Lifestyle
Do you know the Issey Miyake dress that was set on fire? Pechuga Vintage has a treasure-trove of stories
This story is part of Image’s April issue, “Reverie” — an invitation to lean into the spaces of dreams and fantasy. Enjoy the journey.
When Johnny Valencia was 14, a kid growing up in Koreatown obsessed with biology and entomology, he learned about a rare butterfly, the Papilio hospiton, that was endemic to the French island of Corsica. “I love the rarest of the rare,” Valencia says. “I’ve always loved the rarest of the rare.”
He thought about the butterfly for 10 years, until he eventually made it to Corsica while studying abroad and was able to acquire it for himself. Today, the delicate creature sits in a frame hung on the wall behind the desk in his sun-drenched L.A. showroom. It’s a totem that represents Valencia’s dedication to the rare, the special, the hard-to-get — and it’s found a home among the many other grails of the vintage collector. In this room you’ll find a Vivienne Westwood “SEX” choker, John Galliano-era Dior logo rings, a Gucci silver crystal mesh mask from fall/winter 2017, a pair of spring/summer 2017 Saint Laurent roller skate shoes, original Marc Jacobs Kiki boots from fall/winter 2016 and pieces from Jean Paul Gaultier’s cyberdot 1995 collection. The list goes on, and it goes deep.
Vivienne wears Thierry Mugler AW90/91 dress, shorts and gloves, Vivienne Westwood AW93/94 pumps, Schiaparelli SS23 earrings.
Valencia, who was dubbed the King of Corsets by Vogue for his deep knowledge and archive of the signature Vivienne Westwood pieces, is also the king of his self-created universe, his Bichon Lucas lounging on a custom-made dog bed like one of Marie Antoinette’s pugs while classical music purrs softly in the background. The collection that surrounds him is the result of his obsession with acquiring precious things, which may have started with butterflies but has grown to include rare vintage runway pieces from Comme des Garçons, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Alexander McQueen and Saint Laurent. “I look around me and I’m like, ‘Yeah, there has to be a touch of madness to pursue something you’re so passionate about,” Valencia says. “Not only to pursue it, but to have it come to fruition and materialize. It’s a whole different thing.”
Pechuga Vintage, Valencia’s vintage archive and business, has become a go-to for amateur fashion freaks and professionals alike. Stylists, hardcore collectors, It girls: They all flock to Johnny. Last year, Beyoncé purchased a pair of Vivienne Westwood fall/winter ’10 Red Label armor boots from Valencia. On a red carpet recently, Katy Perry wore the Vivienne Westwood mock croc Super Elevated Court Pumps from his shop. Rihanna recently was spotted with a Dior Hardcore fall/winter ’03 bag she purchased from the archive.
Before Valencia became the source for rare designer pieces, he studied animal sciences while living on a farm at UC Davis, and later studied international relations and economics, which led him to attending Sciences Po in France. He would end up working for the Salvadoran Consulate. He once harbored ambitions to become a vet, or, as his grandma would have hoped, the president of El Salvador, where his family immigrated to L.A. from. But in fashion — using Vivienne Westwood as his gateway drug — Valencia found it all: history, politics, nature, curiosity and, ultimately, freedom.
While he was pursuing his diplomatic ambitions, Valencia took a role as an unpaid intern at Vivienne Westwood and switched his focus to fashion, working his way up to being a buyer. (Before starting his business, Valencia also dabbled in PR and event marketing.) “In Westwood’s designs, I found a lot of liberty because it was so well made,” Valencia says. “It fit into every portion of life.”
Oscars weekend was on the horizon, and Valencia would end up working with Adore the Couture to get a pair of vintage couture silk Chanel opera gloves to supermodel Irina Shayk for the Vanity Fair Oscars party. On Instagram, Valencia posted a screenshot of a last-minute request from Shayk’s team, and the process of making a pull like that happen — which he does all the time with the help of his staff and Virgo moon.
It was a particularly insane week at Pechuga. Oscars weekend was on the horizon, and Valencia would end up working with Adore the Couture to get a pair of vintage couture silk Chanel opera gloves to supermodel Irina Shayk for the Vanity Fair Oscars party. On Instagram, Valencia posted a screenshot of a last-minute request , and the process of making a pull like that happen — which he does all the time with the help of his staff and Virgo moon. (For the record, Pechuga is a Scorpio sun and Leo rising, evident in his deeply mystic undertones and great hair.) He regularly gives followers a backstage pass to his process, highlighting the community that keeps Pechuga going behind the scenes, which often includes Latinos and trans women. “I’m so passionate about dressing women and being there for women,” Valencia says. “It spills over to my love for the trans community. I see that connection with marginalized communities, and I’m so impassioned to stand up for people that have been historically neglected.”
Mercy wears Thierry Mugler AW90/91 jacket, Versace SS92 earrings, Saint Laurent heels, Wolford tights, Valentino ring.
Pechuga enthusiasts will recognize Valencia’s two assistants and friends, Priscilla Yael and Sophia Jaime, who make regular appearances on his social channels, along with endearing videos of his grandmother trying on pieces from the shop. What did she think of the Marni X No Vacancy Inn orange raffia hat with cutout sunglasses that Valencia had her wear? “Esta pretty.”
“For a very long time, until recently, she thought it was still a hobby,” Valencia says of his grandmother, whom he considers one of his first mentors. “One day — this was fairly recent — I was like, ‘I’m very stressed out. I have a lot of work.’ And she was like, ‘Why? This is your hobby.’ I had to make the distinction for her. Hobbies don’t pay you. This might be a passion. But I’m working.”
If Pechuga’s Instagram and TikTok are our classroom, Valencia is our teacher in Tabis, doing deep dives into specific eras in fashion history — like Marc Jacobs’ time at Louis Vuitton — or giving context to an item that’s re-entered the discourse, like that Alexander McQueen Dante mask from ’96. But it’s his unboxing videos that are truly addicting, almost as if we, the viewer, were absorbing that surge of dopamine that comes from finally opening up something special we bought off the internet. Valencia has a distinctive, infectious giggle that serves as the soundtrack to these videos. It’s like watching a little kid open a new toy. He holds up pieces he won at auction or scored through private collectors — like the armor jacket from Vivienne Westwood’s ’88/’89 Time Machine collection, or a dress from Thierry Mugler’s fall/winter ’86 collection. “I live for documentation,” Valencia says. “It’s a natural thing.”
Mercy wears Jean Paul Gaultier SS96 top and bottom, Schiaparelli AW21 earrings, Bottega Veneta heels.
Any fashion addict visiting the Pechuga showroom will clock a palpable energy radiating from the clothes — tension, desire, amazement filling the showroom. (Listening back on my audio recording from our interview, I’m pretty sure I audibly moaned when Valencia pulled out a Comme des Garçons latex vest from its fall 2019 ready-to-wear collection. Embarrassing, but valid.) When John Galliano paid Valencia’s showroom a visit last year, he summed it up: “There’s magic here,” Valencia remembers the designer saying.
The way Valencia sees it, he’s only the latest stop in a long journey that these pieces have taken throughout history. “It precedes me,” he says. “Westwood had to make those boots and those shoes. And women in the 18th century had to make those corsets. There’s a lot that’s implied with the items that we see.”
We asked Valencia to give us brief history lessons and share memories of some of the most special pieces in his archive, the grails that still spark that same level of curiosity and desire he had as a kid chasing rare butterflies.
Minji wears Vivienne Westwood Pirate Hat, Saint Laurent pantaboots, Vivienne Westwood SS91 bodysuit, Vivienne Westwood X Louis Vuitton 1996 bum bag, Dilitru “City Ring,” Gucci “Chicken” ring.
Louis Vuitton X Vivienne Westwood Bum Bag (1996)
There were only 100 made. [We have the 84th piece.] Vivienne Westwood made it in collaboration with Louis Vuitton to celebrate their centenary — the monogram was turning 100 in 1996. The shape of it: Vivian took inspiration from the bustle. In essence, she was the designer that brought back that silhouette in 1995. And her logic was that she wanted the silhouette to look like a sketch. She was like, “I want my women to look like croquis.” She accentuated the bum. The bust. In hindsight, everything aligned. The first time I encountered [one], I sold it immediately. [This is the second Louis Vuitton X Vivienne Westwood bum bag Valencia has had in his collection.]
Vivienne wears Alexander McQueen AW98 “Life is Pain” top, Andrew James hat.
Alexander McQueen “Life Is Pain” shirt (Fall/Winter ’96)
That was an ego purchase. I was going through a really difficult time in my life and I related to the message a lot. There’s a fascination with it. I purchased it, got out of the turmoil that I was in. It’s like, pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. I think the experience you feel when you put something on can be very spiritual because everything has an energy.
Vivienne Westwood Silver Horn Tiara With Orb (Fall/Winter ’05)
It’s interesting, because people think that it has some sort of allusion to the devil but it’s the complete opposite of that. They represent satyr horns. In the ’90s, Westwood took a lot of inspiration from pagans. Even with the draping of her garments, she looked at Grecian and Roman paintings and emulated that style. And one of the things to come out of that exploration were these horns. They represented, for her, fecundity and paganism. It alludes to the horn of plenty — the cornucopia and abundance.
Issey Miyake Plastic Body bodice (Fall/Winter ’80/’81)
I love corsets. I love what they do to the body. And I love Issey Miyake’s intention with that particular collection. One, because it came as a series. In the ’80s, Issey was exploring different materials. He would make pieces out of straw. Then Plastic Body came out. I love the juxtaposition. There’s clearly a feminine aspect to it, or what we attribute to feminine energy. And then the hard exterior. I told myself if I ever find this piece, I have to buy it. It’s probably one of my most expensive pieces — 50 grand.
Vivienne wears Gucci AW17 mask, Saint Laurent AW16 heart coat, Claude Montana X Byronesque tights, Y/Project mini-shorts.
Gucci Silver Mesh Mask (Fall/Winter ’17)
There was such a transition from Tom Ford’s Gucci to Alessandro Michele’s Gucci. To me, it’s embodied in this. Because how do we go from Gucci ’96, the wet look, to this? I mean, it’s also really cool. Rihanna wearing it [to Coachella in 2017] makes it so [powerful].
Minji wears Issey Miyake AW98 dress, Monies necklace.
Issey Miyake Gunpowder dress (1998)
With Issey and Cai Guo-Qiang [the artist who collaborated with Miyake on this Pleats Please collection] there was such an elaborate setting for [the process]. Guo-Qiang set down all this pleated fabric on the floor and put gunpowder on it, then he set it on fire. And the imprint that was left behind was then translated onto the garment, like printing. It’s my mission to tell you about this process because in the moment it was happening, yes, it was quite the spectacle. But it’s gone. And who knows how that conversation was initiated? We know that Issey started the artists series and this was one of the installations. I believe there were four [in total]. What does it mean now to wear it in 2024?
Location: The Wiltern
Producer: Mere Studios
Models: Vivienne Gomez, Minji M., Mercy Rivera
Makeup: Jaime Diaz
Hair: Belen Gomez
Photo assistant: Brandon Young
Styling assistant: Sophia Jaime
When John Lantigua, a retired journalist in Miami Beach, checked his email one recent morning, he was glad to see an invitation.
“It was like, ‘Come and share an evening with me. Click here for details,’” Mr. Lantigua said.
It appeared to be a Paperless Post invitation from someone he once worked with at The Palm Beach Post, a man who had left Florida for Mississippi and liked to arrange dinners when he was back in town.
Mr. Lantigua, 78, clicked the link. It didn’t open.
He clicked a second time. Still nothing.
He didn’t realize what was going on until a mutual friend who had received the same email told him it wasn’t an invitation at all. It was a scam.
Phishing scams have long tried to frighten people into clicking on links with emails claiming that their bank accounts have been hacked, or that they owe thousands of dollars in fines, or that their pornography viewing habits have been tracked.
The invitation scam is a little more subtle: It preys on the all-too-human desire to be included in social gatherings.
The phishy invitations mimic emails from Paperless Post, Evite and Punchbowl. What appears to be a friendly overture from someone you know is really a digital Trojan horse that gives scammers access to your personal information.
“I thought it was diabolical that they would choose somebody who has sent me a legitimate invitation before,” Mr. Lantigua said. “He’s a friend of mine. If he’s coming to town, I want to see him.”
Rachel Tobac, the chief executive of SocialProof Security, a cybersecurity firm, said she noticed the scam last holiday season.
“Phishing emails are not a new thing,” Ms. Tobac said, “but every six months, we get a new lure that hijacks our amygdala in new ways. There’s such a desire for folks to get together that this lure is interesting to people. They want to go to a party.”
Phishing scams involve “two distinct paths,” Ms. Tobac added. In one, the recipient is served a link that turns out to be dead, or so it seems. A click activates malware that runs silently as it gleans passwords and other bits of personal information. In all likelihood, this is what happened when Mr. Lantigua clicked on the ersatz invitation link.
Another scam offers a working link. Potential victims who click on it are asked to provide a password. Those who take that next step are a boon to hackers.
“They have complete control of your email and, in turn, your entire digital life,” Ms. Tobac said. “They can reset your password for your dog’s Instagram account. They can take over your bank account. Change your health insurance.”
Digital invitation platforms are trying to combat the scam by publishing guides on how to spot fake invitations. Paperless Post has also set up an email account — phishing@paperlesspost.com — for users to submit messages for verification. The company sends suspicious links to the Anti-Phishing Working Group, a nonprofit that maintains a database monitored by cybersecurity firms. Flagged links are rendered ineffective.
The scammers’ new strategy of exploiting the desire for connection is infuriating, said Alexa Hirschfeld, a founder of Paperless Post. “Life can be isolating,” Ms. Hirschfeld said. “When it looks like you’re getting an invitation from someone you know, your first instinct is excitement, not skepticism.”
Olivia Pollock, the vice president of brand for Evite, said that fake invitations tended to be generic, promising a birthday party or a celebration of life. Most invitations these days tend to have a specific focus — mahjong gatherings or book club talks, for instance. “The devil is in the details,” Ms. Pollock said.
Because scammers don’t know how close you are with the people in your contact list, fake invitations may also seem random. “They could be from your business school roommate you haven’t spoken to in 10 years,” Ms. Hirschfeld said.
Alyssa Williamson, who works in public relations in New York, was leaving a yoga class recently when she checked her phone and saw an invitation from a college classmate.
“I assumed it was an alumni event,” Ms. Williamson, 30, said. “I clicked on it, and it was like, ‘Enter your email.’ I didn’t even think about it.”
Later that day, she received texts from friends asking her about the party invitation she had just sent out. Her response: What party?
“The thing is, I host a lot of events,” she said. “Some knew it was fake. Others were like, ‘What’s this? I can’t open it.’”
Andrew Smith, a graduate student in finance who lives in Manhattan, received what looked like a Punchbowl invitation to “a memory making celebration.” It appeared to have come from a woman he had dated in college. He received it when he was having drinks at a bar on a Friday night — “a pretty insidious piece of timing,” he said.
“The choice of sender was super clever,” Mr. Smith, 29, noted. “This was somebody that would probably get a reaction from me.”
Mr. Smith seized on the phrase “memory making celebration” and filled in the blanks. He imagined that someone in his ex-girlfriend’s immediate family had died. Perhaps she wanted to restart contact at this difficult moment.
Something saved him when he clicked a link and tried to tap out his personal information — his inability to remember the password to his email account. The next day, he reached out to his ex, who confirmed that the invitation was fake.
“It didn’t trigger any alarm bells,” Mr. Smith said. “I went right for the click. I went completely animal brain.”
The new scam comes with an unfortunate side effect, a suspicion of invitations altogether. It’s enough to make a person antisocial.
“Don’t invite me to anything,” Mr. Lantigua, the retired journalist, said, only half-joking. “I’m not coming.”
You want to know where men’s fashion is heading? Follow the geeks.
These are the obsessives, fixated, with a NASA technician’s precision, on how their pants fit or on which pair of Paraboot shoes is the correct pair. These are the obsessives who in the aughts were early to selvage denim (now available at a Uniqlo near you!) and soft-shouldered Italian tailoring in the mode that, eventually, trickled down to your local J. Crew.
And where has the attention of this cohort landed now? On a vanguard of newish-to-the-West labels from Japan, like A.Presse, Comoli, Auralee and T.T.
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A.Presse is probably the most hyped of this cohort. What other label is worn by the French soccer player Pierre Kalulu and the actor Cooper Hoffman and has men paying a premium for a hoodie on the resale market? Kazuma Shigematsu, the founder, is not into attention. When we spoke, he wouldn’t allow me to record the conversation. Notes only.
“You mean a better-fitting denim jacket that’s based on an old Levi’s thing? Yeah, OK, sold,” said Jeremy Kirkland, host of the “Blamo!” podcast and the textbook definition of a latter-day Japanese men’s wear guy. Mr. Kirkland, once someone who would allocate his budget to Italian suits, admitted that, recently, over the course of two weeks, he bought four (yes, four) jackets from A.Presse1.
“I’m not really experimenting with my style anymore,” Mr. Kirkland said. “I’m just wanting really good, basic stuff.”
Basic though these clothes appear, their hook is that they’re opulent to the touch, elevated in their fabrication.
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Over the years, the designer Ryota Iwai has told me repeatedly that he is inspired by nothing more than the people he sees on his commute to the Auralee offices in Tokyo. When asked recently if he collected anything, he said nothing — just his bicycle.
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The true somber tale of this wave. The brand’s founder, Taiga Takahashi, died of an arrhythmia in 2022 at 27. The label has continued to plumb history for inspiration. The latest collection had pieces that drew on bygone American postal-worker uniforms.
An Auralee2 bomber looks pedestrian until you touch it and realize its silk. Labels like T.T3 make clothes that echo the specs of a vintage relic yet come factory fresh, notched up, made … well, better. They bestow upon the wearer a certain in-the-know authority.
And so there is a hobbyist giddiness present on Discord channels where 30- and 40-something men trade tips on how to size moleskin trousers by the Japanese label Comoli; at boutiques like Neighbour in Vancouver, British Columbia, where items like a $628 dusty pink trucker jacket from Yoko Sakamoto and an $820 T.T sweater sell out soon after hitting the sales floor.
What’s notable is how swiftly these geeky preferences have wiggled into the broader fashion community. While I was in Paris for the men’s fashion shows a year ago January, all anyone wanted to talk about were things with a “Made in Japan” tag. I would speak with editors who were carving out room in their suitcases for Auralee’s $3,000 leather jackets.
But these were clothes being shown away from the fashion week hordes. The A.Presse showroom was on a Marais side street in a space about as long as a bowling lane and scarcely wider that was crammed with racks of canvas, silk and denim jackets with Pollock-like paint splatters. There were leather jackets as plush as Roche Bobois sofas and hoodies based on sweatshirts made in America a half-century ago.
I got the hype. After 10 days of puzzling over newfangled stuff on the runways, the display of simple, understandable shapes we’ve known our whole lives, but redone with extra care, couldn’t have felt more welcome.
Kazuma Shigematsu, the A.Presse designer, said he had collected a trove of vintage pieces that he housed in a separate space to plumb for inspiration. He made new clothes based on old clothes that benefited from a century of small design tweaks.
By this January, A.Presse had upgraded to a regal maison facing the Place des Vosges, with giant windows and even more reverent hoodies, even more tender leathers. Back in America, I asked an online department store executive what his favorite thing from Paris was. He took out his phone to show me photos of himself trying on a zip-up leather jacket in A.Presse’s high-ceilinged showroom.
On Their Own Terms
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“We never think about trendiness or popular design details,” Ms. Sakamoto said through a translator. “It’s more like functionality, everyday use.” The label has a thing for natural dyes: pants stained with persimmon tannin, yellow ochre and sumi ink, shirts colored with mugwort and adzuki beans.
The sudden popularity of these labels outside Japan can make it feel as if they are new. Yet each label has built a respectable business within Japan, some for more than a decade. Auralee was founded in 2015. A year later, Yoko Sakamoto4 started its line. A.Presse is the relative baby of this cohort at five years old.
“A couple years ago, we would have to buy off the line sheet or go to Japan and see everything,” said Saager Dilawri, the owner of Neighbour, who has an instinct for what spendy, creative types lust after. “Now I think everyone from Japan is trying to go to Paris to get into the international market.”
This movement’s “Beatles on Ed Sullivan” moment occurred in 2018, when Auralee won the Fashion Prize of Tokyo, granting the designer, Ryota Iwai, financial support. Soon after, Auralee was given a slot on the Paris Fashion Week calendar.
“I had never seen a show before, never thought to do it,” Mr. Iwai said through a translator in February, days after his latest runway show. He has now done five.
As we talked, buyers speaking different languages entered his storefront showroom and ventured upstairs to scrutinize items like a trench coat that looked as if it was made of corduroy but was actually made from cashmere and wool and an MA-1 bomber jacket with a feathery merino wool lining peeking out along the placket.
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The Cale designer Yuki Sato travels throughout Japan to find textiles. Unusually, the company manufactures everything, including leather and denim, in one factory.
At Cale’s5 display off Place Vendôme, the designer Yuki Sato described denim trousers and pocketed work jackets as “modest, but perfectionist.” On the other side of the city, at Soshi Otsuki, whose 11-year-old label Soshiotsuki has gained attention for its warped vision of salary-man suits, I encountered buyers from Kith, a New York streetwear emporium better known for selling logoed hoodies and sell-out sneakers than for tailoring.
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Nearly a decade into its existence, Soshiotsuki has hit a hot streak. Soshi Otsuki won the LVMH Prize in 2025, and he already has a Zara collaboration under his belt. An Asics collaboration is set to arrive in stores soon.
Talking through translators with these designers, I began to worry that it might be unfair to group them together simply because they were all from Japan. Auralee simmers with colors as lush as a Matisse canvas, while Comoli’s brightest shade is brown. Soshiotsuki6 has mastered tailoring, while Orslow is known for its faded-at-the-knee jeans channeling decades-old Levi’s.
Rather, as with the Antwerp Six design clique that sprung out of Belgium in the early 1980s, it is these labels’ origin stories that thread them together.
“They’re being encountered on their own terms and respected on their own account, and they happen to be Japanese,” said W. David Marx, the author of “Ametora: How Japan Saved American Style” and a cultural critic who has lived in Tokyo for more than two decades.
“It is a new era of Japanese fashion on the global stage,” Mr. Marx said.
A Love Affair With Japan
Western shoppers have a history of falling hard for clothes from Japan. In 1981, when Rei Kawakubo of Comme des Garçons and Yohji Yamamoto crashed onto the Paris fashion scene, buyers swooned for their brainy, body-shrouding creations.
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Recently reintroduced as Number(N)ine by Takahiro Miyashita.
Years later, Number(N)ine7 and A Bathing Ape synthesized trends we would call American — grunge, streetwear and hip-hop — polished them up and sold them back to the West.
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Years before American men were trawling the internet for A.Presse, they would scour forums for deals on Visvim’s jeans and sneakers. Today, Visvim has stores in Santa Fe, N.M.; Carmel, Calif.; and Los Angeles.
Into the 2000s, clothing geeks were swapping tips on forums like Superfuture and Hypebeast about how to use a Japanese proxy service to buy Visvim’s8 seven-eyelet leather work boots or SugarCane’s brick-thick jeans.
Along the way, “Made in Japan” became a shorthand for “made well.” This was more than fetishization. As America’s clothing factories became empty carcasses pockmarking the heartland, Japan’s apparel industry grew steroidal.
“Japan still has an incredible manufacturing base for apparel that goes all the way from the textiles to the sewing to the postproduction,” Mr. Marx said.
Today, many Japanese labels produce most of their garments and, crucially, their textiles in Japan. When I first met Mr. Iwai years ago, I asked how he managed to create such lush colors. He answered, as if noting that the sky was blue, that he worked with the factories that developed his fabrics. As I spoke with Mr. Sato in January, he shared that Cale’s factory had been in his family for generations and also produced for other Japanese brands that I would know.
Chris Green, the owner of Ven. Space, a boutique in the Carroll Gardens neighborhood of Brooklyn that has helped to introduce a number of these labels to an American market, suggested that because Japan is a small country with a fervent fashion culture, a competitive spirit has been stoked.
“They have to be able to cut through the noise,” Mr. Green said, with brands trying to prove that their cashmere sweater can outclass their peers’, that their silks are sourced from finer factories. What’s more, he said, once these brands have nailed a design, they stick with it. That is something that is important to men, in particular, who hate when a brand abandons its favored pants after a season.
Before he opened Ven. Space in 2024, Mr. Green was an admirer of many of these labels, purchasing them during trips to Japan. As we spoke, he was wearing a pair of Comoli belted jeans that he bought five or so years ago. A similar style is still available.
Primed for What They Were Pitching
At the close of the 2010s, streetwear was running on fumes. Quiet luxury was entering at stage left. If the Row and Loro Piana were expert at subtle, fine-to-the-touch clothes, so, too, were the likes of T.T, Graphpaper and Yoko Sakamoto.
“I went from this guy that wears pear-shaped pants to just wearing, like, a denim jacket,” said Chris Maradiaga, a tech worker and freelance writer in Vancouver. His wardrobe today consists of Comoli’s black-as-night trousers and a purple-tinged coat by Ssstein. His kaleidoscopic Bode jackets gather dust.
That Ssstein clothes have landed in the closets of men on the other side of the world defies the early guidance relayed to Kiichiro Asakawa, the label’s bushy-haired designer. His “senpais,” or mentors, warned him that his reduced designs might leave Western audiences cold. “You need something powerful,” they told him.
He tried, but it wasn’t necessary. It’s the most minimal designs — his cotton gabardine zip-ups, his “easy” pleated trousers — that people are most interested in now. “It actually makes me very happy,” he said through a translator. “My instincts were right.” Mr. Asakawa won the Fashion Prize of Tokyo in 2024.
Adapting to North American Markets (and Men)
Several Japanese designers noted that they had modified their sizing to accommodate larger, American bodies.
“I’ll ask them, Can you lengthen the pants by three centimeters? Because you need that for the Western market,” Mr. Dilawri of Neighbour said, noting that the designers were receptive to those requests.
A number of labels, like Comoli and Soshiotsuki, are already oversize. That’s the look.
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Kiichiro Asakawa ran a Tokyo boutique, Carol, before starting Ssstein in 2016. It’s still there. He, too, said he found inspiration in the everyday, for example when watching an elderly couple have dinner across a restaurant.
There is also the matter of price. On the whole, these clothes are not cheap. See Auralee’s silk bomber jacket, which could be military surplus but feels stolen from a sultan’s palace. It’s roughly $1,700. Ssstein’s9 Carhartt cousin chore jacket with a cowhide collar and a factory-massaged fade? About $1,000. Anyone who has traveled recently in Japan, where the yen is tantalizingly weak, will tell you that these Japanese-made clothes, after being imported, are far pricier in North America.
Yet, as luxury fashion labels continue to price out the aspirational middle-class shopper, many of those same shoppers have convinced themselves that the Japanese labels are a better value. A cashmere coat at Prada is $10,000, and you’ll need $1,690 to own a cotton-blend cardigan from Margiela. Similar pieces from Japanese labels can be half that price, or less.
“Brands like Bottega, Balenciaga, the Row — all that stuff — are so unobtainable,” said Mr. Kirkland, whose clothing budget has shifted to A.Presse. “I will never be in that price bracket,” he added, “but I’m wealthy enough to buy a chore coat for $800.”
Of course, Mr. Kirkland and all of the fans of these labels could own a chore coat for far less — but then it wouldn’t be “Made in Japan.”
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