Lifestyle
Learning a Shared Love Language — One That Includes Signing
Jerald Jerard Creer and Kent Michael Williams chalk up the almost 15-year delay in becoming a couple to a struggle to communicate — one that had nothing to do with Mr. Creer’s Deafness.
Since June 2009, when the two met on a Carnival cruise ship, Mr. Williams had been texting Mr. Creer every few weeks asking for dates. Mr. Creer routinely turned him down. For years, Mr. Williams assumed it was because of his age. “Jerald told me when we met I was too young for him,” Mr. Williams said. (Mr. Creer is seven years older.)
The truth was more complicated.
The friendship that Mr. Williams, now 42, and Mr. Creer, 49, struck up while sailing from Miami to the Bahamas had obstacles from the start. Mr. Williams, an engineer at Cox Communications then living in Baltimore, was traveling alone. Mr. Creer, a social worker, teacher for deaf people and actor then living in Suitland, Md., was vacationing with his boyfriend. Both were part of a group of L.G.B.T.Q. people of color vacationing together.
Mr. Williams remembered seeing Mr. Creer outside the ship’s nightclub a day or two into the trip and feeling drawn to him. “He’s fine,” he recalled thinking.
But he didn’t know Mr. Creer was deaf, which resulted in a stilted conversation. Mr. Creer, who considers American Sign Language his first language, can read lips and make out sounds when wearing his hearing aids. But he struggles to decipher spoken words in dim lighting and loud environments.
“From time to time, I don’t know if my hearing counterparts are adjusting to being in conversation with me,” he said of the stiltedness. That was the case with Mr. Williams. Then, there was the matter of Mr. Williams’s social anxiety. “I’m shy and introverted,” he said. “I’m still trying to figure out why I would have gone up to Jerald in the first place.”
Only two things were clear to both by the time the vacation was in the rearview mirror: One, each found the other attractive. And two, “Kent was very, very shy,” Mr. Creer said.
Mr. Creer grew up in Richmond, Va., with five younger siblings. His parents, Pamela Smith and Jared Creer, discovered his deafness before his first birthday.
By middle school, he was attending events for the deaf community in Rochester, N.Y., where he moved to attend a private school. There, he found his first deaf role models: Rosalie Rockwell, who was a teacher at the school, and her husband, Dale. Both have since died.
“They told me about N.T.I.D.,” he said — the National Technical Institute for the Deaf, a college at Rochester Institute of Technology that trains deaf and hard of hearing students for tech careers, where Mr. Rockwell was a science professor.
At first, Mr. Creer was skeptical: “No one in my family ever went to or finished college.”
But at N.T.I.D., where he enrolled as a scholarship student in 1994, the world opened up. “I met deaf people of all races,” he said. His freshman year, he joined the Ebony Club, a campus group for deaf Black students, but quit because he felt he wasn’t intellectually on their level. Shirley J. Allen, a retired R.I.T. professor and the first Black deaf woman in the United States to earn a doctoral degree, pulled him aside and told him, “Don’t you ever give up.”
Mr. Creer earned two degrees from R.I.T., the first a bachelor’s in his double major, social work and performing arts. Years later, he finished a master’s degree in education. He now works as a drama and theater arts teacher at the Atlanta Area School for the Deaf in Clarkston, Ga.
Mr. Williams grew up in Baltimore with his parents, Darlene Winslow and Kent Williams Sr., two younger half sisters and a cousin he considers a third sister. At 17, he started college at Frostburg State University in Frostburg, Md., to study computer science. But at the time, he was struggling to come to terms with his sexuality. After a semester, he dropped out.
“I had attempted to kill myself,” said Mr. Williams, who was raised Christian. “Growing up in the church, I thought I was going to hell anyway.” (Mr. Creer said that he also attempted suicide during college for similar reasons and survived his depression with the help of his friends from theater, a creative outlet he had been pursuing since early childhood.) Instead of returning home to Baltimore, Mr. Williams moved to Dunnsville, Va., where his godmother lived. To support himself, he worked a series of retail jobs.
In 2003, after three years in Virginia, he returned to Baltimore and got an apartment with a friend and eventually a customer service job at Verizon. By 2009, he was ready to return to college, later earning a bachelor’s degree in information systems from the University of Maryland. In 2010, he moved to Atlanta.
The boyfriend Mr. Creer took the 2009 cruise with broke up with him shortly after they returned home to Maryland. Mr. Creer moved back to Rochester, where he started working as an ASL coach and teacher for deaf people. Heartbreak was nothing new to him, though for years he had tried to avoid it by dating older guys. Men his own age or younger “just wanted to play,” he said. “I didn’t like that.”
Mr. Williams made a promise to himself to keep in touch with Mr. Creer after the cruise, though the odds of an eventual romance, he knew, were against him. He didn’t know ASL, and it was hard to keep up with Mr. Creer’s relationship status. But he remained in the grips of an enormous crush. “I never stopped being attracted to him,” Mr. Williams said. “I made it very clear.”
He did so by texting Mr. Creer at least once a month, letting him know about travel plans and where and when he hoped they might be able to meet in person. Mr. Creer always answered, but usually with an excuse. “He would say, ‘No, I don’t think so, I can’t take the time off,’” Mr. Williams said. “I would say OK and continue to be cordial.” But occasionally they did meet up in cities like Washington, D.C.
Binge more Vows columns here and read all our wedding, relationship and divorce coverage here.
“I’d meet him for a local event or for dinner at some restaurant,” Mr. Williams said. Those visits sometimes turned romantic before they said good night. But Mr. Creer’s pattern of declining his invitations would soon pick up where it left off. “I figured, it is what it is,” Mr. Williams said. “You enjoy what you can get sometimes.”
In December 2023, Mr. Williams made plans to celebrate a friend’s birthday in Manhattan and asked Mr. Creer to meet him there, not realizing that New York is one of Mr. Creer’s favorite cities. In less than a day, Mr. Creer responded, “I’ll be there.”
“I was like, Oh my God, for real?” Mr. Williams said. “I was really happy.” Nervous, too.
At the DoubleTree by Hilton in Times Square, the two stayed up all night playing a conversational card game that Mr. Creer had brought, the couples edition of (The And) card game.
“It was so thought-provoking,” Mr. Creer said. “We answered questions like, What are you hesitating to tell me? What are you afraid of?” Both say they fell in love that night. “We understood each other in ways we hadn’t before,” Mr. Creer added.
That weekend, Mr. Williams finally understood Mr. Creer’s reluctance to accept his scores of invitations through the years. Mr. Creer’s reservations about dating younger men were real. “I was aiming for mature men who understood the struggle of life and who know what it takes to sustain a long-term relationship,” Mr. Creer said.
But there was something else, too. “Kent often goes on trips that I couldn’t afford,” he added. “I was a social worker and was embarrassed that I couldn’t go, either because of my schedule or because of money.”
At the end of the New York birthday celebration, Mr. Williams was ready to carve a path forward as a couple. “‘Are we dating exclusively?’” he asked Mr. Creer. “Jerald said, ‘I think we should. I’m going to make a point of investing in you.’”
Two weeks later, in January 2024, they met in Manhattan a second time. In March, they traveled to London for a friend’s wedding. By then, they were discussing living together in Atlanta. But not marriage. So it was a surprise when Mr. Creer proposed to Mr. Williams at the top of the London Eye Ferris wheel. “It was total disbelief,” Mr. Williams said. His yes brought tears to both.
“I’m deaf in a hearing world, and I’m signing all the time, but Kent doesn’t see me as different from anyone else,” Mr. Creer said. “I love his heart and his compassion and his generosity so much.”
Mr. Williams added, “I fell in love with how genuine he is, the heart that he has. He will do anything in his power to make someone else happy, even at the risk of making himself unhappy.”
In June, Mr. Creer moved into Mr. Williams’s home in Atlanta. On Feb. 28, 115 guests gathered at Kimball Hall in Roswell, Ga., for their wedding, which was officiated by Romell Parks-Weekly, a friend, an L.G.B.T.Q. activist and a pastor at the Sanctuary, a Christian church in St. Louis. Both men were escorted down the aisle by their parents.
The ceremony included two ASL interpreters and a rendition of John Legend’s “All of Me,” both sung and signed for guests. Mr. Creer and Mr. Williams exchanged rings and promised to love each other “today, tomorrow and forever.” Once they were officially married, they jumped a broom decorated with ribbons and rhinestones into the first moments of that forever.
On This Day
When Feb. 28, 2025
Where Kimball Hall, Roswell, Ga.
Bliss and Harmony In the weeks leading up to the wedding, Mr. Creer took to Instagram to express his feelings about Mr. Williams in a series he called “word of the day.” Each day, he taught his followers a new word in ASL, including “forever” and “commitment.” Mr. Williams, who avoids the camera because of his shyness, reluctantly agreed to be part of the “romance” post on Valentine’s Day.
… And Comfort (Food) At a reception after the ceremony, guests helped themselves to a buffet with Southern favorites, including barbecued chicken, beef brisket sliders and mac and cheese. For dessert, after the grooms cut a small wedding cake, red velvet and chocolate cupcakes were passed around.
Bon Voyage The day after the wedding, the couple set sail on their second cruise together to the Caribbean. This time, they shared a cabin.
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.
1
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.
2
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.
3
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
4
“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.
5
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.
6
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.
7
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.
8
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.
9
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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