcomed and looked after.”

Considering Pierce has invested a bunch of time into his apartment and his home kitchen, I thought I could combine a hang with a tour of his space. He’s a tasteful dude, so I knew his apartment would be well-furnished with a lot of character. When I walked in that morning after a two-hour drive to his place, he made me a great iced latte first thing in his light-filled kitchen.

As we caught up over our coffees, I started to take a mental note of the bits I wanted to photograph and the topics I wanted to discuss with Pierce. I didn’t have enough time for all of it. His apartment is big with many nooks and details. And with respect to our conversation, I knew I had to follow a bit of a script or risk veering far off course. I didn’t want to hold Pierce up from what was likely a busy day, and I also had to run to conduct another interview for my GQ column.

Below, you can see many photos of Pierce’s place, and read a conversation about how he found and subsequently furnished his apartment, why he started cooking, how he started filming himself testing recipes, what to expect from his new book due out this August, some of his favorite spots in New York, and more.

Can you tell me a bit about the apartment you’re living in right now?

I’ve been here a little over two years. I really wasn’t looking for a new spot. I was planning to go to LA to write my cookbook. I’m someone who always looks at homes upstate. I’m just interested by living spaces. I saw this and I was like, “This place is absolutely insane. There’s no way that this is real and so close to my old apartment.” I reached out and the realtor said, “You can come see it. Let me know.” It was the weekend. I didn’t respond. On Monday I thought, “I’ll reach out, but I’m sure this apartment’s gone.” I reached out and she said, “You can come see it today.” I walk over. I come in here and I thought, “This is the nicest apartment I’ve ever seen. This is so special.” I saw this kitchen. I immediately changed my mind, impulsively applied, wrote the landlord a letter and said, “I need this apartment.” Four days later, I had a key. This place was built in 1904 or 1905 by a fur trader, which is crazy. The area we’re in in Crown Heights is a lot of historically landmarked buildings. This one’s pretty interesting because it has a driveway, so you get light throughout the apartment down the line where a lot of apartments [don’t because they’re] building-locked on both sides.

There’s a ton of original work here: the crown molding, the parquet floors, the wood paneled walls. My landlord bought it 20 years ago and it definitely didn’t look like this. She’s been slowly bringing it back to life. The floor I’m living on was a part of the ground floor. It was a full house basically, and my landlord separated it out. I live kind of unconventionally in an area of the house where a bedroom wouldn’t be. It’s like a railroad apartment in that way, which is nice, but I don’t have closets so everything’s kind of DIY and you got to make it work. But it’s fun. Like I was saying to you earlier, I came into this place and it was like, “I am not worthy of living here.” Overwhelmingly I felt, “I need to ensure that I do this apartment justice in how I build out this space.” That’s still very much a work in progress, but I feel really comfortable here. When I moved in, I thought, “Wow, I don’t think I need another apartment in New York. I could retire here.”

You were going to write your book in LA, and this apartment inspired you to stay. So, you worked on your book entirely here?

Yeah. The kitchen is really special. It’s got a ton of light that’s consistent throughout the whole day. This is my third apartment in Crown Heights. I love this neighborhood. I love being close to Prospect Park. I love the food around here. I love that I can go on a walk and not run into a lot of people, even though I have friends here. There’s a certain scene of New York if you live downtown and it’s nice that I feel like I’m in the suburbs here.

Where are you from originally?

I was born in Virginia, moved to Kentucky when I was five.

How’d you get here?

I came to New York after college for an internship and never left. I was interning at Carrot Creative, which was Vice’s digital marketing agency.

Tell me a bit about yourself, your career, and how you wound up cooking.

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I went to Paris Fashion Week a few more times with a brand called Deveaux, and once for Grailed in 2018 where I worked at the time as a staff photographer. I’ve not been back since, but about a week and a half ago, an incredible opportunity popped up to take a trip to Paris to interview and document a day with the designer of a small menswear brand for GQ. That will be published on their site next week.

I scrambled to make more interviews work, but I really didn’t have enough time to plan much. A historic heatwave you’ve likely heard or read about also enveloped the city, leaving many feeling lethargic, overtired, and worst of all for my purposes, struggling to put creative outfits together. I managed to meet with an independent designer I really respect at his studio, and that profile will also be published by GQ this month.

I was also assigned to accompany GQ writer Gerald Ortiz as he visited some showrooms and take professional photos in lieu of ones he’d take with his iPhone, though I probably shot 10% of the showrooms Gerald ended up visiting in the end. This stuff is not for the weak! A fair amount of these showrooms are not air-conditioned, and if they are, they are not as powerful as American air conditioners I’ve grown accustomed to. But, there are worse places to look at beautiful clothes.

I forgot how easy it is to run into people, especially given many showrooms are located in the Marais. I actually love networking, and for our industry, there might be no better place. You could share a meal with someone different three times a day, and I almost certainly did.

When I say networking, I should clarify that I’m not walking around shaking hands looking for people to give me work, or to see how we could mutually benefit each other. I love meeting new people and soaking up as much knowledge as I can. I interview people for a living, so I bring that same curiosity to my daily life. There’s the common cliche that if you work hard and are nice to people, things will work out for you in the end, and that’s definitely true for me. I cherish my ability to walk in to an event knowing no one and walk out having had some solid conversations.

If you just want to see some street style, you can scroll down past this recap to peep some cool outfits, but I’ve put that section behind a paywall.

On the first day, after shooting a bit, I opted to leave my camera at the hotel before the evening. I got a quick beer with my dude Larry, Mr. Sartorially Inclined himself, which hit as hard as a beer in the summer heat could ever hit.

I grabbed dinner with at Maslow Temple, which was a fantastic vegetarian meal shared with great company. I’m a huge admirer of Eugene’s writing, taste, and snark. Shortly after, I met up with Phil from Small Talk Studio, Mark from Archie, Ben from & Son, and photographer/electronic music artist Christian Filardo (who Ben says is his spiritual mentor) to slam some beers, chop it up, eat fries and watch France whoop some ass during the group stage of the World Cup.

Day two was an entirely free day. I started it with a coffee from Dreamin’ Man, which was recommended by virtually every person I spoke to prior to my trip. It didn’t exist last time I was in Paris. It was good, but it also cost more than a coffee in New York. From there, I went to one of my favorite museums anywhere, Musée National Picasso-Paris and checked out the new Henry Taylor exhibit. I stopped at a few shops in the Marais, but found myself getting hungry. I was waiting in line for what I believed to be a sandwich shop when I saw Jakob Hetzer walk by and called out to him. “You’re gonna do this? In this heat?” he said laughing at me. Turns out the restaurant was for dining in only, and I would have had a long way to go. He was walking with Roe Hodgson of No Maintenance, who I’d never met, but we quickly clicked. I told Roe I just interviewed Shane Lavers of Chanel Beads, who praised his No Maintenance hoodie as one of his most prized possessions. The three of us took an unplanned walk to Miznon to eat some fresh pitas.

I texted Gerald to meet up. We started with Carter Young (who I’d only exchanged DMs with up to that point) and Sage Nation (it was my first time meeting Sage as well), followed by Kartik Research, which despite recent controversy, looked as strong as ever. I’d just recently picked up my first Kartik Research piece the week prior, a baller pair of Kantha pants from Mr. Porter’s sale, but the pants were too heavy for the Parisian heat.

Gerald made an appointment to see a brand called Hangout Forever, which made enough of an impression on me that I went back the next day to interview the designer, Antwan Vu, so look out for that here on Substack soon. Gerald has great taste, by the way, and an eye for up-and-coming brands with plenty of curiosity and nerdiness about him. I really enjoyed hitting the showrooms with him and he’s the first person I could see myself actually collaborating with in some form here on Substack. Gerald and I need to have a chat stateside…

I had dinner with Simon Golby and Joe Wakile of CD Network, as well as Justin Berkowitz of NN.07 at a perfectly French restaurant called Le Chardenoux. Simon is a regular here, so he knew exactly what to order. I usually have trouble giving up control in these situations, but I found myself doing so twice last week to great results. Perhaps the theme of the week was easing up and going along for the ride.

I had an early start on day three, meeting that independent designer I mentioned in the introduction by his studio. We first met for a coffee a few blocks away around 8:15 at a place called Ten Belles, which was the best coffee I had in Paris. After sipping my coffee, I bought a bag of beans to bring back home. We talked for over an hour on the record. I’m stoked to dive into the photos and edit that transcript. It’s a good one.

From here, I had lunch with the Parisian designer who invited me to Paris at Racines, which was one of my favorite meals in a while. The restaurant was quite small, impeccably designed, featuring a tight menu which is a telltale sign the food will be good. I’m skeptical of huge menus. I’m skeptical of huge offerings in any form, really. We talked for a long time here, about his career and what’s next for the brand, as well as fatherhood and making time for our children.

I took a car from lunch to MHL. I had a short amount of time before Gerald’s next appointment a few blocks away. I wanted to quickly buy my wife a white tee. She’s been on the hunt for the perfect one. I eyed it the day prior. My shorts pockets were apparently quite shallow though, because after heading in to the shop and talking to the manager for a bit, I noticed my phone was missing and must have fallen out into the backseat of the car. Fleur, (I hope I’m spelling it right) the manager here, called my phone with hers and demanded the driver come back. You don’t know anxiety till you are lost without your phone in 2026 in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language, watching someone negotiate for 60 seconds in said foreign language exasperatedly. “I was about to get really mad,” Fleur said, as if we’d known each other for years. “He said he has people in the car now, and shit to do after, but I told him he needs to come here right away. I can’t guarantee he’s coming now, but he will come back,” she said, equally easing and further unnerving me. She grabbed me a glass of water and cleared one of the display benches for me to sit.

She absolutely saved my day, and my week. I offered to go get her a coffee or a snack, but she shrugged it off graciously. “I’d hope someone would do the same for me if I couldn’t speak a native language.” I will always remember Fleur’s kindness that afternoon. In the end, I only waited 15 minutes, and I tried some stuff on to distract myself in the interim. It was a thankfully minor inconvenience.

I finally called Gerald, and luckily he was running late to our appointment with Greg Laboratory so my delay was not an issue. I was close to Boot Café where I had stumbled in for an excellent coffee the day prior, made by my man Jeremy, so I walked there for an iced espresso while I waited for Gerald. I was pleased to see it make a FTHSI list this week. My good food/beverage radar is not broken yet.

After Greg Lab, we made our way over to Niceness, the appointment I was most excited for. C’H’C’M’ has carried the brand for a while (a sentence we all utter frequently), but I found myself stunned by his current offerings. Somehow, I hadn’t noticed the brand like I did this season, which is an oversight I’m always curious about. How did I miss it?

Everything here genuinely blew my mind. I’m convinced they’re making some of the best garments on the market right now. They’re just the right amount of intriguing, but not so weird that you feel alienated or intimidated. They can be worn in any setting. Gerald and I were shown around by Takahiro Ito, one of the three men running the brand, and we probably embarrassed ourselves oohing-and-aahing like a couple of American simpletons as we floated from rack to rack. I’m hoping to interview Ito in the near future. He told me the founder and designer, Hirokazu Goh, is camera shy and would prefer not to have the attention set on him, which I am sad about, but also love.

With some time to spare before a dinner, I stopped at Montezuma Café, another spot many cool folks recommended, and with good reason—specifically, my friend August Marrón, whose wine taste I trust as much as anyone’s. He told me to show Théo, one of the owners, a photo he’d taken with them during his last visit. I took one of my own to commemorate the meeting. He was so chill, a classically dope Parisian. I escaped the sun, showed up right at 6PM when they opened, and had a few glasses of wine with an exceptional plate of aged Italian cheese. I actually found myself meeting a bunch of friends (NYT Fashion reporter Jacob Gallagher, Larry once again, and some new ones, Matthieu Morge Zucconi and my new evil twin, Brad Glazer) for some more wine at Montezuma after my dinner, which was conveniently a couple of blocks away.

On my final full day in Paris, I started the morning with Joe Wakile, who showed me the new Massimo Alba collection. This season, there are some new, roomier silhouettes, but it’s still quintessentially Massimo—aristocratic, soft, luxurious, and Italian. I saw a few shirts I will certainly be picking up. It’s one of my favorite brands, and I’ve remained enamored all of my style phases over the last 13 years.

I took a train pretty far out of the way from here to get to Beige Habilleur, a store that’s been on my radar since it opened. It was aesthetically striking, and the clothes were good, but something about it didn’t move me like I’d hoped. I’m still kicking myself for missing that Jinji was only a short walk away, noticing this fact later in the day once the trek was no longer logistically possible.

I had an appointment to see the new Morjas collection, and when I walked in, my buddies and were also there, so the three of us grabbed coffee with Lovisa and Jack who run the brand’s marketing. I made my way over to The Archivist, which is easily the best secondhand shop I’ve ever been to. The curation is special. I was on the hunt for some washed vintage Levi’s and found the perfect fit within minutes. Sami Taider, the owner, clocked my FBTs and invited me to check out some rare Visvim bags he didn’t have out on the floor in a move that felt less like sales and more like simply sharing in a mutual interest and fandom. I’ll never miss this shop when I’m in town. After buying some gifts for my family at Merci (you can knock it if you want, but it’s a Parisian retail staple for a reason), I went back to my hotel to shower before my final night out in the City of Light.

I met OG Aimé Leon Dore alums photographer Derek Balarezo (who I went to high school with) and Antonello Gonzalez for a glass of wine at my new Marais jumpoff, Le Barav. They were playing a perfect mix of late 90’s and early 2000’s R&B, rap and hip-hop. The wine was cold, the charcuterie was perfect, and there were multiple tables of off-duty models enjoying some downtime.

From here, I met Gerald one final time for a drinks event at the Margaret Howell showroom, another brand I’ve loved since I first got into clothing. We got a preview of the current collection, and an invite to come see their newly renovated workshop next time we found ourselves in London—which I intend to accept. I made sure to alert Fleur’s boss, who happened to be in attendance and pouring beverages, to her heroics and kindness the day prior.

I also finally got to meet , albeit briefly, after exchanging DMs for years, too. He had just walked in not long after us. I’m really loving his new project, Wardrobe, which feels spiritually aligned with what I’m doing here, but I think Louis is doing it a bit better! I’d be surprised if you are reading my work and not familiar with his, but definitely give his work a gander and consider supporting him. I will be featuring him for In Medias Res once one of us makes it to the others’ locale. I’m plotting a London trip toward the end of this year, though.

I met my good friend, and Creative Director at J. Mueser, Jeff Hilliard (no stranger to this Substack) with the rest of the Mueser team, as well as a few lads from Mr. Porter for dinner at Le Verre Volé. I was told this was the first restaurant in Paris to embrace natural wine. And it’s the second meal I sat back and allowed my hosts to order whatever they saw fit. The food was excellent, and the wine even better. I left sated, and half asleep, but we made our way to one last event, a party Colbo was having to celebrate the week, where I saw many friends, old and new.

I took a cab to Harpo on my way to the airport the next morning. Derek and ‘Nello urged me to the night prior. They said it was a store I specifically had to see, and they were right. I’m still weighing if financially it’s a bit ludicrous to purchase Native American art in a foreign country, though. I spent 30 minutes in the shop taking it all in. Valentine, who runs it and I believe might also be the owner, was extremely helpful, happily letting me try on as many things as I wanted. Her two kids, a bit to her dismay, were running around the shop as I perused. She told me that because of the heatwave, schools had been closed, which was okay with her the first day, but this was day three, and she’d had enough. For me, it was cute, a charming addition to my morning well-spent. I picked up a pendant for my son, and one for myself, and headed out to airport.

The week affirmed for me my place in this industry, and that I have built some beautiful relationships through something as simple and often vapid as clothing. With some lead time, I think I can make some pretty big interviews happen, so I will likely fund my own way next season to get back to Paris during fashion week. I have a lot more to say, but I honestly slapped the keys here over the last two days wanting to get this down on paper to accompany with street style images I took while abroad. It’s a bit of a mess, but I realized I like reading others’ diary entries like this. I wasn’t attempting to name drop for any reason other than to give context to the community I’ve built over time. It’s not like any of these people are celebrities. They’re all clothing nerds, too. Anyway, here are some pics of some cool people wearing cool clothes.

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Over time, I’d exchange messages with Matt, sometimes just to talk shop, others to ask sizing advice. I once bought an A.Presse sweater from him that was well affordable given the brand’s hefty prices, and he soon messaged me to alert me to a slight discoloration on the sweater that he felt wasn’t present in the images. He offered me an additional discount for the trouble, a moment of service I found refreshing given how disconnected it can feel to buy clothing, especially online.

In April, I saw that Overdye had opened a showroom here in Brooklyn, in Dumbo, at 81 Prospect Street. I sent a message requesting to come by and have a chat. This time, Graeme, who is just 23 years old, responded with an invitation.

In middle school, Styles found Stussy at Zumiez, his first introduction to the world of fashion. Being a lifelong soccer fan, he found himself heavily influenced by British culture. “I grew up on JME and Skepta and [seeing them] wear Stone Island, that’s where Palace came into it,” he says, telling me that in middle school his interest shifted to Supreme as well.

“My mom scoffed at the idea of giving me $60 to buy a Supreme camp cap, although I convinced her to,” he mentions with respect to his burgeoning resale career. “I quickly realized I was going to have to come up with a solution to buying this stuff because even back then it was still quite unaffordable.” Slowly, Graeme would acquire items with the intent to sell, usually of the streetwear or sneaker variety. “There was always some sort of side hustle going on and it had a lot to do with being interested in the culture in general. It’s not something profound to say that culture’s very interwoven to fashion and vice versa. These things are all connected.”

At school, he’d be called slurs for his interest in fashion, which is something of a menswear right of passage for those of my generation, but I was a bit shocked to hear that fuckery is still afoot for Gen Z. “I had kids step on my Yeezys in middle school, probably out of jealousy, but [they thought I was weird for dressing up]. And I was definitely bricking some fits back in the day, but, hey, it is what it is,” he says with a smirk.

Around this time, Styles found himself interested in fine art. “Supreme in the 2010s especially was dedicated to putting on all these different artists. Mike Kelley comes to mind. They had the Andy Warhol Polaroid series. There were so many.”

Graeme later double-majored in Art History and Spanish at the University of Michigan. He decided it was possible to combine his worlds together with his interest in Japanese Americana. “What a lot of these brands [we stock] do well is not only something referential to Americana that is super wearable, but then you’ll find out that the thread they’re using comes from the very last mill in Japan that can make it. Maybe Visvim and two other brands are the only reason this mill’s even in business still because it’s some thread that was invented during the Meiji period in Japan and it’s completely impractical, but there are two old dudes in Japan who still know how to mill it and they’re still doing that. And as a result, Visvim’s going to invest into preserving that cultural legacy and heritage and imbue it with an Americana spirit. That really struck a chord with me. There are so many people that are interested in becoming gallerists or working in a museum with an art history background and those are noble paths to follow if that’s the stuff that speaks to you. But what clicked for me was that there’s no one really out there trying to preserve and archive the history behind these brands,” says Styles energetically.

Below, Graeme and I discuss Overdye’s origins, some rare pieces on offer currently at the showroom, his history with Visvim and Japanese fashion, why he believes The Real McCoy’s to be one of the best clothing brands doing it, what it takes to sell with Overdye, and more.

How did Overdye begin?

GS: [I started talking to] Matt [Smith], who originally founded Visvim Trading Post, in 2023 while I was doing an internship for Balenciaga here in the city. I really went down this Visvim rabbit hole. We became internet friends, and then a year later we decided to start an LLC to shift away from just selling Visvim, because that was a very narrow approach. We had brands that we cared a lot about beyond that. We both saw something bigger. There are a lot of great archive stores out there that are doing avant-garde stuff, or are doing Chrome Hearts, Enfants Riches Déprimés, and all that hype stuff, or great stores like Tokio7 that do carry Japanese labels, but a more avant-garde leading assortment that’s not curated. It leaves this gap in the market of what’s out there that’s speaking to slow fashion like the Japanese brands highlighted in that recent Jacob Gallagher article. There’s no secondhand store to go to for that. So, it really was more of a hobby when I decided to do this, but we thought that there was the potential to make a full business out of it. It definitely took some time to build the trust to do that through the internet. We made the LLC before I even met Matt for the first time. Maybe I’d met him once, but there was probably half a year of doing Photoshop for Visvim Trading Post, slowly trying to be an unpaid intern for Matt before we could actually form a partnership together and try and build something as a team.

With Overdye, with everything that we publish, there’s a detailed description of how that item was made. We archive [pieces we sell] and we store it on our website so you can go back and read about it. We found out at one point that Visvim had been using our website to look at old dissertations and pieces because they lost track of [some]. That speaks to this very anthropological side of fashion that fascinates me, which has helped build Overdye.

That’s abridged, but I would say that offers a perspective into Overdye now, which is not only a Visvim source. We carry Kapital, A.Presse, RRL, Auralee, Taiga Takahashi, but all these different brands combine into this universe that really speaks to a lot of people out there.

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At age 23, he moved to Florence, opting for a smaller Italian city with a rich history of leather manufacturing. Within three months, a high-school friend of Taka’s chose to visit him and have a bespoke jacket made by a famous local tailor. He asked Osaki to accompany him to his appointment to translate back and forth for him. The tailor, Mr. Liverano, didn’t speak English or Japanese. Because Taka was still learning Italian, he doubted his ability to aptly translate, but he agreed and attended the appointment. Working for Mr. Liverano wasn’t on his mind, but over time, given Florence is such a small city, Taka would repeatedly run into him and greet him or chat a bit whenever he did.

When Taka returned with his friend to translate once again during another appointment, Mr. Liverano quipped that he always sees him walking around and asked what he was doing for work. Taka replied with the simple truth, that he was working part-time in a hair salon cleaning up and shampooing people, so that he could better learn Italian by hearing how real people spoke the language casually. After two years, Mr. Liverano offered Taka a job and he’s since worked there for 20 years.

Taka also handles the brand’s presence at trunk shows—in New York, Bangkok, Singapore, Tokyo and London, which is how we first met. I’ve photographed Taka numerous times for The Armoury, where Liverano used to do their trunk shows here in the city. During a trip last fall to New York, I met with Taka on an early morning before a full day of appointments to photograph some outfits and talk about Liverano & Liverano, his role there, his relationship to clothing and style, and more.

Was there a first moment that you fell in love with clothing or style?

I’ve always been interested. My passion began in Japan, where I grew up in my family’s small ladies’ shoe factory. From a young age, I was immersed in the world of craftsmanship—surrounded by shoe lasts and leather, watching skilled artisans attach soles and heels to shoes. I would observe my father cutting leather by hand using paper patterns, and this early exposure to traditional craftsmanship left a lasting impression on me. As I grew older and began to develop my own sense of style, I became fascinated with menswear and was always searching for the latest fashion and trends. At that time, I had a neighbor who worked in a vintage shop, and I frequently visited to explore what the shop had. I wasn’t buying designer brands myself, but I became aware of the great fashion houses and I started seeking out secondhand shops for interesting vintage pieces and clothing from established brands. From that moment on, my love for clothing deepened. Little by little, I began studying the history of classic garments and military-wear, developing a deeper appreciation for how clothing evolves and the stories behind iconic pieces.

What does your role as Creative Director entail? What are some of your daily and higher-level tasks?

My role involves both day-to-day creative decisions and the broader vision for the brand. On a daily basis, I work closely with our tailors and artisans in the workshop, overseeing the craftsmanship and ensuring that each garment maintains the high standards that Liverano is known for. I’m deeply involved in materials—choosing fabrics, finding the right mills and suppliers, and ensuring we have the best materials for our clients to peruse. I also work on developing our patterns and models, deciding which styles to produce and how to evolve our cuts and silhouettes while staying true to our identity.
At a higher level, I’m responsible for determining where and how we produce our garments, managing relationships with our manufacturing partners, and ensuring quality control throughout the production process. I maintain and evolve Liverano’s aesthetic direction while honoring the traditions and techniques that Mr. Liverano has established. This includes developing new designs and interpretations of classic menswear, curating our seasonal collections, and ensuring that everything we create reflects the balance between tradition and modernity that defines our approach. I also represent the brand visually, whether that’s through photoshoots, collaborations, or how we present ourselves to clients and the wider menswear community.

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Summer always picks up for me. There’s tons of event work, as well as editorial work ahead of the late summer lull. I’m also photographing some houses out where I live on the North Fork, and I’ve got a few weddings throughout this summer, plus one I need to edit photographed for an old friend of mine.

I’ve been watching a ton of tennis throughout the entirety of this Roland Garros tournament while editing photos and articles. What an incredibly unpredictable, dynamic tournament it was. I was pulling for Cobolli. Bit of a bummer he couldn’t pull through in that last set. The rest of the year should be quite interesting.

Anyway, here is some stuff I’m into this month.

1. Arianna Occhipinti “Siccagno” 2023 - Picked this bottle up from a local shop in Greenport I’ve discussed a bunch (it’s excellent and it’s called One Kourt Studio, if you find yourself on the North Fork and in need of good wine) and brought it to a BYOB lunch I had with my wife in Jersey City at Corto. What a beautiful bottle of wine. Very balanced, earthy, fruity but not intensely so—easy to drink and went quickly with a wonderfully rustic Italian meal.

2. Soshi Takeda’s Secret Communication - This is a music recommendation, but it’s also a purchasing recommendation. I heard “Rainstorm” at & Son a couple weeks ago that was featured on a random mix Ben had on and it blew my mind. It sounds like 90’s dance music even though it’s a pretty recent release, and that’s because Takeda used 80’s and 90’s equipment to make this record. It’s so good that I was considering buying one on Discogs at a markup, but luckily last night he posted that they’ve repressed another run of vinyl.

3. More music I’m into this month: Veeze’s Y’all Won and Lucki’s Dr*gs R Bad are both interesting, heavy, fun, melodic additions to a very stale trap genre. YHWH Nailgun feels like the next band we’re going to hear is a “psy-op” (good marketing and good music isn’t a psy-op in my opinion). I couldn’t begin to tell you what genre they are, but they are super weird and unique and I’m looking forward to their new record coming out next week. Greg Mendez’s Beauty Land is excellent morning music, FFO: Elliott Smith. Feeble Little Horses’ bitknot is my favorite guitar-music album in a while; super catchy but grungy too. Navy Blue’s Sir Render is the rap album of the year so far—such cerebral lyrics paired with A1 production. It’s probably his best effort yet. Converge put out a second album this year, Hum of Hurt, and it’s very good if you’re into heavy music.

Given he dreamed of opening a store his entire life, he did so as soon as he could. In 2015, he opened his first store, a record shop that he deemed the first iteration of Colbo. “It was my first opportunity curating a space and a community around that space, making a store that’s something a little bit more than a store with a multidisciplinary aspect to it, with records and some clothes and magazines and to have people come hang out,” he said while fondly reminiscing. At the same time, he worked for some fashion designers while also studying drawing and sewing. With this determination and experience, Silberstein’s next step was to move to New York City.

Tal and I discussed his journey and growth in New York, starting with the team at the beautiful Public Records, how Colbo came to be, what makes their offerings unique, how they’ve grown, how he approaches collaborations,, his recent clothing pickups, and more.

How did you wind up in New York?

I moved to New York in 2019 after feeling like I hit a ceiling. I wanted to move here. I was in communication with the guys at Public Records and I was really excited about what they’re doing and the people I knew that were involved. I came here with the purpose of joining them to [help] start Public Records. I’m not a founder, but I was definitely part of the founding team and it’s something that I think taught me a lot in my life in New York. They’re also very community driven. I met a lot of my people there. I learned a lot of things about entrepreneurship and business and everything from the technical to a more holistic approach of owning a place and a brand. I respect them so much and view them as my mentors in some capacity to this day.

Tell me the story of how Colbo came to be. What were you aiming to do with the space?

After a few years at Public Records, I really wanted do my own thing. I took a step back, moved out to LA and started developing some styles of clothes and some new silhouettes, buying some fabrics and exploring the idea launching some form of a brand. I knew the brand would not be just a direct-to-consumer, online thing. I wanted to make it a lot more experiential and cultural and community driven—with events, music, coffee and hospitality. After the really dark initial period of Covid, it felt like the right time to do this with people trying to gather again. I knew [there was a gap in New York with] more experiential retail.

What do you think makes Colbo’s offerings unique in New York City specifically?

First of all, we have our own brand. That’s unique for New York City. In the beginning when we had only three or four styles from one brand, so we really tried to curate a list of brands that is very unique and independent and not necessarily available in New York at all. We also have some vintage and we’re very unisex, but also very men’s and also very women. We have a very personal connection with the brands we carry. We curate in a way that is different from other stores in New York because of our specific approach to how we see styling and how we see color palettes. It’s going to be natural, neutral kind of colors and fabrics and very earth forward from fabrication to color palette. What makes it all kind of come together is everything else, whether it’s the coffee, the events, the records, the atmosphere, the sitting area, the welcoming energy that we try to convey with our team.

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“I’ve had a lot of careers and I never felt ownership of anything really,” he says plainly in his stockroom below his shop. At 32, he opened his own store on that same street in Montclair and called it & son. Initially, he sold furniture and home goods, areas he had no background in. “I was just going off what was authentic to me, which was handmade, design-focused goods.” Customers responded favorably to Ben’s perspective. Eventually, not wanting to box himself in, he brought in clothing. The first brand he sold was Kartik Research. “It blew up and I was like, ‘Maybe I have a knack for this.’”

But having a store in New York City was always Stricof’s goal.

“I kind of fell backwards into it,” Ben replies when I ask him how he found his home at 138 Sullivan Street. He was a day away from signing a lease to open his shop in Brooklyn on Atlantic Avenue when his prospective landlords told him he couldn’t set up for another six months. “I would have missed the whole holiday season. I was freaking out. I totally panicked,” he says. He found the current space on Loopnet, a commercial real estate site. “I didn’t care where the fuck it was, as long as it wasn’t in the Lower East Side.”

Originally, it was a massage parlor. “It has weird bones; weird juju,” he says. He signed a six-month lease, setting a mental goal to make it through the holiday season and find new digs after. “Immediately I was blowing the Jersey numbers out of the water and thought, ‘Oh wait, I actually kind of like it here.’ Then I extended for a five-year lease.”

I found & son recently, stopping in last year when the shop hosted an event for the release of my friend Josh Peskowitz’s collaboration with Original Madras Trading Company. Another friend, Mitchell Goldstein was DJ’ing the party. I quickly found myself at home. The shop and its community reminded me of Carson Street, which is an evergreen touchstone; a signal that I’m in the right place. In a city full of shops with sales associates who can be standoffish or disinterested, I found the complete opposite in & son’s staff.

The furniture and art make & son feel more like you’re at a well-furnished apartment than a retail store. The wares on offer are certainly contemporary, but not jarringly so. Ben stocks New York brands like Never Cursed, William Ellery and Silphium, but he’s also got a host of American and international brands. Like many men’s stores, & son’s host to a good amount of Japanese designers as well, like leather masters Hender Scheme or the most recent LVMH prize-winner SOSHIOTSUKI.

Below, Ben and I discuss why he buys the brands he does, the menswear retail climate in NYC and how he’s navigating it, the process of buying from small brands, the designers he’s into at the moment, what to expect this fall from the new release of his house label, Sonny, and more.

How old are you now?

Ben Stricof: I am 38, about to be 39.

You mentioned your mom and your retail history, but how did you first become interested in clothing?

BS: My mom used to dress me until I was about 28. No, I’m kidding. So 100% my mom and my cousin Adam [Pally]. I would say Adam influenced my style. My mom, I think just through osmosis. I had her passion for clothing and material things. I was sort of like a material girl. She passed that down to me. But my cousin Adam to me is a style icon. Now I’ve passed him in terms of being stylish, but that just shows how great of a teacher he is because the student has become the teacher.

What’s changed for you being here in the city now?

BS: Everything. It’s given me the freedom to not compromise the vision of the store because there’s obviously a higher density of people, but people here are also more like-minded, creative. I don’t want to bash Jersey. But [people here] understand and are a little bit more experimental in their fashion sensibilities. I believe that if I see something in a brand or a piece of clothing, there are people here that will also see the same thing and appreciate it.

And you didn’t feel it before in Jersey?

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I have a bunch of random flicks I took over the first few months of this year, including #FSF-regular Brandon Mahler (two outfits!). I’m also including some fun outfits I photographed at a few recent Stone Island events. I’ve been photographing most of their events in NYC, which is a gig I am very thankful to have. They’re a ton of fun, and they’re easy to shoot. Most everyone who attends looks cool. Perhaps you’ll find some inspiration below. There are 38 more outfits after the paywall.

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Sadly, my column “Five Fits With” is no more, though I did submit the final two installments to them back in January and was paid for them, so, hopefully those will be published in the near future. Good news if you enjoyed Five Fits—I have a new column with GQ called “The Real-Life Wardrobe” which is the spiritual successor to Five Fits and In Medias Res. I’ll be photographing and interviewing cool folks wearing cool clothes from their actual wardrobes (I hope). We’ve got a nice list already, and some substantial ones in the works. I’ve said it here and elsewhere a few times, but for as long as I’ve been interested in menswear, I’ve wanted to work with GQ. I’m elated to be on board and excited to see where we can take this.

I’ve been thinking about doing a post here with some outfits and pieces I’ve been wearing a ton in the last few months. If that’s of interest, let me know. Anyway, as promised, here is some stuff I’ve been into—listening, cooking, and watching.

1. If you have access to Mubi, I have three recommendations. First is Spanish director Rodrigo Sorogoyen’s brilliant The New Years, a ten-episode limited series that chronicles the relationship of a man and woman over the course of a decade. The twist is each episode takes place over the course of New Year’s Eve and Day. The characters are so rich, as is the story, even with the inventive 364-day gaps. Next is Sorogoyen’s most recent film, The Beasts, a strikingly complex, pressurized portrait of a French couple that moves to rural Spain to restore some dilapidated homes and practice organic farming. The tension stems from the locals who hold immense disdain for the foreigners. Many of the themes explored are just as relevant to an American viewer. I’m patiently waiting for a subtitled trailer of his new film, The Beloved, which will premiere at Cannes. The third, though not least, is British-Nigerian Akinola Davies Jr.’s (this guy is also fresh as fuck) My Father’s Shadow, which is such a beautiful film and a stunning debut. Shot from the perspective of two young brothers, the film follows the boys as they explore Lagos with their father over the course of an eventful day during the tense 1993 Nigerian election crisis. I really loved the photography, too.

2. Food and wine: I spent my birthday back in February staying at some friends’ in Greenpoint. I finally tried Taku Sando and it’s worth a little waiting. I went on a Sunday around noon and I think we only waited on a small line for 10 minutes. One of the best sandwiches I’ve had in a long time. I also went to Acre more than once, which is now one of my favorite spots in New York. It’s a shame I’m not in Greenpoint often or I’d be in there frequently. It’s a gorgeous Japanese cafe with excellent food and beverages, and a delightful shop.

   

   

   

   I’ve gone to St. Jardim for coffee a few times, as well as a glass of wine, but tried their food last week for the first time. The above is called “breakfast rice” and though I’m still not entirely sure what the ingredients are aside from the obvious, I loved this. Such a good people watching spot with great interiors and excellent coffee.

   

   If you frequent Penn Station like I do, you might find yourself hungry and strapped for time trying to make a train. I like to order this Miso Salmon bowl from Yono Sushi in Moynihan Train Hall with a double helping of protein. It is the perfect dinner, and not insanely priced ($27).

   

   

   And a few things I’ve made, like the former photo, which is a carrot salad with miso ginger dressing. This went over nicely for Easter at my in-laws paired with a roasted leg of lamb in orange sauce. The latter is a lentil dish I come back to over and over again. You end up with a good amount of servings, which makes for a healthy, filling, and most importantly, quick lunch. It’s very easy to make and the payoff is huge.

   

   Finally, I grabbed this bottle from Discovery Wines as a recommendation from shop owner Trevor, whose taste I’ve waxed on about here before. But I think his tastes align well with mine, so usually I buy whatever he recommends. He told me Jeff Coutelou’s wines are his favorite right now, as is this bottle. This did not disappoint. It’s as elegant and easy to drink as it looks.

3. As always, I am listening to a ton of music. A few favorites: Jump Source’s Fold, which sounds like late 90’s/early 2000’s dance, with big hooks, dark beats, and plenty of interesting features, like Dutch pop-weirdo BEA1991 or New York rapper Billy Woods. If you like screamo or post hardcore, you should check out The Saddest Landscape’s brilliant new album, and first in 11 years, Alone With Heaven. I’m also loving Samba Jean-Baptiste’s +3 (FFO: Frank Ocean, Steve Lacy), Elucid and Sebb Bash’s I Guess U Had To Be There. On the jazz front, the discographies of Phi-Psonics and Matthew Halsall are really doing it for me. American Football’s new LP4 and youbet’s (FFO: I’m not even sure, less folk-y Big Thief with tons of guitar riffs, crunch and grunge) new self-titled album have also been on repeat all weekend.

After 20 years in business, his parents decided to close up shop. With years of secondhand experience and shopkeeping in his DNA, Felizzari opened his own soccer store called Casa Calcio in Bay Shore, also on Long Island. “I spent nine years there. I had a lot of experience and guidance. It was a very special time in my career.”

Felizzari took his lifetime of experience and passion for menswear and started Cueva—which means cave in Spanish—toward the end of 2019. “I’m a curator,” he says proudly. “We bring in a bunch of different brands from different parts of the world and bring our point of view to the city.”

Cueva, which started as an online-only retailer, now boasts two physical locations—one in the West Village, the shop’s first location, and another in Greenpoint in Brooklyn. The brand matrix is diverse; at the West Village location on the day we meet, Small Talk Studio tees sit on a table next to Lady White Co. sweaters, and Studio Nicholson sits on a rack next to Barena and Kaptain Sunshine.

While waiting for Justin to change, I try on the Kaptain Sunshine x Lady White Co. silk jacket I’ve been after, tempted by a grip of other wares he’s currently got in shop. If you’re local to NYC, you should pay Felizzari and his staff a visit. They’re more than happy to walk you through what’s currently on offer, or just chop it up about menswear more broadly, or the Knicks, because for Justin, it’s more about community and comfort than just selling product.

Below, Justin and I discuss the story behind Cueva’s inception, how he got his business off the ground during a global pandemic, how he secured some of his bigger brand accounts, how he plans to grow his business, what new brands you can expect to see in shop soon, and more.

What was the vibe of Casa Calcio?

JF: It was very much a community-oriented shop. My folks had built a very different operation; four stores. It was a lot bigger. For me, it was going back to basics in a sense. That’s where I learned the importance of building a community and really doing right by your locals and regulars. And it definitely grew. It became a destination, but without losing sight of what made this special—being the community soccer specialty store where you got good service, good product. We used to have an Xbox inside the store and kids would come and literally play the whole time for an hour. I remember my folks saying, “They’re not spending any money.” I said, “It will come… Hopefully.” And luckily it came. Eventually those kids coming around the store after school on their bikes turned into customers. Those years were just super important to me—super important in my career as a retail store owner, because it does take a lot more than what people see.

How did Cueva enter the picture?

JF: Cueva was truly my dream, which was always to take my soccer concept and essentially make it fashion. It felt impossible for many, many years until sometime in late 2019 when I said, “You know what? I’m going to start this multi-brand men’s online-only concept. I’m going to curate a few different brands that I love and let’s see how it goes.”

COVID starts that March 2020 in New York. I’d already given deposits to secure my buys. When the whole world shut down—my other business was supposed to be the one that was going to fund this new project—I closed for months. Long story short, I tried to back out and cancel everything in March. I thought, “I can’t do this. The world’s ending. No one’s going to be buying. This is crazy.” But the brands said, “Dude, you gave us a deposit and that deposit has already been invested into your product, so you’re getting this product.”

Fast forward to the end of 2020, beginning of 2021, I started getting those deliveries. Things were delayed because of COVID. I uploaded online thinking that I’m going to sell all this product. I sold zero, and I mean zero. I was devastated. Pardon my language, but I said, “Oh, I’m fucked. I’m done.” At this point I’m already in deep. Most people in the industry know, but if someone reading this doesn’t know, essentially when you’re starting a concept like this, you have to buy twice before you receive one order. Didn’t sell anything fall/winter ’20. Then for spring/summer ‘21, I also sold nothing.

I come to the city one day with my then girlfriend, now wife. We drive in from Long Island to see the Knicks play the Hawks when Trae Young was our super villain. That day we were walking and we saw a for rent sign on a place in Nolita. I called the number and I said, “Hey, I have all this inventory because I was the selling online. What does a place like this cost?” The guy gave me some astronomical number. However, he shared with me that during COVID, all the landlords were—excuse my language—shitting bricks. He said, “Dude, I could probably get you into this space for a lot less because the world’s ending. Who’s going to open up a fucking store?” I said, “Me, because I have a bunch of inventory and I can’t sell it. I’m not selling online. So maybe if I open up in store, maybe something happens.” That was my aha moment. So, the guy tells me, “Okay, we will give you all these concessions. You’ll have some time, some free rent. We’ll give you the opportunity. We’ll be a lot more lenient than normal.” Because I definitely didn’t have the financials to prove that I could open the store, but again, everyone’s desperate. That place ends up falling through. A bunch of other places end up falling through, but at least I had that idea.

Then I found this landlord in the West Village who happened to also be from Long Island. It’s a family-owned building and one of the few left in the West Village. He said, “Listen, we’ll give you the chance.” That’s how it started. I opened up in the West Village and then a year and change later we opened up in Greenpoint and it’s been snowballing ever since.

When I worked at Carson Street, we had trouble getting certain brands at various phases. It happens over time, obviously, but how did you get, let’s say Barena or Our Legacy, or brands of that ilk? How did you make those connections?

JF: First off, I’d been reaching out to a lot of brands that I have now for a while and they all gave me the big fat no. I was just persistent. I believed in the overall vision and I had to exaggerate a bit and tell brands, “Listen, I’m talking with this brand,” even though the brand had probably already told me no. “This is my goal. I’m talking with them. Try to meet me in the middle here.” Unfortunately, it was a really rough and rocky road, but at some point, once a few started believing in me, Our Legacy gave me a chance early on. Barena, they’re very close friends of mine. They designed my wedding suit. The family was at my wedding, and even they told me no the first time. They all gave me a chance at some point, and fortunately it worked out.

Why did you open another store?

JF: New York City as a whole, the five boroughs for me are just very special. It was where I always wanted to end up. I knew that each borough was essentially its own world. There are nuances to the city. I opened up in Manhattan as a Long Island guy thinking, “Okay, I know they’re different, but they’re going to come. They didn’t. Brooklyn came, but it wasn’t in the numbers that I needed. People from Brooklyn would hit us up saying, “I would love to go, but I’m busy this weekend. Can you hold this product until next week?” [I knew there was] an opportunity there. When I went to go open in Brooklyn, I had to have conversations with my brands, with people in the industry. Everyone told me, “You’re fucking crazy. Don’t do it. Brooklyn is not it. It’s not ready yet.

Did they meet Greenpoint specifically or just Brooklyn at large?

JF: Honestly, I think they really truly meant Brooklyn as a whole. The misconception was that Brooklyn just didn’t have the money of Manhattan, that Brooklyn didn’t have necessarily the buying power. But we have been so grateful for all the support in Brooklyn. It’s amazing.

There’s a lot of money, especially on that side of Brooklyn—Williamsburg and Greenpoint.

JF: Totally. And then the other concern was that these neighborhoods are changing fast. Is that the Brooklyn customer that one thought was also in Brooklyn? A lot of my peers were like, “Okay, it’s not just the money because you have to think the guy that’s moving there is not going to like the brands you carry.” I really, truly believed that people would give it a chance, that people would at least come in and look and try. I was fortunately right. Greenpoint and Williamsburg, yes, is a different consumer now than a decade ago, but it certainly is a consumer that is willing to take the risk and willing to try, which is a huge part of the equation. I think a lot of people think it’s just financial, yes, but also the willingness to try something new, something that’s fashion forward. Sorry for the long answers. You can chop it.

I’ll keep a lot of it because it’s important. Having worked in retail, having seen the inside of another store that was up and coming, I find this all interesting. How do people start, and how do they stay successful? How do they adapt? I started freelancing in 2019 and after the pandemic, I thought, “If I can survive this period, I can survive anything.” Have you changed the vision of Cueva at all? How have you adapted?

JF: I think Cueva is always going to be an ever-evolving, ever-changing concept. Maybe not concept, because my original concept for the store was always to curate a unique mix of brands and with this eclectic foundation. Each brand was really supposed to be different. Actually, earlier today, before I met with you, I had a guy from the UK who was shopping with me and he told me, “Wow, it’s so crazy you have YMC and SAGE NATION.” For those that don’t know, Sage is now the creative director of YMC. YMC used to be considered a maybe slightly lower price point. Sage is a bit more premium because it is a bit more expensive, and it’s certainly more fashion forward. The guy couldn’t wrap his head around how both of those could be in the same store. Then next to Altea and Barena, because maybe somebody from the UK, that’s not necessarily in the same world. But I’m a firm believer that New York is a very tasteful and risk-taking place, man. That has always played to my benefit because that really aligned with my concept. As I’ve grown the last five or six years that we’ve planned the business, I could really start to feel my taste and my point of view slightly change and that will always influence the mix of brands. I hope to always stay true to that concept of having an eclectic mix of makers. I agree; since we made it through COVID, we could make it through anything. Honestly, shit doesn’t scare me. It sounds so corny, but it doesn’t. I think that was scarier than any other thing.

Who is the Cueva customer?

JF: I truly am so proud of the fact that we’ve been a little bit of everything because of the mix of brands. We’ll get the Our Legacy/mfpen guy, but at the same time, get this finance guy who maybe is a little bit more classic leaning in terms of his style, but then he’ll try an Our Legacy piece. Then you get random guys that are into Studio Nicholson and wear things a bit more oversized, a bit more minimal, but experimental in terms of silhouettes. So I truly am proud to say that we have the most eclectic mix.

What’s the through line for you? Aside from the fact that it’s stuff you believe in.

JF: All of the brands that we carry create with a lot of love, a lot of passion—this sounds cringey—and quality. [It’s all just] good quality. It may not be everyone’s style. Because I get guys that come in and say, “This Studio Nicholson piece is huge. What the hell?” But ultimately the one common denominator between Studio Nicholson and Altea and Barena and Our Legacy is that it’s all made with love. It’s all made well and it’s all made intentionally, which I’m very proud of.

What are you into right now? Are there any new brands that you’re into that you’d like to get in the shop?

JF: Yeah, a few. We just picked up Comme des Garçons Homme, Wallet and Fragrance. We also have Y3, which is going to be fun and we’ll have some of the Adidas collabs, like Wales Bonner. On the more independent side we’ll have a brand called Silphium from New York that I absolutely love. We’ll also have this brand from Amsterdam called Reverberate—small brand with a Japanese designer who worked in Japan for many years, then moved over to Amsterdam.

Ideally, where do you see Cueva in 10 years?

JF: I see Cueva growing. We’ve got a great team, we’ve got great partner brands, we have great support from our community, not only local, but from all over the world. We get people that come to New York very often for work or for pleasure, and people are just so supportive of the store. So I really believe in the concept and my goal ultimately is to continue growing.

Would you open someone else somewhere else?

JF: I certainly would. I love a bunch of other markets in the US.

Born in Nigeria, Dele-Tunji moved around frequently as a child. He lived in the UK until age three, then moved to Washington DC until age seven, and settled in Atlanta at the beginning of fifth grade when he was 10. He tells me he felt particularly lucky to grow up in Atlanta. “Everything was just starting to happen [there],” he recalls. "He attended school in Suwanee in Gwinnett County, sharing his home with the iconic Migos. “My school played Quavo in football. Druski went to the school just up the block from us,” he says smirking.

“When I got to undergrad, it was really about that transition from fashion by way of collecting sneakers.” Daniel eventually sold his sneaker collection to pay for his tuition during his sophomore year of college. “It was like, ‘Alright, cool. You don’t have that world to reference anymore. How do you move forward?’” This void propelled him to find an interest in another subculture; the world of tailored clothing. He tells me that what was the beginning of a passion in getting dressed and expressing himself through style was shaping itself into something more—a calling to his career.

Like myself and so many of my peers, Daniel came up during the #menswear days of Tumblr. “There was a lot to gain in those times, in terms of meeting a really wide array of people and getting into a space where I could understand my own eye a bit better.” The community in New York City was quite small, filled with knowledgeable folks who were more than happy to share in their expertise and excitement with reciprocally passionate nerds.

“It felt like most of my life was leading up to my career,” says Dele-Tunji matter-of-factly, “So, it’s hard to talk about life without talking about work.”

Daniel is as smooth as they come, and a hell of a dresser. I’ve known him in passing for a while, but spent a few fantastic days with him at Alfargo’s Marketplace back in late February. We were stationed across from one another. I’d like to think our wares and vibes complimented each others’ well, but I was selling my personal clothing, whereas Daniel was selling a host of beautiful garments for his clients—think the most wearable but luxurious Lemaire, Stoffa, E. Tautz, and Thom Browne, to name a few brands.

After over a decade of experience in the industry, he’s started his own holistic personal style service called Studio Raisonné. There, Daniel archives clients’ garments, selling the best ones on consignment while also helping them find new gear that will better serve their interests at present.

Daniel and I met for a coffee in the West Village to talk about his storied career, Studio Raisonné, his mission and his process, why he rarely shops for new garments, why he dresses the way that he does, a new pair of jeans he can’t stop wearing, and much more.

Tell me about your first gig.

Daniel Dele-Tunji: It was at Foot Locker. My best friend worked there. I would go hang out at the store and talk up clients and sell stuff six months before I got hired.

How old were you?

DT: 14, which is why they wouldn’t hire me. I ended up selling so much product that this friend of mine became the number one seller in the store. My soon-to-be boss Matt said, “When you turn 15, come get a job.” On my 15th birthday, I started working and I didn’t quit until my 18th birthday when I graduated. It was a lot of fun. All of these ways we have to research, ways of finding information, taking a photo of the tag and putting [trying to find it on] Google. That came very foundationally from the collection of footwear. That learning space enabled me to take off really quickly. I left from there, went to go work at [Ralph Lauren] Purple Label. I had a very consistent mindset after that.

Where else did you work?

DT: Purple was most of my time in Atlanta until H. Stockton, which was a really interesting counterbalance.

I don’t know H. Stockton.

DT: Everyone knows Sid [Mashburn], but of the first five people Sid hired, two of them came from Ralph [Lauren] and three of them came from H. Stockton. It’s the oldest men’s store in Georgia with all of the context of the Ivy League, too. It was the first brand to collaborate with Alden doing custom makeups outside of New York. It was the first brand to bring Ring Jacket out of New York, which is how I met Nick Ragosta. Matt Smith, who used to work at Epaulet, hired me at Stockton. That whole engagement felt like, “This is where it’s at.” I wanted to work at Sid, but that felt quite Americana. Stockton felt much more engaged with going to Pitti and seeing what the people are buying and trying to disseminate that for a base level client.

How’d you wind up here in the city?

DT: I came to New York three weeks after I graduated in 2016. I had the opportunity of going a few places—P. Johnson, The Armoury or Drake’s. My interview at P. Johnson was like nothing I had ever experienced before. It was really cool. And that community of guys is still the best community of clothing people because clothing is just not the end all, be all. It’s much more of a hospitality space where clothing is attached to it. I was lucky. It was smaller at the time and I was given a lot of responsibility. They sent me to Paris, Rome, Milan, Florence. Meeting makers is the thing that broke my mentality about clothes. Anything can be expensive. You can make a trash can a thousand dollars if you wanted to. But what connects those things is craft. Someone is thinking before they even start making something, “What are all the best components?” How can they bring those together to make something? And that separates them from people making things for money.

I left P. Johnson almost three years later to take on an interesting hospitality job at the Sunset Towers in Los Angeles, which was another aspect of trying to learn more about people. I got my degree is in philosophy, which is a little roundabout, but conceptually it was still trying to understand how people make decisions. How do people come to the places that they are? What aspect of that is connected with the garments that they’re wearing? You start asking yourself that about everybody, every single person that you look up to. What are they attempting to communicate with what they’ve chosen to wear? It was answering that question through meeting enough really genuinely interesting people for which that decision daily was more than just an aesthetic thing. It was much more of a personal communication of who they are.

How’d you end up back in New York?

DT: The pandemic happened after the Sunset Towers [gig]. When I was coming back, I had a mindset that it was about working as closely with the people that make the products as possible. That took me to Sartoria Solomeo with a revamping of Brunello Cucinelli’s made to measure program, which was an excellent time. It was everything you could have imagined it to be. They have the budget to send you everywhere that you want to go and to teach you everything that you want to know. And because of where I was working—I was heading off Brunello Cucinelli Men’s at Saks—Brunello would come in and you could engage. I don’t think he spent very much time in the stores. After that, [I did] a short stint with Loro Piana to get that LVMH taste and see what the corporate vibe is, but that was not what it was supposed to be. And shortly after that, Stoffa.

What are you doing now?

DT: A combination of all those things. Running Studio Raisonné, trying as best as I can to help clients from every aspect of my career. We’ve all evolved. We’ve all aged into versions of ourselves that need clothes in a very different way, still needing to communicate and to present. Before, we all got dressed because it was our joy and it was what we needed to do. But now most of my clients are in courtrooms, in board meetings, meeting with investors, with clients, and they aren’t necessarily needing to be formal, but they need to be presentable. And as we were just talking about earlier, the number of options for everything has grown so exponentially in the last 10 to 15 years that even people with all of the access and money still can’t decide what to get. Where I’ve really been able to find a niche is being the conduit for what it is that you need. Communicate it to me, and then I will take the burden of communicating that to the maker, the buyer, the store, the brand, and getting out of these exactly what you need. I’m more of a translator for my clients; of their needs, their budget. For the maker, I’m also a translator. I can understand their craft, their desires and what they’re looking for in presenting their brand for the client and connect those two worlds. So, Studio Raisonné has been successful in that the challenge of understanding all of the products out in the world is no longer left up to the client. Now it’s presented to me and I can disseminate that, which is the way I think retail is going.

Why do you think retail is headed for a more personal experience?

DT: I don’t think there are very many stores for which guys are enjoying their shopping experience. I think they enjoy the product, but they don’t necessarily enjoy a sales associate that may or may not care about what they are into or may or may not be available right now because it’s busy or may or may not know very much about the product that they are selling. Most guys are having an experience that is far below what they are paying for. They end up paying a tremendous amount at the register for something that is, at the end, just product. I’m trying to fill in the other 60%, because there’s 33% that’s product, there’s 33% marketing and 33% hospitality. Most brands really focus on the product, focus a little bit on the marketing, and then leave the hospitality bit to its own devices. Hospitality is creating satisfaction for the client, but then also creating a clearer line from the marketing to the product.

You worked in many different facets of this industry for a long time now. Why do you think the hospitality aspect has gone downhill? Because I’ve experienced it firsthand, too.

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During his freshman year of college in 2010, Woolf started an internship with a menswear brand. At this time, he also wrote for Hypebeast’s site before classes. “I realized I really wanted to do something in this industry,” he says, sounding as determined today as I imagine he was then. After his sophomore year of college, he transferred to Parsons in New York City and continued to write about men’s clothing. With more and more headlines under his belt, he was awarded the opportunity to write for Complex and their newest website, Four Pins, the defunct, infamously irreverent #menswear destination that I and so many of my peers contributed to. It was the predecessor to much of what you read on Substack today in the men’s fashion space.

Once Woolf graduated college, he joined the Four Pins team full-time. From there, he worked for GQ, followed by a fashion start-up. He later moved to Los Angeles after that start-up gig for one that “had nothing to do with clothing.”

For the last four years though, he’s been his own boss. He makes informative Instagram and TikTok videos, as well as articles and product lists for his Substack, where he writes for 24,000 plus subscribers and counting. He still writes for other publications as well. “The whole social media side of it sort of happened randomly,” says Woolf. He’d started a Substack, but because he had a larger following on his social media accounts, he decided he’d make videos and direct people to his Substack at their close. He tells me that the videos quickly became their own thing, and quite popular, which bifurcated his output between “an influencer side and a writing side.”

“I’m super stoked to be able to do what I’m passionate about and also do it on my own terms, when and how I want. I really value having that creative and daily freedom.”

Jake and I met at a coffee shop near his apartment on a bright, crisp morning to discuss his recipe for Substack success, why he believes his brand partnerships can live harmoniously with his coverage of independent makers, the amount of research that go into the lists he’s become known for, why he’s still inspired by menswear 20 years on, and many more topics.

Do you remember your first significant purchase?

Jake Woolf: There was this GQ series that came out in 2009 called GQ Rules with Adam Rappaport. They did one episode at a store on the Lower East Side that doesn’t exist anymore called Barker Black. The brand made silk pocket squares that came in really bold prints and colors. I was in high school at the time and prom was coming up. I took the train into the city with friends and I went to the store and I spent $110 on a pocket square. Obviously for a 17-year-old that was ill-advised.

What’s your most recent purchase?

JW: The shoes that I’m wearing which I just got on eBay. They are Gucci, genuine crocodile, from the ‘70s or ‘80s. These are marked at size 10 to 11. I wear a nine and the last is quite narrow on these. They look really cool walking around, but I don’t know how much daily wear they’ll get.

Why did you initially start your Substack?

JW: I was living in LA and I wanted to get back into menswear after doing a job that really had nothing to do with it. I started writing for different publications. It was just another outlet where I saw potential to both write about the things I wanted to write about and also make money. Freelancing is sporadic. It’s contingent upon rates that publications give out. With Substack, I thought, “I can control my own destiny, so let me try it.” It was a bit of slow build, but I feel like I’m a beneficiary of getting on [the platform] early because these days it’s definitely become its own thing.

How has your content changed?

JW: I’m always trying new things to change it up on Substack. At first I was definitely shooting for a wider audience, trying to get in front of as many eyeballs as possible and go viral. I don’t think it’s that complicated to make videos or content that can appeal to a wide range of people. I used to do a lot more celebrity-driven stuff—how to get the look, how to get this look from a movie—that I think any person, whether or not they are interested in fashion, is interested in. A big video when it first came out in 2022 was, “How to Get Jude Law’s Look in The Talented Mr. Ripley.” Even if I made that video today, I know it could get a bajillion views.

More recently I’ve gotten smaller in terms of my content focus. So, it might be about a small store in New York or San Francisco, or an independent brand, or on one pair of shoes that I bought, or one pair of pants. I’ve become a lot more interested in independent brands that are doing really interesting and worthwhile things. Now that I have a sizable platform, I can use it to highlight these smaller brands that don’t have budgets to pay people to get in front of new audiences. It’s been cool to explore that world a little bit more and dive deep into those brands. At a time when there’s so much product out there, it just feels better to support these small brands that are making a few dozen pairs of pants or whatever. It’s much more gratifying to meet with an individual who is a one-man brand and make a video or article about them, and they sell five pairs of pants, which actually makes an impact, than doing something for a big company and they sell 20 pairs of shoes, but that doesn’t make a dent in their bottom line.

Given you’ve done partnerships before with bigger brands—and those have become a point of criticism for some menswear bloggers and writers—do you think those in any way affect your non-sponsored writing? How can those two different kinds of content live in harmony?

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When I had my son in September of 2023, it changed my outlook on how I wanted to handle buying, keeping, and selling my clothes.

I’ve always treated my gear somewhat transiently, particularly when I was younger and experimenting with trends more frequently. Sometimes I was simply more broke than others and I knew I could sell some of the trendier stuff for a profit—or at minimum, break even, which still felt (and continues to feel) like a profit if enough time had passed.

I’d love to tell you that everything I buy now is timeless, but even things that seem timeless at present can look dated with more age, maturity, and perspective.

Jonah at Blackbird Spyplane recently wrote a compelling reflection on the habit of buying and selling garments. He posited that there is a conscious, healthy way to collect and appreciate clothing, versus an addictive, dopamine-chasing mindset in which you treat purchases and sales with compulsion. It’s a good, thought-provoking piece worth reading.

These days, I take more time than ever before purchasing new pieces to allow myself space for falling out of love with them. And usually I do. I own virtually everything someone interested in clothing could hope to own. If in a few months, or even half a year, I still feel as strongly about a given piece, I’ll likely make the purchase—assuming I can comfortably afford to do so. I’ve been adhering to a one-in-one-out philosophy with respect to acquisitions; when I make a purchase, I attempt to sell something I haven’t worn in a while to keep things interesting. I also own too many garments, a statement I assume many of my readers can relate to.

I’ve put on more muscle over the last couple of years as I’ve made strength training a priority. As I’m aging, I want to comfortably keep up with my son for many years to come. Thus, things that fit me well when I was slimmer and younger tend to fit snugly, or not at all, now. But some pieces in my closet hold an emotional attachment, and even if I can no longer fit in them, I know my son probably will one day. That simple fact has shifted my mindset.

For example, I’ve got a classic houndstooth, made-in-the-USA sport coat from Carson Street, complete with the original Carson Street Clothiers label. It’s far too slim for me. I’ve tried to sell it. It survived a year on Grailed and eBay, and a few closet sale story posts. I realized I might have priced it higher than people were willing to pay, but had it been any cheaper, I would be heartbroken to see it go. Then it dawned on me that one day my son will probably appreciate it just as much as I do. And did I really need a couple hundred dollars in lieu the final vestige of my favorite and most formative job?

So, when I was making my way through my things deciding what I wanted to sell at Alfargo’s, I’d consider my son in high school, or college, or as a grown man, and if he’d appreciate them or not. My wife interjected a few times as she watched my selling pile grow with her own sentimental moments she’s ascribed to certain pieces. “You can’t sell those leather pants. You wore them on our first date!” But those pants sadly no longer fit, and I doubted the skinny leather chinos would look enticing to my son in a decade or two.

I started asking myself questions I found useful. The most pressing one was if I had worn a piece in the past two years. Then the quick follow-up was, “If I removed the branding label, would I care to keep it?” The hoodie might be Dries Van Noten, but is it also a fifth hoodie too many, irrespective of who designed it?

Given I’ve sold a ton of things in the last decade, I’ve found it easy to be unsentimental about my clothing. I love my stuff, and I worked hard for most of it (some pieces that I really cherish have been gifts, from friends or from brands), but I’d also like to think that if my collection was lost somehow, I’d be okay with it.

In the end, I brought a diverse mix of garments to Alfargo’s, about 60 pieces in total. I sold 20 of them, and while I would have liked to have sold more, a sell-through of 1/3rd is nothing to sneeze at.

That sale and its preparation prompted me to record a bunch of my scattered, menswear-related thoughts. Some of them became useful for the text above. But some of them didn’t quite fit. I’ll share them here regardless. They might be useful to you as you think about clothes you want to buy this year and in the future.

• You should be skeptical of the same silhouettes and shapes you are seeing across the board from a wide range of brands. Maybe it’s a Harrington jacket, but is it different enough to look dated in a few years? One too many superfluous details that seem fresh and interesting today will most likely seem stale and dated in the near future. I feel this way about how wide most pants on the market are currently. They were very slim half a decade ago, and they will once again be in vogue in the near future. I’m down with wider pants and the comfort they allow, but if they are enormous, I promise you will think they look insane in a few years when the pendulum eventually swings back to slimmer silhouettes. Unless you’ve always worn very wide pants, in which case, do your thing.

• Dressing yourself is not homework. If you’re formulating equations, making spreadsheets, or planning for hours in advance, you should direct that energy toward something more productive. It’s not that serious. I’ve taken a laughably long amount of time to figure out what I’m going to wear to work and meetings the next day in the city, so I am not judging. But the times that I’ve simply reached for an outfit I’ve already vetted and liked, or made one up of things I know and love have been much smoother days—and not that it’s something we should strive for, but those have also been the days in which people compliment my outfit or ask me where individual pieces are from.

• A new garment should fit with your wardrobe as it currently stands. Maybe a dusty purple chore coat or some other garment in the color of the season appeals to you presently. But if the only color you’re used to wearing is green, you’re probably going to have a tough time wearing it in the long run once that initial post-cop clarity pixie-dust rubs off. After those first few spins, it’ll likely fade into the part of your closet that houses the garments you wear the least frequently, or worse yet, not at all.

• I’ve seen similar points made on here recently as people are more and more fatigued by constant noise and the speed with which trends move, but you should take the time to shop your own closet and reassess the things you own before buying new gear. When I was choosing garments to bring to Alfargo’s to sell, I tried all of them on. I fell in love with quite a few of them again and saved them from the sell/donate pile. I had forgotten how well they fit, or how soft they were, or failed to previously see how nicely the color and texture complimented the things in my closet that I currently wear frequently. Recontextualization can make all the difference, especially if you’ve been buying gear in a way that’s truer to your own tastes than to external pressures.

• Just to reiterate a point I made earlier in this post as it’s probably the most important thing I’ve learned through trial and error, I do think three to six months, or even a year if you can stomach it, is a good amount of time to wait before buying a piece. If you’re worried about it selling out, or missing out on a sale price, reasons that impulsive usually prove to be the weakest justifications for pulling the trigger in the long run. You’ll never regret having saved money. This thinking has yet to let me down. I can quickly call to mind a bunch of silly purchases I’ve made that were completely unnecessary. But how many times have you missed out on a piece and thought about it consistently after a week or two? My answer is never, and I hope for your sanity yours is, too.

You can take all of this with a grain of salt, just like you should probably take all advice on this damn site with a grain of salt. The only way to learn all of your own lessons is to make your own mistakes, which is one of the most fun things about being into clothing. It makes the revelations about your own personal style all the more rewarding and impactful.

I’ve photographed Justin Berkowitz many, many times in my career. It’s no secret, I love his personal style. Back in the summer of 2024, Berkowitz texted me to say that after eight-and-a-half years at Bloomingdales, where he was the Men’s Fashion Director, he was moving on to open a store in SoHo for NN.07, where he landed a new role as their strategic partner in the United States. The reason for the text—because though we have always been friendly, we are not that friendly—was that he needed new photos to accompany the announcement. He invited me to his neighborhood to shoot, but we also took photos inside his apartment.

I loved everything about his place. There was an interesting blend of beautiful things that don’t necessarily go together on paper, much like good personal style. You know it when you see it, yet it’s hard to replicate because it’s uniquely personal. Great style with respect to clothing should mean great style with respect to interiors, though this is not always the case. The two can be, and often are, mutually exclusive. I wanted to photograph Justin’s place since, but I was waiting for him to complete the reupholstery of some chairs that were integral to his living room.

Forgive this introduction for being Justin heavy, because he lives here with his husband and partner of over a decade, but I’d just met Aaron that day when I photographed this and interviewed the two. Usually when I’d chat with or photograph Justin, it was outside of a fashion show, or at a menswear event, all of which were under the pretenses of work, so Aaron was not present. Though I’ve known Justin for well over a decade, I only knew Aaron by face from Justin’s Instagram. It was nice to finally meet him. He was extremely welcoming and warm, and he made me a delicious cup of coffee that was sorely needed.

Thomas is a video producer with a documentary background. He moved to New York as a foreign correspondent for an Australian broadcast network. Once his relationship with Berkowitz kept him in New York, he moved on to start a video production company with a couple of friends from the industry. His company has since made documentaries, as well as factual and educational content in the mental health space.

Read on to find out about Justin and Aaron’s home, how they handle new purchases, where they hunt for new objects, how travel informs their space, brands and specific objects they cherish, and more.

How’d you guys meet?

JB: We met online and our first date was at Cubbyhole in the West Village. Aaron had only lived here for a year and a half when we met. And I had lived here for about 10 years.

Where are you from originally?

JB: I grew up in Texas. Originally from Dallas.

And you’re from where in Australia?

AT: I grew up in Perth, but then lived in London and Tokyo and then Sydney for 12 years before I moved here.

What drew you to this neighborhood?

JB: Well, that’s a funny story. Aaron and I have been together for 13 years. In November of 2019, we decided to take a little break because I wanted to move to Brooklyn. I was really excited about all the things that were happening here. I was becoming a little disenchanted with the West Village [where we lived]. Everything kind of felt the same. I really wanted to move here, [and did in January of 2020].

Aaron Thomas: That’s not why!

JB: It was one of the reasons we took a break [laughs]! I really liked Cobble Hill because it felt like downtown New York to me. I loved the proximity to the city and the feeling of the neighborhood. It had so much charm.

How did you reincorporate your things back together?

JB: We lived together for approximately five years before taking a break. So, most of the stuff was ours anyway, if that makes sense.

AT: We have similar design interests, in more handmade, folky, rustic-y [things]. It’s not like one of us is into black and shiny. [Our stuff] coheres more easily…

JB: I maybe wouldn’t say rustic. I’d say material-led.

It feels like there’s a cohesive vision for your home.

AT: And the vision is Justin’s [laughs]. Some of my pieces have survived the cut.

Does that bother you? Are you happy to let Justin lead? There was a point where… actually there’s no point. My wife and I are still constantly debating.

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I’ve known Ade Kassim, shop and brand manager of C’H’C’M’, for many years, enough to actually forget when or how we first met. His warmth, complete with a friendly smile and vivacious dap, always welcomes me when I enter the shop. I’ve often and publicly called it my favorite men’s store in New York City. At the heart of this series was an impulse to learn and to highlight equally. Usually, the folks who are on the ground floor talking to customers and in showrooms talking directly to brands and designers alike know far more about what’s actually happening than forecasters or influencers sitting at desks. Ade is a tapped the fuck in, and he’s as swaggy as they come.

Born and raised in Lagos, Nigeria, he later moved to Chicago as a teenager to finish high school. Kassim landed in New York in 2013 after finishing college, where he’s happily remained since. “Most of what I’ve been doing has been centered around retail and apparel,” he says. His first job in New York was interning for the now-defunct public relations and production agency BPMW. He moved on to work retail at a host of small boutiques—Hickoree’s and Joinery, to name a few—whose focus was often “specific, niche clothing,” as he puts it. “That was always a preference.” In the end though, Ade says music is his biggest interest, with clothing running a close second.

We shot most of these images next door in the private alley beside C’H’C’M’, because Ade and the team at the shop rarely get a break. There are always customers in and out of the shop to peruse the newest wares on offer. They typically break newer brands many seasons before anyone else even catches on. Ade and I sat on a bench in said alley to discuss how he first became interested in style, how he started working at C’H’C’M’ and what his role entails, what makes the shop special, which new brands have him impressed, his relationship to music, and much more.

Was there a seminal moment that you fell in love with clothing and style?

My dad was very much into clothing. He always had custom clothes made.

Nigeria has a serious sartorial inclination, right?

They do. If you have some level of financial resources, you have your tailor, and that was his thing. So, in a way, retrospectively, that was kind of a foundational interest. And then of course, being in Chicago around the time of streetwear, St. Alfred’s was a big shop. Things like Crooks and Castles and The Hundreds and SB Dunks and things like this were popular. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time and found an interest in all that stuff. Especially being at the NikeTown, a lot of my friends were very much into sneaker collecting. Moving through college, I started reading blogs. Tumblr blogs were foundational for me too.

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I met him years ago through some mutual friends in menswear, Jeff Hilliard and Jacob Gallagher. Well before Alex pursued music as he does now, he made his taste known, even from a distance. I looked forward to his yearly Instagram post in which he’d publish the 10 best albums he’d listened to the year prior. I love to hunt for music. I don’t take other people’s music recommendations easily. I need to trust your taste level. I need to feel your vibe. After listening to many of the things he’d posted, his musical word was bond.

When I meet Rialdi at his apartment, perhaps unsurprisingly, the first thing you’re met with is his prodigious vinyl setup. He’s anchored it to the center of the living room, inviting you to let the music wash over you. Music was always central to Alex’s life.

Growing up—first in Pennsylvania and later in Syracuse—he didn’t feel he fit in anywhere, which caused him to develop, as he puts it, “a lot of niche interests. I never really felt like I belonged anywhere until I [later] moved to New York.” Visiting an aunt in Rochester is a formative music memory. He tells me she was “really into dark shit—trip-hop like Portishead, weird Everything but the Girl remixes, Lamb and Tricky. It was of the time, but it sounded so menacing to me. I really messed with that.” Here Alex strikes a chord in speaking of his lifelong passion for digging for music. In school, he started selling CDs made with music he pirated, owing his success to his timely taste. As he aged, his musical taste shifted to an appreciation and love of hip-hop. “I remember thinking New York was the mecca of hip-hop, and truthfully it was. I just knew I needed to come down here. So, I did when I was 17 and never left.”

Rialdi indeed has many niche interests which shine through in his apartment as well. Though he’s only lived in the space for less than a year, he’s built a home for himself and his daughter. This series is about surfacing what makes a home, especially in a city as chaotic and intense as New York. Below, we discuss Alex’s scientific journey and some of the politics involved in lab research, his journey with music programming and his Mind Cargo nights, how to best show up as a parent, how to make meaningful working relationships, touches that made his apartment feel like it was finished, what a home actually means to him, and more.

Did you have an idea of what you wanted to do in New York?

I just wanted to be here. I applied for early admission to NYU and got in.

What did you want to study?

At the time I wanted to be a doctor. I was really into science in high school. They don’t tell you that you could do other things. Everyone says “Go be a doctor. Study one of the sciences, treat that as a pre-med discipline and use that to get into medical school.” I knew really early on when I first got to NYU that probably wasn’t a viable option. I wasn’t aligning with the people who were in that program. I really enjoyed studying biochemistry, but in high school I also loved architecture—shop class, AutoCAD. I saw that NYU had a kind of hybrid architecture degree program. It was urban planning/architecture/theory. So, I did that as a double major just to see if that would pan out for me. I ended up not doing anything with that degree. It’s just a general knowledge base that I have now and an appreciation for that aesthetic and practice. But I kept along the path of the science/medical school thing. To the point where I took all the courses and tests that I needed to go to medical school, did medical internships, and I just didn’t like it.

What then?

I took a year off after college. I did this one internship that allowed me to do basic research in a lab. There was a study going on where they had samples that were being used for basic research and they asked me to help. I really liked it. I decided I didn’t want to go to medical school. I wanted to do something like that, but I had no clue what I wanted to do. I hadn’t built a resume that was appropriate for applying to a basic science PhD program. So, I continued to take some more time off. I got my masters in biostatistics, which allowed me to do some research that I didn’t necessarily love, but it got me in a lab and got me a degree. That gave me the chance to then go get my PhD. I studied microbiology & chemistry and it went really well, but I didn’t really see a chance to make a difference in microbiology. If I had stayed in microbiology and I’d been around for COVID, I probably would’ve made a difference. But before that, I transitioned out. When I got my PhD, I wanted to study cancer. That’s something that we need to tackle still.

So, it was important for you to make a difference.

Science is vast and uncertain and undiscovered, and there are opportunities to make therapeutic discoveries. If you put yourself in the right program, you put yourself in the right laboratory or department that is spearheading these types of things. We’re working on things that I think are viable clinical options for patients right now. We have a drug that we published a good paper on, and by all means it should be in clinical trials right now. But then you start to learn about politics in science, which can be very discouraging. But I move on because I believe in it. And that’s just one project. and hopefully we arrive at another small molecule. It’s not just drug discovery. It’s finding ways the cancer cell adapts to the treatment, maybe even with a drug that’s already on the market, which is another important thing that can happen in discovery.

I’ve been in science for 15 years. I am very comfortable with where I am, almost to a fault. I’ve created my own little world, and that allows me to get away with certain things. Given the urgency of parenting, especially in New York which moves very fast, if you’re not doing everything to make yourself happy, how can you show up to your fullest ability for your child? Having [my daughter] Freya allowed a huge burst of inspiration and has spearheaded new career options. I want her to have a father who is fully immersed and passionate about her life and his own—their life. It’s not just science for me anymore. It’s just not giving me the most satisfaction in life. What happened to music, what happened to maybe doing something with wine? In the last year, I’ve just been totally invested in that, probably too much. I’m always on the verge of getting fired in my lab. Luckily, I’m very good at my job. I am a good scientist, and my experiments are well planned, but every four months my supervisor has to pull me over like, “Yo, man, you got to step it up.” I’ve been there for so long and he knows that. He knows it’s coming. Sometimes I do get stuck. I’ll spend days just digging for records on Discogs. I will not do anything else.

Do you see a parallel in your hunt for data in science and in digging for music?

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1. Todd Snyder Corduroy Suit - My friends at Todd Snyder sent me the Fantastic Mr. Fox suit I’ve been after for literal years. I’m extremely stoked to wear it. I’ll be breaking up the jacket and pants. It’s substantial enough to wear with a sweater on a milder winter day. I opted for the size up for this reason. I had the jacket tailored to nip the waist in just a touch, and added a 2” cuff to the pants with a slight break. I was not paid to write about it, but I truly love it. I don’t see it on their site anymore in this color, so I presume it sold out. Makes sense to me, because at $1,000, for a suit of this quality, you’d be hard pressed to do better, save for the secondhand market.

   

   

2. Roasted Greek Potatoes / Chicken Noodle Soup - Two staple recipes in this home. The first is a favorite when we host. I’d recommend you bake the potatoes for a bit longer than the initial 40 minutes the recipe calls for. Make sure they are tender before moving on to the next step. The reward here is huge though, and it doesn’t require a ton of work. From the week before Christmas through New Years and even some days after, our house battled the flu. We make this Chicken Noodle Soup recipe when we are sick, and we make this when we are healthy. It requires a standard amount of prep, but once it gets going, it’s quite easy to finish and extremely flavorful and comforting.

3. Ghost of Yōtei - This time of year is really the only time I can throw myself into a video game for a month or two. It always chills me out. I picked up the sequel to Ghost of Tsushima—which admittedly I haven’t played—and I’m having the time of my life with it. My only criticism of the game is how slowly it starts. It surfaces the main character’s backstory in a pretty clunky way, forcing you to play through past memories so that you can’t skip them. But once you get going, the main story and side stories are interesting. A lot of the dialogue is smart and philosophical. The gameplay and graphics are phenomenal. “The story follows a haunted, lone mercenary named Atsu. Thirsty for revenge, she travels through the beautiful, rugged landscapes of northern Japan, hunting those who killed her family many years earlier. Sixteen years after her family’s death, Atsu’s quest across Ezo brings her to unexplored lands in search of a gang of six outlaws, but she finds much more than vengeance.”