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Chatting with Izabella Doyle

If you log into Reddit, or any stock-related forum, you will see users asking what the next big stock is, where to invest. Whether it’s penny stocks, or something like GameStop, everyone’s watching, lurking, or engaging within the community, trying to catch what’ll boom. I’ve tried several, several times, only to crash out each and every time.

We’re constantly chasing the next big thing. Especially in fashion, where people are scurrying through shops, publications, or tapping tastemakers to see what they’re feeling right now. All in an attempt to figure out what’s next, what’ll be trending six months from now.

Why am I saying all this?

Because in the middle of all that, throughout my constant scrolling, digging, poking around, I came across a brand that, despite having a strong presence in Asia, remains surprisingly quiet outside of it. The kind of brand that feels like the next big thing before everyone else catches on. Unlike Gamestop, I feel like I’ve managed to get in early this time.

Wright + Doyle, the British label founded by Izabella Doyle and Matthew Wright, is one that genuinely stopped me in my tracks. I’ve mentioned them here and there before. How much I love their garments, the intentionality behind their fabric choices, the playfulness in the designs, and how, despite all of that, everything still feels refreshing, modern, and timeless.

It’s the kind of work that rewires your perspective on fashion. You start reflecting on what you’ve bought. Is it worth it? Where does it sit in your life? Temporary, or is it something you’ll actually hold onto?

I’ve had the pleasure of owning three pieces now. The Langhaus Jacket, Krefeld Jumper, and Kassel Trousers — the latter being my most recent pickup, and now my most cherished. For context, the Kassel’s construction features a deep front pleat that creates a sculptural silhouette, bringing a flare of the dramatic into something meant for everyday wear, while the raw-edge waistband adds a touch of grit to an otherwise beautifully elegant pair of trousers.

The feeling you get when throwing either one of these garments on is rare. A sense of being complete, in a way. It’s something that only really happens when there’s a genuine connection between you and what you’re wearing. Kind of like what someone at Burning Man would say about aligning your chakras.

Safe to say, mine are now aligned courtesy of Wright + Doyle.

During my trip to Men’s Fashion Week, I had the chance to meet Izabella at her showroom to see their FW26 collection. What I saw left me sweating, wondering what I could sell from my wardrobe to get my hands on a few of these pieces, with the leather jacket being my main target.

Bella showed an accompanying leather apron that, when paired with the jacket, feels almost like armour. “I put this on one night when I felt awful — long day, emotional — and instantly felt powerful,” she says. “Clothes should do that.”

It’s a gorgeous leather, the kind that immediately catches your eye, developed in collaboration with an atelier Bella has worked with for over 25 years, one that has produced for the likes of Christopher Kane, Burberry, and Mowalola. The idea for the jacket came after working on a bag with the same atelier, something personal she wanted for herself, before naturally evolving into something larger.

“They sent me all these materials,” she says. “It’s a tough material, so I wanted to introduce a bit of looseness. It ended up feeling like something between a gladiator’s apron and a butcher’s apron.”

That rawness carries throughout the collection, but this jacket is what ties it all together. A true showstopper.

“How long did it take to put this collection together?” I asked.

“Months and months,” Bella says. “I start developing fabrics about six months before we even begin the collection. Most of the mills I work with are exclusive, I design my own fabrics with them. Not everything, but a large portion.”

For example, one fabric comes from an old Italian suiting house that only produces lightweight tailoring. It was originally an archive piece, one they didn’t want to remake, but Bella committed to it for two seasons, bringing it back into production.

But what really pulls me in is the intentionality behind Bella’s choices. Her attention to detail, her approach to material. Everything feels considered, refined. She showed me a mulberry silk sourced from the Himalayas. “It feels incredible, but it’s almost too much,” she says. “It’s so luxurious it can feel overwhelming. I keep it on the inside, I don’t want that on the outside. Having it against your skin is what matters.”

Silks, wools, breathability, functionality. All key pillars in her work, forming a cohesive body of garments that left both myself, and several buyers, genuinely floored.

What’s most interesting though is the fit, something Bella clearly prides herself on. “I cut larger pieces in a way that allows them to drape on smaller bodies.” And you can feel that immediately when trying things on. A jacket cut for someone 6’1” can still sit beautifully on someone much smaller, sometimes even better.

“That’s something I think about a lot, how garments move between people.”

Movement matters. How something shifts when you walk, how it responds when you twist, turn. These are the details she obsesses over, and her background in pattern cutting is evident in every piece. It’s also why, after this past presentation, more people are beginning to take notice of her work.

With that, this collection is her most personal yet. “It starts with my father-in-law’s suit,” she says. “He passed away last year. He had this beautiful handmade 1970s suit, and I used the lapel from it as a reference.” From there, the story continues through her son, who has been practicing taekwondo. “He’s been doing taekwondo, and I bought him some uniforms while I was in California,” she says. “Watching him wear them, I thought, I need to bring this into the collection.”

Through this, she’s created a body of work that, through her experience and vulnerability, forms a thread connecting her father-in-law to her son. “The arc goes from my father-in-law, to my father, to my son. You can see that through the stitching, the construction, it’s all connected.”

Conversations like these remind me why I love fashion so much.

That level of connection and storytelling makes it clear how much care Bella puts into her work, and with so much fluff in the industry, it’s refreshing to see Wright + Doyle carve out their own space, creating garments that aren’t just clothes, but reflections of lived experience.

Both the joyful parts, and the heavier ones.

Additional Tidbits

Before signing off, here are a few things that have caught my eye recently + some news. Also, next What I’ve Bookmarked post drops this weekend. If you haven’t subscribed already, now’s your chance.

You’ll have access to past recommendations, and there are a few more early-access drops with Wallace Mercantile coming up. Next drop is William Frederick.

• I’m considering a trip out to Paris this June for coverage, though gas prices are pushing flight tickets way too high which is throwing me off a bit. Still TBD, but if we get a decent amount of invitations, then I’ll make it out.

• My quest to replace my Lemaire slippers may have finally come to an end, and it couldn’t come at a better time since they are officially dead (for now). I’m picking up the Oval Mocas by Hender Scheme in black/python. After seeing wearing them in Paris this January, I became immediately fixated and scoured the internet for a pair in my size. Well, it finally happened.

• I’m also considering the Libidos (insane name) by Hender Scheme. Tried them on yesterday and I’d like to pick them up, but I’ve yet to find $80,000 on the ground, so no can do right now. I’m clearly on a Hender Scheme kick right now. Though, there is the Anatomical Slip-On by Lemaire that just dropped, for anyone interested. Very nice, very sleek, very Lemaire.

• I might expand on the big shorts piece I wrote for Highsnobiety, but from a more Duchump perspective. For now, &Son dropped a few great options by Reformed: the Knchaku Wool Trunks in navy and brown.

• It didn’t fit me, but I’d love to see this Skipper Shirt by Blanc YM on someone soon. Stupidly comfortable, and a great addition to anyone’s summer' wardrobe. The Washed C/L Corkscrew Jacket by Ulterior is also a favourite of mine at Sycamore right now.

• VP Texi, a brand you probably don’t know just yet, currently has their Trouser-One on sale. I’ve yet to pick up a pair because I’m stuck in that familiar loop of wanting everything at once, or nothing at all. But for you, I’d recommend taking a look immediately. VP’s one of those brands that feels like more than just a brand, as they’ve released an LP for No You, a project recorded by Suzanne Kraft and Davy Kehoe, and have shown work in galleries. I love this kind of direction. It gives me something to actually connect to beyond the surface-level “nice pants, gotta cop.” They’re more culture-building, displaying their passion for the arts in a way that’s honest and true to them.

• Someone else that’s caught my eye recently is Akari Tachibana. Insane silhouettes, somewhere between art and fashion, with pieces that feel almost architectural. Beautiful work.

• My latest fixation is Fishmans’ live album 98.12.28 Otokotachino Wakare, and I’m ready to say that this version of Long Season is the greatest live recording of all-time.

Your subscription helps keep this project alive and independent. My goal is to offer menswear coverage that feels grounded, honest, and human, without filters.

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A Quick Word

I’m someone who always gets weird when talking about personal achievements. I’ve got a terrible habit of downplaying things that probably deserve to be celebrated. But this time, I’m not doing that. It’s been a very eventful week, and I’d like to chat about it.

Aside from my trip to Mexico City, my first article for Highsnobiety titled Welcome to the Summer of Big Shorts went live on Tuesday covering — you guessed it — big shorts. It was met with over 600+ negative comments, ranging from “all these fits are trash” to “embrace your hoochie daddy.” While the latter is valid, it was a beautiful sight watching 600+ people collectively shit on one post, joining arms and denouncing big shorts together.

(If you scroll through their feed, it’s one of their most engaged posts in a minute. My work here is done. But not really, please hire me again.)

On top of that, I had the chance to speak with Jacob Gallagher of The New York Times about the whole “Made in Japan” wave in menswear, and why we’re all currently hot and heavy for Japanese designers. It was only one sentence, but I’m absolutely still counting it as a win. Plus, I was in great company alongside David Marx, writer of Ametora; Jeremy Kirkland, host of the Blamo! podcast; Saager Dilawri, the mastermind behind Neighbour; and Christopher Green, the man behind Ven Space.

To think that I started this newsletter, immediately assuming no one would take this seriously, expecting little-to-no audience, and now I’ve had the pleasure of being invited to showrooms, runways, and having conversations with people I respect in this space. It’s surreal, but I am proud of myself, even if I’ve got a heavy case of imposter syndrome.

All in all, thank you for subscribing, for believing in me, and for indulging in all of this. It means more than I probably let on. Seriously, thank you.

On with the show. This one’s a long one, so buckle up.

ssstein FW26

(Note: I’ve been holding off on talking about this until things simmered down a bit, didn’t want my pieces mixed in with everyone else’s during men’s week.)

Of all the shows, appointments, and events I had lined up that week, there was one that had me genuinely nervous. The kind of nervous that sits in your chest, like when you’ve got an exam the next morning that could make or break your year, or a date with someone you’ve been trying to impress for weeks.

This, for obvious reasons, didn’t carry those same stakes. But for me, it felt just as big.

Kartik’s show may have technically been my first runway presentation, but Kiichiro Asakawa’s FW26 showing for ssstein was the one that had my teeth chattering. Not out of cold, but from anticipation. Seeing one of my favourite brands, one I could dedicate my entire wardrobe to, in a room filled with writers I admire, like Jacob Gallagher, Ashley Ogawa Clarke, and Louis Cheslaw, felt validating.

Here I am, a lowly Substack writer with a mostly coherent newsletter full of yaps, sitting in this space, about to see what Asakawa had been working on for FW26. It was a special feeling. The presentation took place at the Conservatoire National des Arts & Métiers, a space that felt perfectly aligned with ssstein’s world — quiet, gentle, romantic, but with a bit of edge.

I found my seat, exchanged a few pleasantries, and settled in. Then the show began. We’re seeing someone creating with an ever-growing confidence each season.

The Oversized Layered Combination Coat returns, now tweaked with an almost villainous leather collar, something that borders on nightmare-inducing. New versions of the Vintage Zip Jacket appear as well: one in a faded grey corduroy, another in a classic khaki, finished with a black sheep leather collar.

The spectrum of colour across the collection left me with this strange, fuzzy feeling. It swings from genuinely intimidating — like the black, textured sheep-leather jacket — to this Easter-friendly look: an emerald green cashmere sweater over a buttery-yellow, almost-sheer overshirt, paired with off-white trousers that I would 100% stain within five minutes of wearing them.

See, I have this thing where I immediately stain whatever new purchase I’m wearing. My friends and girlfriend can attest to that.

What Asakawa does wonderfully is stay within this rhythm, never really straying for shock value or attention. It’s easy on the eyes, very complementary, yet some looks still feel slightly jarring, in a subtle, digestible way. Look 20, for example, features a brown wool belted overcoat, fuzzy moss-green sweater, mint-coloured overshirt, and grey slacks. A combination that feels slightly off on paper, but lands perfectly in motion.

As always, it’s the styling that leaves me stunned.

Layered tank tops. A reinterpreted cherry-red Harrington thrown over a dark-brown wool blazer, paired with a full-zip textured sweater. An emerald-green cashmere V-neck layered over a grey cashmere knit. Trousers that drape and sway in a way that feels almost hypnotic with each step. We even see this Andy Kaufman-esque, Mighty Mouse fit — a black turtleneck under a classic blue button-down, tweed overcoat, their deformation wide jeans, and brown loafers.

Shotaro Yamaguchi, the stylist behind it all, deserves their flowers. His work offers a glimpse into ssstein’s full range, transforming everyday garments, like a cashmere sweater or a cotton tank, into something that feels slightly surreal. We’re seeing more brands attempt to replicate Shotaro’s formula, but it rarely hits as hard as they think.

Shotaro’s method? A layered mess, in the best way possible, done in a way that feels almost effortless. The term I’d use for it, especially with the more layered, textured fits: nonchalant chaos. Someone who just throws whatever on and calls it a wrap once it feels right.

No overthinking, just instinct.

With almost a decade in the game, Kiichiro Asakawa has brought ssstein up there as one of the few presentations writers, creators, and designers look forward to seeing. Each collection feels like a natural continuation of the last, with new elements and subtle twists that keep you on your toes, wanting to pick up every piece with money you don’t have (or do, maybe you’re loaded, idk).

Why I Like This Brand

From what I’ve gathered online, you don’t want another Auralee mention, or anything adjacent. However, I’m gonna have to bring them up, whether you like it or not, pal.

With Auralee, there’s a lighthearted airiness to their collections that can lift anyone’s spirit, even though their FW26 offering leaned darker at times, almost the antithesis of what you’d expect from them. As much as I love Auralee though, their sizing isn’t always the most inclusive.

For example, I tried on their Cotton/Silk Gradient Stripe Sweater at Neighbour. It was a spontaneous try-on. I saw it folded on the table, the colours spoke to me, the fabric felt incredible. I asked for a five, threw it on, and like a 90s Mike Tyson punch to the gut, a wave of body dysmorphia hit me. You’d think the five would fit, but instead I looked like an overstuffed sausage. Still delicious, but fighting for its life.

With ssstein, I almost see them as Auralee’s more relaxed, slightly edgier relative. The one that listens to Thelonious Monk, Sonic Youth, and Portishead; moves in silence, stays out of everyone’s business, dresses well without trying too hard, or caring who’s watching.

When it comes to the clothes, their sizing feels more forgiving. Kiichiro leans into relaxed fits — aside from the Deformation Jeans that might only fit infants, and I’m saying this from experience after trying them on — and the fabrics are excellent, especially at their price point. Their SS26 Rayon Silk Flannel is, as of right now, the softest, most comfortable shirt I’ve tried on this year.

There’s also this subtle level of grit to the clothes, which sounds silly, but you see it in pieces like their Baggy Denim Jeans, last season’s Linen Herringbone Jacket (which looks like a crime scene), Sulfur Dyed Vintage Jackets, Sheep Leather Jackets, and more. Auralee can tap into this at times — their Faded Zip Parkas and Dyed Duck Blousons come to mind — but after trying both, I have to give it to ssstein. It feels more natural, less polished. The kind of clothes you could wear to a bar fight.

Not that I’ve been in one, yet. I’ve practiced my boxing stance enough to confirm I can throw hands, I think.

Unfortunately, we’re already seeing more people push back on Japanese designers (hence the intro to this additional piece), which is interesting. Especially when a lot of those same people were championing pre–Japanese influenced Throwing Fits brands for years without much complaint, and still are.

Something feels a bit off there.

But it doesn’t really matter what those J.Crew-Hanover-Vans-wearing, pimple-faced, Chris Black worshipping vanilla boys are saying anyway.

Love u, Kiichiro.

Also, huge thank you to Romcom for the invite. A dream come true, really.

Greg Laboratory SS26 — Early Access

Greg Jackson, legal name The Famous Greg Jackson, has dropped another strong collection for SS26, and it couldn’t come at a better time for anyone in the market for pants and shorts. It’s warming up in Vancouver, and I need something I can wear comfortably around the city — hiking, bopping from café to café, or hitting the farmer’s market.

Yeah, I go to the farmer’s market, I do wholesome shit, too.

Just something that doesn’t leave my legs feeling like two tightly packaged sausages ready to burst.

Read more

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, please consider subscribing. Here are a few of my latest posts:

• The Cost of Rewriting Culture: A post-mortem on Buck Mason’s jazz-inspired campaign, and the cultural erasure behind it.

• The Idyllic Strangeness of Time: A reflection on creative burnout, process-driven menswear, and thoughtful conversations with Mark from Archie and the duo behind the LVMH Prize–nominated label Tíscar Espadas.

• Why This Designer Is Creating Quite the Buzz In Menswear: Before diving into our next PFW recap, let’s take an in-depth look at this Swedish designer’s philosophy, and why buyers and critics see the brand as one to watch.

I do not use affiliate links, nor do I partner with brands for content. There’s already plenty of that on Substack. Everything I share here is my own genuine opinion.

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Share Duchump

Your subscription helps keep this project alive and independent. My goal is to offer menswear coverage that feels grounded, honest, and human, without filters, or selling out.

We need more honesty in fashion. That’s what I’m here to deliver.

Thank you for being here.

Takayuki Minami of Graphpaper
Photography by Mackai Sharp

There are people who, the moment you step into their orbit, carry an unshakable sense of confidence. The kind that comes from years of trial and error, persistence, and an unwavering belief in what they do.

It’s rare to see, and one we all strive for through the work we do.

While waiting in an open area just outside the Graphpaper showroom in Paris, I saw it firsthand when I met Takayuki Minami, the founder of Graphpaper, FreshService, and AlphaPR.

At a glance, it can feel a bit intimidating, but once we started speaking — after a quick introduction — that feeling quickly shifted. What comes through isn’t ego, but clarity. This is someone who knows exactly what he’s building, and why it matters. It’s why Graphpaper has long held a strong presence in Asia, and why it’s steadily gaining traction in North America, with stockists like Ven Space, Mohawk General Store, and Neighbour carrying the brand.

At its core, Graphpaper focuses on everyday garments, but nothing is ever just “basic.” Through the use of top-quality fabrics, elevated materials, and subtle adjustments to proportion and construction, each piece feels considered. Familiar, but sharper, refined without trying too hard. The brand releases two collections a year on a six-month development cycle. Alongside its ongoing Basic line, this can amount to hundreds of SKUs per season.

With that scale in mind, the team continuously reviews and refines their Basic line: adjusting shoulder slope, proportions, topstitching widths, and more. It’s a process that reflects Minami’s meticulous, almost obsessive approach to design.

It’s what makes the brand a go-to for Japanese locals, their store a destination for tourists, and why people like myself in this space have been paying closer attention. This isn’t just any other brand, it’s one that built on a genuine dedication to making something meaningful. It may appear simple at first glance, but it’s anything but.

As one retailer put it in an introductory feature on the brand, Graphpaper fuses “excellent fabric selections with sophisticated production methods — each piece carrying a sense of quality and emotion that sits quietly within daily life. Clothing isn’t a distraction, but a form of enrichment.”

Now, back to their Paris showroom.

The temporary showroom itself was split in two: one side dedicated to their FW26 collection for buyers, the other functioning as a pop-up space. What caught me immediately was the structure at its centre: a large, black, almost alien-like wall that concealed the garments behind it. Unfortunately, I left behind a Blue Oversized Oxford Shirt that fit wonderfully, only because my card was not working at the time.

Lovely.

As one of Minami’s colleagues explained, the idea was simple: intrigue. Rather than revealing everything at once, the wall invites passersby to step in, to spend time, to look a little closer. Nothing is handed to you outright

There’s a subtle intention to it. A space to sit, to take it in slowly, and to engage with the capsule collection on your own terms. Personally, it let me move through each garment without that usual sense of being watched. That subtle, almost voyeuristic feeling when people pass by and glance at what you’re doing.

While at the showroom, I spoke briefly with Minami.

It was a short exchange, but one that offered a clearer window into his process, and the thinking behind Graphpaper as a whole.

To start, has your perspective on design remained consistent each season, or has it evolved over time?

TM: Over time, I think I’ve come to balance opposing elements: lightness and ease on one side, and elegance on the other. Those things can coexist.

What defines Graphpaper? Things like intention, utility, fabric. What are the core elements?

TM: For us, the design is already about 70–80% complete at the fabric stage. Our role is to take that material and translate it into clothing.

That’s our strength, working closely with people who create these materials. Being based in Japan, and producing with Japanese manufacturers, is very important to us.

There’s been a lot of discussion about clothing starting to look similar across brands. What are your thoughts on that?

TM: I don’t focus on what other people are doing. I’m more interested in expressing what moves me.

You’ve mentioned before that clothing is a fundamental necessity like food or shelter. Could you expand on that?

TM: Clothing should exist naturally in daily life. Sometimes what we see online, images of brands, styling, etc, feels very different from how the clothes actually exist in reality.

Do you think the internet has changed how people perceive clothing?

TM: Yes.

Today people consume fashion through images — Instagram, YouTube — and things can start to look similar. But in reality, when you see garments in person, they are very different. Details, texture, and feeling can’t always be communicated through a screen.

There’s more emphasis now on image and status, but Graphpaper focuses on quality, comfort, and real-life wearability.

You’ve expanded internationally. What do you think about maintaining production scale and integrity?

TM: We now have a base in Europe, and I’m interested in producing outside of Japan as well. At the same time, Japanese factories are facing challenges, especially as the workforce ages. It’s not something I can solve alone, but I’m thinking about what I can do.

We want to continue supporting Japanese manufacturing, but also explore what can only be done outside of Japan. Both need to coexist.

Graphpaper’s retail spaces feel like a natural extension of the brand. How do you approach designing those environments?

TM: I actually start by thinking about the space.

The clothing itself is quite simple, so it can fit into many environments. Because of that, I focus more on what kind of space we want to present.

If you prioritize the clothes too much, it becomes a typical retail store. Instead, I want people to create an environment where customers can feel something — an experience beyond retail

Outside of fashion, what influences you the most?

TM: I’m more inspired by design outside of clothing: architecture, sound systems, ceramics, and other forms of design. I don’t really take inspiration from fashion itself.

What kind of music do you listen to?

TM: A wide range of music.

I own a bar in Tokyo [Yose Tokyo], a space that encompasses the Japanese concept of “Yoriai”, where music plays an important role. Being in that environment, listening to music, drinking, experiencing the atmosphere; all of that feeds into my creative process.

Experience is very important. Traveling, visiting different places, and living those moments all contribute to the my ideas.

A classic question. Where do you see the brand in five years?

TM: I’m not entirely sure yet, but one reason for establishing a company in the Netherlands was to explore possibilities in Europe.

There’s potential for expansion there, but it’s still something I’m figuring out.

(Cont’d)

I also had the chance to speak with George Cole, part of Graphpaper’s Design & Planning team. Before sitting down with Minami, he walked me through their FW26 collection, and overall ethos behind the brand.

To start, could you walk me through the collection?

GC: We’ve got these military motifs that we’ve used for this collection. Like this Deck Jacket, made with shearling.

This is coming from the Pacific Northwest, and then we’ve got more of a kind of synthetic; a little bit techy, which takes advantage of the functional aspects of the fabric. Generally, it’s designed to be worn in city environments, things you can integrate quite easily into your everyday life. Nothing with too strong of an impact.

For Minami, this idea of universality is quite important. The fact that it is oversized, regardless of body type or gender or age. It’s got a flexibility.

He talks about this idea of a kind of distinctive normality — something that’s unique, yet basic at the same time. That contrast is important for him.

That’s one of the many reasons why I love Graphpaper. It’s a very welcoming brand. You feel invited. It’s not size-restrictive, it’s inclusive.

GC: Yeah, that’s definitely what Minami is trying to do.

We’ve started to do international sizing as well, since the last collection. You’ve got, for example, a size 2 in Japan compared to a size 2 internationally. There’s an extra three or four centimetres.

And everything’s made in Japan. Japanese fabrics. We’ve got quite a well-established relationship with mills, so from all the fabric development, everything is exclusive. We don’t use stock fabrics.

Out of curiosity, how long did it take to get to that point? In terms of development?

GC: I think one of the reasons why we do the basic line as well is because it’s good for the factories to have our running fabrics, things they’re producing every season for us, in cuts that they know.

Having these two lines working together means it’s efficient for the factories to get large orders in, and we can continue good business relationships.

I think right from the start, that was his approach.

GC (continued): Generally, in Japan, at least from what I’ve been told, and from my career, has been based there in menswear product development — you have to be very, very specific. From the tech packs to the patterns.

This is in comparison to overseas brands, where the factories seem to do a lot more for you. They have a lot of that know-how in-house. That’s kind of one of the main differences.

It’s funny. I feel like that’s a sentiment that’s been shared at least four times over the last couple of days. From a creative standpoint, it can feel like you lose a bit of that integrity when factories start chiming in.

GC: Yeah, and I think some of our specifications, even if they improve durability, can be time consuming to sew sometimes. Factories have more efficient ways of doing things.

But we’re really committed to trying to make the best products at the most reasonable price point that’s still viable for the factories. That balance is important.

Every time a reader reaches out to me about Graphpaper, it’s always about the price point. It feels like it just can’t be beat, especially for the quality and design.

GC: For example, the shirting over there: we use this cotton from ALUMO, which is Swiss.

It’s the exact same fabric that fashion houses are using as well, and it’s really expensive. We actually don’t make that much profit on it, but it’s really good for the consumer.

They get very, very good value products.

How does it feel seeing the brand’s audience evolve? Especially on the Western side? I’ve been seeing more creators highlight Graphpaper recently.

GC: That’s one of the interesting things for us.

In the Japanese market, I don’t know if you’ve been to Tokyo, but oversized silhouettes are very common. Once you get used to that, it feels more dynamic, bolder. It really highlights the fabric quality, but compared to overseas, it’s much more reserved.

When I go back to London, it’s more heritage, more fitted, maybe slightly relaxed, but not as oversized as Graphpaper.

It’s about navigating that difference.

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, please consider subscribing. Here are a few of my latest posts:

• The Cost of Rewriting Culture: A post-mortem on Buck Mason’s jazz-inspired campaign, and the cultural erasure behind it.

• The Idyllic Strangeness of Time: A reflection on creative burnout, process-driven menswear, and thoughtful conversations with Mark from Archie and the duo behind the LVMH Prize–nominated label Tíscar Espadas.

• Why This Designer Is Creating Quite the Buzz In Menswear: Before diving into our next PFW recap, let’s take an in-depth look at this Swedish designer’s philosophy, and why buyers and critics see the brand as one to watch.

I do not use affiliate links, and nor do I partner with brands for content. There’s already plenty of that on Substack. Everything I share here is my own genuine opinion — it isn’t bought, and it isn’t diluted to fit someone else’s agenda.

Your subscription helps keep this project alive and independent. My goal is to offer menswear coverage that feels grounded, honest, and human — without filters, or selling out.

We need more honesty in fashion. That’s what I’m here to deliver.

Thank you for being here.

Subscribe now

Share Duchump

Shirts I’ve Picked Up Recently (Review)

Listen, I’m a simple man. When I see a nice shirt, I snag it, even if that means I’m having corn flakes and Annie’s with tuna for dinner. That meal may sound like an abomination, and it absolutely is, but we’ll save that discussion for another day.

The reason I’m saying this is: after being extra cautious with my spending over the past two months, I broke the seal and picked something up: the Yarn Dyed Check Linen Shirt by Evan Kinori. You’d think that would be enough to cool my jets for a bit.

Well, clearly you haven’t met me.

Now, after feeling a little too good about my finances, I’ve begun to browse again, and the Flat Hem Shirt by Evan immediately caught my eye after seeing it in-person. To help paint you a picture of what it looks like, please read the following description:

“Its uniquely rich colour is achieved through an experimental cold dye process that results in irregular colour saturation, producing subtle variation in tone throughout. Dyed at a small workshop in Okayama, operated by only two people, pushing the boundaries of small-scale experimentation.”

I wish I were uniquely rich, but until then, I’ll be girl-mathing my way into picking this up sometime this week. But, throughout the process of all this browsing, and months of online window-shopping, I’ve built up a folder of shirts I’ve yet to share. Normally I’d keep them for myself, but there’s no way I’m buying all of these — right?

We’ve got 26 shirts (unless I miscounted) in this piece, but before diving into this week’s drop, I wanted to touch on two pieces I’ve picked up since January: Salon C. Lundman’s Double Collar Work Shirt and Yoko Sakamoto’s Hemp Work Shirt.

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If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, please consider subscribing. Here are a few of my latest posts:

• The Cost of Rewriting Culture: A post-mortem on Buck Mason’s jazz-inspired campaign, and the cultural erasure behind it.

• The Idyllic Strangeness of Time: A reflection on creative burnout, process-driven menswear, and thoughtful conversations with Mark from Archie and the duo behind the LVMH Prize–nominated label Tíscar Espadas.

• Why This Designer Is Creating Quite the Buzz In Menswear: Before diving into our next PFW recap, let’s take an in-depth look at this Swedish designer’s philosophy, and why buyers and critics see the brand as one to watch.

I do not use affiliate links, and nor do I partner with brands for content. There’s already plenty of that on Substack. Everything I share here is my own genuine opinion — it isn’t bought, and it isn’t diluted to fit someone else’s agenda.

Your subscription helps keep this project alive and independent. My goal is to offer menswear coverage that feels grounded, honest, and human — without filters, or selling out.

We need more honesty in fashion. That’s what I’m here to deliver.

Thank you for being here.

Subscribe now

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Chump Dump

Every morning, after wincing for a brief second from whatever new pain I’ve developed overnight, I pray to find $80,000 (ideally in USD) on the ground. One day my wish will come true, and when it does, you’ll know as there will be signs. My wardrobe will become something you’d only see in your dreams.

Until then, I’ll keep bookmarking the pieces I want. Think of it as online window shopping, except no one can see my tears through the screen when I realize I can’t pick something up, unlike when I do it in person.

Now, while there are plenty of recommendation-based articles on Substack, most of them are either boring, sponsored, or just all-around uninteresting. Others will just drop a hyperlink with no explanation as to why they like what they’re listing, which makes me question whether they genuinely like this, or if it’s just filler.

What I want to do instead is offer my personal picks; garments I genuinely want for myself, but because I’ve got kids to feed (I don’t, aside from my girlfriend), they’re sitting in my bookmarks. I’ll include a brief note on why I want each piece, where it fits into my wardrobe, and whether it’s actually worth it.

Again, these aren’t just miscellaneous links to cool things I’ve seen. These are my picks, pieces I want for myself that I cannot obtain because I’m a broke bitch. That said, I did spontaneously pick up a new shirt by Evan Kinori: this season’s Yarn Dyed Linen Check Big Shirt.

I’ve also got a few more Evan pieces on my mind that I can’t seem to shake. Am I … turning into an Kinori-head?

While I sit with that realization, here’s part one of Shirts I’ve Bookmarked. Our first drop is brief, since I got tired writing this and went to bed.

*Second part will be out in a week or two. Got a few juicy interviews and pieces coming up next.

Read more

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, please consider subscribing. Here are a few of my latest posts:

• The Idyllic Strangeness of Time: A reflection on creative burnout, process-driven menswear, and thoughtful conversations with Mark from Archie and the duo behind the LVMH Prize–nominated label Tíscar Espadas.

• Why This Designer Is Creating Quite the Buzz In Menswear: Before diving into our next PFW recap, let’s take an in-depth look at this Swedish designer’s philosophy, and why buyers and critics see the brand as one to watch.

• I Think, Therefore I Tastemake: My thoughts on tastemaking, influence, and intention in modern content — exploring slow style, fatigue, and what’s to come

• Basic? (How Japanese brands get labelled “boring” or “expensive,” and the disconnect between passion, content, and algorithm-driven taste)

I do not use affiliate links, and nor do I partner with brands for content. There’s already plenty of that on Substack. Everything I share here is my own genuine opinion — it isn’t bought, and it isn’t diluted to fit someone else’s agenda.

Your subscription helps keep this project alive and independent. My goal is to offer menswear coverage that feels grounded, honest, and human — without filters, or selling out.

We need more honesty in fashion. That’s what I’m here to deliver.

Thank you for being here.

Subscribe now

Share Duchump

Buck Mason

Writing this, and watching how it’s evolved since I first said something, has left me feeling a mix of things. Disappointment, confusion, anger. But also, at times, a bit of humour, reading through replies, DMs, and seeing how people have reacted to all of this.

For those who’ve been offline and actually living life — avoiding the dread of logging on and seeing nonsense across Instagram, Facebook, and everywhere else — Buck Mason released a campaign titled The Big Chino to celebrate their latest trousers. The kind of thing modern menswear guys drool over. You know, pants that Don Draper would wear before cheating on his wife.

The campaign visuals featured a jazz quintet playing in a dimly lit club, with sporadic close-ups of the cast wearing said chinos, and La La Land-esque shots of their musicians playing. It felt like I was watching a watered down, America-first, kids bop version of Mo Better Blues. Regardless of its concept — as someone that loves Jazz, I was interested, but there was one glaring issue I couldn’t ignore.

In the early 1900s, deep in the clubs and communities of New Orleans, a new genre emerged, pioneered by Black Americans, that would go on to change music history.

As Sound of Life explains, Louisiana’s Code Noir (a decree passed by French royals, meant to regulate relations between the enslaved and colonists) granted enslaved people limited time off on Sundays and certain holidays. During those rare moments of rest, Black communities gathered not just to socialize, but to create. Those gatherings became the birthplace of a historic, genre-defining sound shaped by lived experience, resilience, love, and musical influences from Africa, the Caribbean, and across North America.

Despite how much it’s evolved — from the innovations brought forth by Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker, to the mind-bending, ever-expanding worlds of spiritual and abstract jazz shaped by Sun Ra and the Coltranes (both John Coltrane and Alice Coltrane) to hip-hop’s sampling the likes of Red Garland, Gary Bartz, and Ronnie Foster, all the way to today’s torchbearers like Makaya McCraven, Terrace Martin, and Kamasi Washington — it remains a genre that refuses to die, no matter how often people try to declare it otherwise.

We have organizations today like Jazz Is Dead that, despite the name, exist purely to keep it alive; bringing together artists across generations and reintroducing the genre in ways that still feel fresh, strange, and necessary. I remember damn near foaming from the mouth when I found out they were hosting a show for Arthur Verocai — the Brazilian jazz legend and one of my favourite artists — three years ago in New York during my brief stint there. Easily one of the most memorable experiences of my life.

With that in mind, let’s fast forward to this today.

Buck Mason, an all-American brand marketed toward a very particular kind of American it seems like, released this campaign celebrating a musical and cultural era rooted in Black artistry and experience. Yet the glaring issue was the complete lack of representation.

This is cultural history, heritage, Black expression. And still, the brand chose to erase all of that, presenting an idealized, all-white version of a genre created and led by Black artists who were marginalized and demonized then and now. As I told someone who messaged me about it, and the comments I left on their post (which they deleted at first, only to add them back), there’s no way this felt accidental. It came across like a “Whites Only” club, just filmed in the modern day.

Unfortunately, this only adds to the reputation the brand already carries. Several people reached out to me describing discriminatory experiences while working there — Black team members allegedly treated differently than their white colleagues, told to present themselves a certain way, or pressured to change their hair to better fit the “Buck Mason look.” One subscriber shared that their brief stint with the brand felt like they were being asked to perform; tap-dancing for show.

While the brand tries to sell itself as tasteful, cultural, and American-focused, they give off What Kind of American Are You? from Civil War. Their presence feels like a brand romanticizing a version of Americana that’s deeply entangled with histories of segregation and redlining. What’s also disappointing is how some people reacted to my comments, framing them as “anti-white” rather than engaging with the substance of the critique, with one person saying “If you don’t like white people, find something else to look at.” The American education system continues to fail to instill basic comprehension skills and common sense, I guess, but I digress.

This was never about disliking any group of people (y’all white people are crazy, but I still love u) — it’s about calling out a brand profiting from Black cultural history while excluding the communities that built it.

This also isn’t new. Conversations around cultural erasure in America have only intensified in recent years, and it’s clear that progress in representation and acknowledgment remains uneven. So, it’s not that I’m trying to find something to be mad about, it’s about holding people accountable. Because this isn’t small, it’s part of a larger, ongoing issue — one that somehow feels like it’s accelerating in 2026, especially when you look at the current political and cultural climate in the US. There’s a growing boldness to the hate you see online. People aren’t even trying to hide it anymore, and that normalization is what makes it unsettling.

One subscriber put it in a way that stuck with me: it feels disorienting, almost surreal, watching things unravel in real time. It affects your mental health, especially when you’re being hit with jabs in-person as well. Last month, someone hit me with the “you people were our slaves” comment in the neighbourhood, here in Canada.

No, this isn’t some distant issue I’m observing from afar. It shows up here, too.

As for the US, the number of articles highlighting the erasure of Black culture in America has only grown since Trump first took office (five articles are linked there FYI), and it’s going to take years to get back to whatever form of progress was once seen prior to.

Anyway, to wrap this whole thing up.

Brands should continue to be held accountable for cases like this. This is one of many examples where cultural history is repackaged to cater to a certain audience, while the people who built it continue to be erased.

The lack of proper representation isn’t new, but that doesn’t make it any less exhausting. Constantly having to question whether you belong in a space, a place, or a community wears on you, and while we occasionally see glimpses of progress, it’s often short-lived — filtered, diluted, and ultimately revealed to be more performative than anything else.

In an industry that should be inclusive, brands like Buck Mason make it painfully clear which side of history they align with. At a certain point, we have to stop giving them our time altogether, and even if you strip this down to be purely a fashion critique, the clothes aren’t saying much anyway.

Honestly, all that felt missing from the campaign video was someone wearing the red hat — MAGA-fying a century of Black culture and history for mass consumption.

Note: As of March 19th, Buck Mason has neither addressed the criticism nor taken down the video.

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, please consider subscribing. Here are a few of my latest posts:

• Why This Designer Is Creating Quite the Buzz In Menswear: Before diving into our next PFW recap, let’s take an in-depth look at this Swedish designer’s philosophy, and why buyers and critics see the brand as one to watch.

• I Lost My Luggage Going to Men’s Fashion Week: Reporting from Paris — moving between showrooms, missed luggage, and conversations around slower fashion, locality, and material honesty.

• I Think, Therefore I Tastemake: My thoughts on tastemaking, influence, and intention in modern content — exploring slow style, fatigue, and what’s to come

• Basic? (How Japanese brands get labelled “boring” or “expensive,” and the disconnect between passion, content, and algorithm-driven taste)

I do not use affiliate links, and nor do I partner with brands for content. There’s already plenty of that on Substack. Everything I share here is my own genuine opinion — it isn’t bought, and it isn’t diluted to fit someone else’s agenda.

Your subscription helps keep this project alive and independent. My goal is to offer menswear coverage that feels grounded, honest, and human — without filters, or selling out.

We need more honesty in fashion. That’s what I’m here to deliver.

Thank you for being here.

Subscribe now

Share Duchump

General Thoughts

It could be the shift from winter into spring, the way a new year already feels like it’s speeding past us as we head into March, or just the general state of the world right now — whatever it is, I’ve felt exhausted. I can feel it physically, like there’s a weight on my shoulders that’s been slowing me down entirely. To the point where putting (virtual) pen to paper felt more like a chore than anything else.

So I stepped back for a bit.

I’ve been focusing on my health, getting back into the gym, eating better, unwinding instead of constantly thinking about the next post, the next angle, how to keep subscribers engaged. I love writing, I really do. But for the first time in a long time, I’ve also really enjoyed prioritizing my physical and mental health.

That’s where I’ve been.

During that time, I kept thinking about Paris, about the collections I saw, about AW26 and the direction we’re headed in menswear. Truthfully, I enjoyed this season. I personally gravitate toward muted tones, looser silhouettes, clothes that feel versatile and comfortable, pieces where the fabric does the talking. And this season leaned heavily into that, with more brands seemingly willing to invest more in material development, weight, texture, durability — instead of relying on theatrics or “wow-factor” pieces made from, let’s be honest, lesser fabrics.

Before you say anything, I will admit that I’m guilty in promoting several brands that fit under this bracket, but it’s purely because I’m writing about the brands I genuinely like, and why I like them. Still, how many mud-dyed shirts and trousers that look the same are we going to see before we hit our cap?

One common thread I noticed this season was the amount of development happening in the Bishu region of Japan. For context, Bishu is one of the most significant wool textile regions in the world, producing a large portion of Japan’s wool fabrics, with a history stretching back centuries. Various brands, both small and large, are working with mills there, using similar to the same fabrics, creating similar to the same silhouettes and patterns.

It’s not just a romantic “Made in Japan” detail. When you handle garments developed there, you can absolutely feel the difference. The texture, construction, care, and attention to detail; how the fabric holds it shape, feels on the body. There’s a maturity to it.

Which is where the repetition conversation becomes more nuanced.

At the same time, the number of simpler, daily-focused garments continues to rise. When are we going to get the final, perfect oversized hemp chocolate-brown button-down? Or the definitive quarter-zip jumper? Personally, I don’t see anyone beating De Dam Foundation or Rier right now for the latter. De Dam’s Virgin Wool one-size-fits-all fleece, for example, is genuinely hard to argue against.

That said, brands like Tíscar Espadas, ssstein, and Kartik Research have recently inspired me to look a bit further outward from my usual corner. Still staying true to my standards, but finding pieces that blend in a playfulness that’s often missing, without sacrificing the durable, high-quality garments I look for.

All this to say, there’s a lot that excites me in fashion right now. But there’s also a lot that bores me, or flat-out frustrates me (looking at you, Buck Mason).

Anyway, let’s get started.

1. The Buck Mason piece has been taken out, as it will be its own standalone post. Should be live in a few days.

2. Edited on March 8th — left a draft of a paragraph in the mix, lol.

Archie AW26

Mark Smith Clarke, founder of Archie, is someone who continues to fascinate me.

I’ve had the pleasure of seeing him across SS25, AW25, and AW26, and each time it’s been a genuinely great experience. At this point, it feels like catching up with a talented friend and seeing what he’s been working on — and the waves his work will inevitably make.

It’s always nice hearing what he’s been up to, but also witnessing the steady progression of the brand and his approach to design has been special to see. Each season feels like a natural continuation of the last, carrying a sentimental thread that remains central to the brand’s meaning and inspiration.

Read more

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, please consider subscribing. Here are a few of my latest posts:

I do not use affiliate links, and nor do I partner with brands for content. There’s already plenty of that on Substack. Everything I share here is my own genuine opinion — it isn’t bought, and it isn’t diluted to fit someone else’s agenda.

Your subscription helps keep this project alive and independent. My goal is to offer menswear coverage that feels grounded, honest, and human — without filters, or selling out.

We need more honesty in fashion. That’s what I’m here to deliver.

Thank you for being here.

Subscribe now

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General Thoughts + Opinions

Let’s rip the band-aid off — it’s hard being a menswear writer in this space right now, and my experience at Paris Fashion Week left a sour taste in my mouth.

I’m sure many of you share this same pet peeve, but watching people perform a kind of casual grandiosity purely for validation is unsettling. The number of times I tried to have a genuine conversation during brief pauses in the madness only to be met with zero reciprocation, or any form of base-level human interaction, was absurd. I could’ve had more meaningful exchanges with Sonny from iRobot than with most of the people I met in Paris.

It was all about the next best thing: what you’re wearing, who to look out for, and isn’t that so-and-so standing behind you? I remember asking someone how they were doing while walking through Le Marais, and as they were mid-response, they quite literally shut me out to talk about new brands they’d seen. Not even to me, but to the person next to them who was also there for work.

Have we completely stripped the human element out of fashion — even at a boots-on-the-ground level, in simple conversations over a drink?

And when it comes to Substack, I’m starting to understand what people mean when they say the platform is becoming one giant ad — despite having no actual ads on the dashboard. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to no longer be seeing ads for big titty mangas (still not sure how those ended up there) on the socials I use, but it’s becoming intolerable how much of the platform is dominated by Top 50 Watches or 30 Brands You Should Look Out For type of content.

As a reader, it’s exhausting watching people churn out the same top brands lists or things you need to buy now framed as insight, and convincing themselves it’s groundbreaking, or even helpful, when they function more as a clean expression of capitalism.

For brands, that brief dopamine hit of seeing your name featured in someone’s post is real, but it’s fleeting. It’s a small burst of attention that often comes at the cost of your life’s work being reduced to two sentences or a four-second clip. I’ve already written about this in pieces like I Think, Therefore I Tastemake and Fashion Bros, but it’s still jarring to see people pump out post after post, mispronouncing designers’ names, nodding along in conversations with that unsettling twinkle in their eye — knowing they’re already converting your work into content.

And listen, I’m not exempt from this. I’ve been spending a lot of time reflecting on my own impact in fashion, however small that may be. Platform (and other things in life) size doesn’t matter as much as we like to pretend it does. Every voice, no matter how big or small, carries weight, and can have consequences.

If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been intentionally steering away from the kind of content I was making earlier on, because it started to feel hollow. That work often read like short ads disguised as writing, optimized for attention and subscribers. I’ve been trying to be more mindful about how I share this knowledge with you, leaning into critiques, opinions, and thoughtful pieces instead of another “hey, buy this sweater.”

Seeing this style of content become the norm has been nauseating, and PFW only amplified those feelings. Watching people flex garments for approval, or chase meetings with brands they know will rile people up in this Noah Johnson-approved, Blackbird Spyplane-heavy era of menswear — an era that is, unfortunately, spawning and attracting some pretty insufferable people.

I remember trying to set up a hang with someone, and when it finally happened, it felt painfully one-sided. Less about conversation, more about what do you have for me? What information can I extract for my next post?

(Note: What I found most fascinating was that nearly every designer I met was genuinely lovely. I often ended up spending over an hour in their showroom, which — while throwing off my schedule — felt refreshing. Connecting with people like Bella of Wright + Doyle, John of De Dam Foundation, Gi Tae Hong of Gajiroc, Kevin and Tíscar of Tíscar Espadas, Lea Boberg, and Sophie of Untitled Showroom to name a few, reminded me why I enjoy this work in the first place: thoughtful, generous conversations with people who are actually kind and sweet.)

On the other side of that coin, you see genuinely good writers publishing thoughtful round-ups, interviews, and features — and suddenly you’re left questioning your place in all of this. What’s my purpose if the same thing is already being said? What more do I have to add if three others have already covered it?

Paid subscriptions, something I’m genuinely grateful for, can also quietly warp your relationship with your work. Once they start rolling in, there’s pressure to stick to a formula, to keep feeding whatever’s working. Before long, you’re writing for people instead of writing as yourself, slowly losing the authenticity that drew those readers in to begin with.

Maybe the trade-off for writing freely — without performance — is losing part of the audience you once had. For those trying to turn this into a livelihood, how do you actually win here? The jury’s still out, I guess.

I don’t know. It feels silly letting something so superficial make me feel this existential about my interests, about what I do — but here we are.

I watched World on a Wire last night, and Playtime a few months back, and both films oddly mirror what Fashion Week, and speaking to fashion content creators, can feel like: hollow, circular environments filled with conversations that go nowhere. People moving mechanically through systems they barely question, repeating gestures until everyone feels exhausted, confused, and strangely empty.

This whole thing feels sideways. I don’t have a neat conclusion to wrap it all up, just a growing certainty that if I’m going to keep doing this, it has to be on my own terms. Slower, more intentional. Because if everything becomes just content, then nothing actually means anything anymore.

Those are my thoughts for today, on this gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Until the next post, I shall be hanging out in the Astral Plane. There’s more PFW, and general menswear, coverage coming soon.

Sidenote: A genuine highlight of the week was grabbing coffee with Peter Sherno. Having a real, unguarded conversation after days of noise and posturing was grounding in a way I didn’t realize I needed.

Additional Sidenote: Eugene Rabkin kinda gives old man yells at cloud energy.

Final note: Are there any Black/Latin writers covering menswear? I genuinely feel like an outlier here, and I’d love to connect with more creators of colour working in this space.

If you’re new here, you can catch up on some recent work:

• Parts One (Kartik Research, Vowels AW26) and Two (Impossible Showroom) of my PFW Day 2 Recap are available.

• I Lost My Luggage Going to Men’s Fashion Week: Reporting from Paris — moving between showrooms, missed luggage, and conversations around slower fashion, locality, and material honesty.

• I Think, Therefore I Tastemake: My thoughts on tastemaking, influence, and intention in modern content — exploring slow style, fatigue, and what’s to come

• New Year, New (Kinda the Same) Me: A year-end reflection on growth, fear, and staying honest — along with the designers and pieces that caught my eye recently

• Basic? (How Japanese brands get labelled “boring” or “expensive,” and the disconnect between passion, content, and algorithm-driven taste)

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, please consider subscribing.

Your support makes it possible to do the research, spotlight smaller brands, spend real time with designers, attend shows, and offer honest, independent coverage without chasing trends or watering things down.

We need more honesty in fashion, and that’s what I’m here to deliver.

Thank you for being here.

Subscribe now

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Who Is He?

Being able to visit Paris to see nice clothes on a daily basis sounds like a privilege — and it absolutely is — but in reality, it feels more like a fever dream of sorts. The kind you wake up from in a cold sweat. Like when you’re convinced you missed your field trip, only to realize it’s 8PM on a Sunday and your trip isn’t for another twelve hours. Or, the ones where you suddenly remember you forgot to finish an always-riveting presentation for your corporate gig, except it’s already done and ready, and you’re just losing your marbles a bit.

That’s how it felt moving from Le Marais to Palais de Tokyo, then up to Montmartre and back again — fuelled by several cups of coffee (enough to keep an elephant buzzing), pastries, maybe a few cigarettes, and a constant hunger to discover new brands, emerging ideas, and threads to follow from one collection to the next.

It’s exciting, and as someone doing this for work, in a way, it’s become something I genuinely look forward to.

Still, despite the number of showrooms, and a few presentations, I managed to see, I left feeling unsatisfied. You can’t help but think: what could I have covered if I hadn’t missed that appointment thanks to a delayed Metro? Or, in my case, you return home, visit your third place (Neighbour), and stumble across a new brand that’s quietly turning heads — one you could’ve seen during fashion week.

Well, actually, both of those are mine. But for today’s post, we’re talking about the latter.

After swapping horror stories with the staff about our respective journeys to and from Paris, I was put onto a designer who’s been circulating in conversations among more established publications, mentioned by the likes of Magasin, WWD, The New York Times, and recently highlighted in Sharp as one to watch this year.

Read more

If you’re new here, you can catch up on some recent work:

• Patience, Process, and the Everyday: Kartik Research & Vowels AW26: Two presentations that slowed things down in the best way: Kartik Research and Vowels. One grounded in craft and heritage, the other built on research, routine, and the poetry of the everyday.

• I Lost My Luggage Going to Men’s Fashion Week: Reporting from Paris — moving between showrooms, missed luggage, and conversations around slower fashion, locality, and material honesty.

• I Think, Therefore I Tastemake: My thoughts on tastemaking, influence, and intention in modern content — exploring slow style, fatigue, and what’s to come

• New Year, New (Kinda the Same) Me: A year-end reflection on growth, fear, and staying honest — along with the designers and pieces that caught my eye recently

• Basic? (How Japanese brands get labelled “boring” or “expensive,” and the disconnect between passion, content, and algorithm-driven taste)

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, consider subscribing.

Between tracking down pieces, speaking with designers, and writing these essays, this project takes more time than my weekly screen-time report would like to admit. Your support genuinely makes this possible.

Thank you for being here.

Subscribe now

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Jeong Li — Showroom

Okay, so one thing I’ve learned from this whole experience is that good time management is key. Jumping from one showroom to another — when the next is 2km away in a city like Paris, where streets are narrow and taking an Uber is somehow the worst possible option — can be brutal when appointments are stacked back to back.

All of this to say: my time at the Impossible Objects showroom was minimal, and that’s on me. Still, it didn’t stop me from seeing some genuinely extraordinary clothing. To kick things off, let’s talk about Jeong Li.

Based in Seoul, Jeong Li blends elevated technical wear with everyday functionality, adding a subtle twist of the avant-garde this season — most notably through one garment that quite honestly blew me away. For AW26, the brand leans into a colour palette that feels especially prevalent in menswear right now: grounded, earthy tones like browns, greys, blues, and a muted, Easter-tinged yellow.

Where brands such as Auralee, Bisown, and Yoko Sakamoto often use this palette to create collections that feel calm and soothing on the eyes, Jeong Li uses it differently — contrasting those hues against harsher, moodier garments. The result feels heavier, more charged, almost reflective of the current state of the world — which was my immediate takeaway when viewing the collection.

It felt as though Jeong was channeling what’s happening around us, offering a body of work that mirrors our environments right now. Whether that’s the case, or if that’s my own personal subconscious chiming in, is yet to be determined.

Despite that edge, the brand remains firmly rooted in wearability. “We’re really leaning into this idea of a city escape,” Jeong shared while walking me through the collection. “Good layering pieces — practical, but still refined.” Their nylon, water-resistant puffers, in particular, stood out as ideal options for wetter, windier climates.

Read more

If you’re new here, you can catch up on some recent work:

• I Lost My Luggage Going to Men’s Fashion Week: Reporting from Paris — moving between showrooms, missed luggage, and conversations around slower fashion, locality, and material honesty.

• I Think, Therefore I Tastemake: My thoughts on tastemaking, influence, and intention in modern content — exploring slow style, fatigue, and what’s to come

• New Year, New (Kinda the Same) Me: A year-end reflection on growth, fear, and staying honest — along with the designers and pieces that caught my eye recently

• Basic? (How Japanese brands get labelled “boring” or “expensive,” and the disconnect between passion, content, and algorithm-driven taste)

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, consider subscribing.

Between tracking down pieces, speaking with designers, and writing these essays, this project takes more time than my weekly screen-time report would like to admit. Your support genuinely makes this possible.

Thank you for being here.

Subscribe now

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Day 2 Introduction

After a week of trying on nice clothes, meeting incredible people, and returning home to a cute, quaint little studio in Chinatown, it feels like reality came crashing back — hard.

I don’t think anyone had writing from a 3-star hotel due to a flight cancellation on their Duchump Fashion Week Bingo Card. It feels like I’ve lived a hundred lives over the span of one week, but despite the various blockers and issues that cropped up, we move forward — even if it means sleeping on top of my bedsheets tonight because I do not trust this hotel whatsoever. Oh, and I caught the flu.

There’s a hole in the ceiling of my shower. If that helps paint a clearer picture.

Back to fashion week. It’s always a pleasure seeing how many characters are out, patiently waiting for Phil Oh to photograph them for Vogue’s Street Style series. This was most evident during the Kartik Research presentation: half the room showed up to genuinely engage with the collection — press, designers, people with intent — while the other half were fully Demna-era Balenciaga’d out in order to, in my opinion, get flicked up for the likes.

That’s cool, and I could very well be wrong. What irks me most, though, is the ego behind the vanity fits (though we’re all vain in this industry, so joke’s on me). Unfortunately, to exist in this environment, you have to endure it — even if that means making small talk with someone who has zero interest in who you are, only what you are. It happened a few times, and while it may be part of growing in this industry, it starts to feel icky after a while — speaking to a facade rather than a real person.

Regardless, it’s genuinely been a pleasant experience being here, especially considering it’s only been a year and a half since I started writing this newsletter. I never expected to be attending shows like Kartik and ssstein, or receiving invitations to brands like Kiko Kostadinov, Post Archive Faction, and J.L.A.L.

My initial instinct with some of the latter was to skip them, or attend without diving too deeply here — they’re not always directly aligned with the brands we typically cover. But when it comes to offering coverage, I believe it’s important to offer range and expand our palette. Sticking to one lane dulls perspective. Sometimes you need to see a Kiko to better understand a Toward(s) (fka Outbreak Lab), for example.

All of this is to say, I will be writing honestly about each brand. As I said to Drew Joiner after bumping into him on the street — hungry, manic, and desperately craving a plate of steak au poivre — we need more critique and constructive criticism in fashion. Without it, menswear (and fashion at large) cannot grow or evolve.

Fashion journalism has grown incredibly soft, largely due to ad revenue and the fear of losing a seat at x, y, or z’s runway show. Major publications hand out gold stars like candy. You did great! Terrific collection! Even if it’s for something as incredibly underwhelming and dull as Hanover by Chris Black — awful.

This is why I don’t understand the constant disrespect Substack receives. It’s created space for honest writers to speak freely. I’m grateful to be attending presentations and showrooms this January, exchanging pleasantries with agencies and the people behind the scenes — but that won’t stop me from saying when something, or someone, misses.

We’re still small. We don’t have much to lose. And even if we did, I’d rather offer a genuine take than fall in line with the herd. Even if that means losing the access we’re slowly building up.

We need more critique — now more than ever.

With that in mind, I’ve split my Day 2 coverage into two parts. This post focuses solely on presentations, while Sunday’s post covers the Impossible Objects showroom.

Here was our itinerary:

Day 2 — Thursday, January 22nd

10:30-11:00AM — Heugn
Rescheduled after being told my luggage would arrive around this time. Again — as Maury would say, the lie detector determined that was a lie. We’re working out an interview soon.

12:00-12:15 — Jeong Li*
12:15-12:30 — Neithers*
12:30-12:45 — meanswhile*
12:45-1:00PM — Earth Studies*
2:00-2:30PM — Kartik Research (Presentation)
5:00-7:00PM — Vowels (Presentation)

*Impossible Objects showroom

Kartik Research — Presentation

First, I’d like to share how special a moment this was. While it may not seem like much to others, I feel incredibly lucky to have been invited to see Kartik Research this season. Visiting showrooms is a great way to connect with a designer and understand garments on an individual level — but presentations like this allow you to fully immerse yourself in the designer’s vision.

Read more

If you’re new here, you can catch up on some recent work:

• Mindful Wandering: An Interview with Tarvas

• I Think, Therefore I Tastemake: My thoughts on tastemaking, influence, and intention in modern content — exploring slow style, fatigue, and what’s to come

• New Year, New (Kinda the Same) Me: A year-end reflection on growth, fear, and staying honest — along with the designers and pieces that caught my eye recently

• Basic? (How Japanese brands get labelled “boring” or “expensive,” and the disconnect between passion, content, and algorithm-driven taste)

• I’m Not a Hater, But I Am a Hater: The current state of menswear discourse & fashion bros

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, consider subscribing.

Between tracking down pieces, speaking with designers, and writing these essays, this project takes more time than my weekly screen-time report would like to admit — and your support truly does make this all possible.

Thank you for being here.

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Introduction

Note: This was meant to be a quick hit for each brand — but the conversations were too good not to expand on. So, enjoy.

Let me start by saying I’ve had three glasses of wine, a sub-par steak frites, and have yet to receive my luggage since flying out on Monday the 19th and landing the following day at noon. The vibes are mild on a personal level right now — but outside of my own turmoil, the vibes are indeed high.

It’s a different environment here at A/W Men’s Fashion Week in Paris — one that feels cozier, more wholesome, and generally lowkey compared to the summer. People are bundled up, yet it’s not freezing like last January. You will see groups lingering over a glass of wine and a dessert at a local café or bar, rather than sprinting between clubs — at least from what I’ve seen so far.

This feels more my speed. For us lurkers who sit on the couch with a ginger-lemon tea, honk-shoo energy at max level, twenty tabs open trying to find the right linen jacket for the upcoming spring/summer. It’s all good, I’ve found it for you: the Linen Herringbone Zip Jacket by ssstein, of course. That said, all this cozy energy really only appears after the appointments are over.

Because once the day starts, there’s no honk-shoo energy to be found. It’s three coffees, maybe a cigarette, and Ghost Rider by Suicide playing loud enough to rattle your eardrums — anything to stay alert and engaged. You have to remain on your toes moving from showroom to showroom, interacting with designers, teams, agencies.

Thankfully, and speaking mostly from personal experience, the people you’re going to meet are far more supportive than you might expect. One common misconception I hear from people dabbling with fashion week for the first time is the fear of saying the wrong thing, asking the wrong question, or somehow getting exiled, banished, banned until further notice.

That’s simply not the case, at least within menswear and smaller showrooms. Everyone seems genuinely supportive of one another, and it’s a beautiful thing to witness. Especially in an industry that can be cutthroat, it feels like we’re slowly turning a page. From Discord servers dedicated to niche brands, to open discussions around materials and inspiration — or one of my favourite things to see — people gassing up their friends when they post a fit pic.

It’s something Oliver Warner, the founder of Conkers, touched on during our chat today. The overall level of support brands are showing one another, the lifting of years-long gatekeeping around materials and manufacturers, and the ability to share ideas freely without feeling like you’re stepping on someone’s toes. It’s a love thy neighbour type of approach — fittingly echoed in Oliver’s latest collection, titled Local.

We’ll touch on that more later.

Right, you came here for the AW26 coverage. Here was day one’s itinerary:

Day 1 — Wednesday the 21st

12:00–1:00 PM — Carter Young (Showroom)
Rescheduled after being told my luggage would arrive around this time. As Maury would say, the lie detector determined that was a lie.

1:00–1:40 PM — Rkivecity (Showroom)
2:30–3:00 PM — Conkers (Showroom)
3:30–4:00 PM — Tarvas (Showroom)
5:00–5:30 PM — Lea Boberg (Showroom)
7:00–8:00 PM — J.L.A.L. (Runway Presentation)

As much as I wanted to attend, I didn’t have the strength to follow through — unfortunate, as it would’ve been a departure from typical Duchump coverage, but one that added real diversity in approach and style.

Rkivecity

“They don’t make sense to everyone — and that’s okay,” says Ritwik Khanna, founder of the Delhi-based brand rkivecity, while breaking down what he refers to as his art trousers. Inspired by the Jodhpur — a pant traditionally worn for polo — the silhouette carries a looser, wider fit through the waist and seat before tapering toward the calves and ankles. Constructed from various pairs of paint-splattered Dickies, the piece serves as a clear entry point into Khanna’s broader practice: rkivecity does not build collections from scratch.

Read more

If you’re new here, you can catch up on some recent work:

• I Think, Therefore I Tastemake: My thoughts on tastemaking, influence, and intention in modern content — exploring slow style, fatigue, and what’s to come

• New Year, New (Kinda the Same) Me: A year-end reflection on growth, fear, and staying honest — along with the designers and pieces that caught my eye recently

• Basic? (How Japanese brands get labelled “boring” or “expensive,” and the disconnect between passion, content, and algorithm-driven taste)

• I’m Not a Hater, But I Am a Hater: The current state of menswear discourse & fashion bros

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, consider subscribing.

Between tracking down pieces, speaking with designers, and writing these essays, this project takes more time than my weekly screen-time report would like to admit — and your support truly does make this all possible.

Update: I will be in Paris from the 20th until the 26th — expect plenty of coverage throughout the week, along with interviews and features to follow.

Thank you for being here.

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Introduction

“Nature brings clarity and keeps you connected with yourself.”

A sentiment that’s resonated with me more and more in recent months.

We live in this ever-evolving technodystopian world — one that grows darker by the day — keeping us endlessly engaged through the palm of our hands, while slowly disconnecting us from the real world. Our minds go brrrrr as we double-tap another reel of someone exploring the outdoors on Instagram — an experience you can have for the low, low price of zero dollars.

We’re sold faux self-help guides, meditation apps, and wellness narratives daily, yet we continue to crave peace, stillness, and some sense of contentment. The self-care section at your local bookstore remains popular, though I can’t help but feel people are often more interested in ticking off a Goodreads achievement than actually absorbing what they’re reading.

As I mentioned in my previous post, people have grown tired of the ADHD-paced style of content we’ve lived with over the past six to eight years. It feels natural to search for an escape right now — something grounding. A way to slow time down, or at the very least, remind yourself that it exists beyond a screen.

Read more

If you’re new here, you can catch up on some recent work:

• New Year, New (Kinda the Same) Me: A year-end reflection on growth, fear, and staying honest — along with the designers and pieces that caught my eye recently.

• Basic? (How Japanese brands get labelled “boring” or “expensive,” and the disconnect between passion, content, and algorithm-driven taste)

• I’m Not a Hater, But I Am a Hater: The current state of menswear discourse & fashion bros

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, consider subscribing.

Between tracking down pieces, speaking with designers, and writing these essays, this project takes more time than my weekly screen-time report would like to admit — and your support truly does make this all possible.

If this piece resonated, feel free to like, share, or pass it along.

Thank you for being here.

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Introduction

A few weeks ago, I came across a video Ryan Yip posted arguing that the biggest scam of this generation is tastemaking — that we can simply “tastemake” our way into feeling better about ourselves. It’s now become another kind of “rat race” — one built on comparison, hierarchy, and the constant craving for acknowledgment and recognition.

And when it doesn’t land, you’re left wondering what to do after spending so much time fine-tuning your image, personality, everything in-between.

As someone who’s experienced both sides of this — finding alignment between what I’m interested in and who I am as I’ve gotten older, versus falling into trends purely to fit in when I was younger — I felt compelled to share my perspective on how we can develop taste moving forward.

For me, it’s always come back to intention: what you’re looking for, and how you process what you’re exposed to. Over time, that shift has genuinely improved my quality of life — through discovering artists, designers, music, and places that I truly resonate with. It also meant caring less about tastemaking as a way to cater to an audience, or to chase praise.

I remember being hypnotized by the engagement I received on TikTok — posting tasteful videos of my apartment, receiving comments like “immaculate vibes” on every other post. It boosted my ego, I thought I was doing something right, something fun. In reality, it was feeding the wrong part of me, and eventually led to deactivating my account — overwhelmed by the pressure to stay relevant, to keep posting, to keep performing, to “tastemake” my entire life.

We can take inspiration from anything and anyone; the difference lies in how we choose to adapt it into our daily lives. At the time, I was absorbing everything through the lens of validation — praise, approval, relevance. It wasn’t healthy.

Influence — or tastemaking — is unavoidable, but it evolves as you get older, as your priorities shift and your perspective widens — as you begin focusing on things that matter more than finding the perfect Artek stool replica. As I’ve leaned further into writing, I’ve reduced my overall consumption of online fashion content and narrowed the number of people, or tastemakers, I genuinely look to for inspiration down to a handful.

In doing so, I’ve found myself caring more about the fabrics I wear, the brands I follow, and catering less to a general audience — and more to myself. That’s meant stepping away from archival fashion landscape, ill-fitting silhouettes, and polyester-heavy pieces in favour of natural textiles, considered construction, and more mature brands.

It’s led to a healthier form of tastemaking, both as a creator and a viewer — one rooted in curiosity, honesty, and genuine connection. I share what I truly love, and when engaging with someone else’s work, I take in what resonates and let it evolve into something that feels true to me.

So, do I think tastemaking is the biggest scam of this generation?

Absolutely not.

Nor do I believe it leads you nowhere (as mentioned in his video) — especially when it’s led me to so much.

To be fully transparent, takes like this — as harsh as it may sound — often read less like cultural critique and more like someone losing their grip on their audience. We’re in the midst of a visible shift away from loud luxury and toward smaller, slower, more independent fashion. Less reliance on logomania, or lux fashion (though it’s far from dead), and more emphasis on long-term appeal, substance, and satisfaction over temporary validation.

As a result, creators who’ve built platforms almost entirely around luxury-fashion content — or “taste” if you will — may feel a step behind. Sentiments like “we should put our phones away and live our lives freely” can read less as reflection and more as a quiet “stop the count.” It feels adjacent to fashion bros calling Auralee “boring” and “expensive” then immediately opening twelve tabs trying to find it on sale.

What feels different now is fatigue. We’re exhausted by seeing the same brands, ideas, and references compressed into ten-second videos. What we’re witnessing — uncomfortable term aside — is tastemaking slowing down again: people building real relationships with brands, expanding on their histories, styling pieces thoughtfully, and speaking directly with the designers behind the work.

A kind of world-building.

It’s the original form of influencing, modernized through social media — and, truthfully, it’s what brands want more of. Working with people who can cultivate audiences that genuinely value the work, rather than chasing fleeting attention from those hopping on because a name appeared in a trending creator’s video.

But for those still wondering — what exactly is tastemaking?

Read more

If you’re new here, you can catch up on some recent work — I’ve made my last three posts free to read for the next week:

• Basic? (How Japanese brands get labelled “boring” or “expensive,” and the disconnect between passion, content, and algorithm-driven taste)

• I’m Not a Hater, But I Am a Hater: The current state of menswear discourse & fashi…

Read more

In case you’re reading Duchump for the first time, you can catch up on my latest work — the last three posts are just below:

• I’m Not A Hater, But I Am A Hater: The Current State of Menswear Discourse & Fashion Bros

• Fabric First, Silhouette Second: An Interview with William McNicol

• Bad Influence, Good Taste: A Duchump State of Mind

If you enjoy what you’re reading and want to help keep this thing going, consider subscribing. Duchump takes more time than my screen-time report would like to admit — between hunting down pieces, chatting with designers, and writing these essays — and your support genuinely helps fund the work.

Please consider leaving a like and sharing this publication if you enjoyed reading this article, found it informative or fun, or if it simply helped pass the time.

Thank you for your support. Any and all feedback is appreciated.

Subscribe now

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Basic Clothes

*This one’s too long for email due to photos, so I recommend reading it through the app.

Christ — I thought my original post was enough.

But seeing the number of comments left on The Style Turner’s video left me thinking, and ultimately in the mood to write about one of many problems we’re seeing in menswear, or fashion in general.

It’s been both shocking and surprising how the brands I love — Comoli, Auralee — have become such heated topics recently due to their minimal design, or expensive price tag. Which is ironic, considering how many of the same voices were drooling over virtually anything by The Row or Lemaire up until recently, happily shelling out serious money for regular cotton — or, at times, polyester — pieces, as long as the right co-sign was attached.

Now, no shade to Turner at all. I follow him and do like his work — he’s able to go in-depth across multiple fronts in fashion and offers thoughtful, insightful commentary compared to much of what’s circulating right now. That said, I do have a few thoughts on the “basic” label being tossed around, and the comments under his post.

So, let’s talk about the why behind my appreciation for the brands currently flooding your feeds.

i <3 comoli

I haven’t talked about this much, but there’s a reason I dress the way I do.

I was soft-spoken and quiet as a kid, often choosing to stay home to play Maplestory or RuneScape than joining extracurricular clubs. Being flashy, or drawing attention to myself in any setting, made me anxious — and in many ways still does.

When I first got into fashion, brands like Comme des Garçons, Raf Simons, and Yohji Yamamoto became my entry point via Tumblr. Brands that announce themselves — through silhouette, proportion, or deliberate absence of colour. Wearing them felt liberating, like stepping outside my comfort zone and into a version of myself I wanted to become.

That liberation didn’t last.

Many of these so-called “non-basic” brands were ill-fitting for my body, and often relied heavily on synthetic fabrics while still commanding luxury prices. While the attention was nice, I didn’t feel like myself — instead I felt like a caricature than anything else, chasing validation by dressing in ways that didn’t feel genuine to who I am.

Eventually, I had to ask myself:

• Why am I spending this much on something I’m not genuinely connected to?

• Why am I paying luxury prices for plastic?

Read more

In case you’re reading Duchump for the first time, you can catch up on my latest work — the last three posts are just below:

• Fabric First, Silhouette Second: An Interview with William McNicol

• Bad Influence, Good Taste: A Duchump State of Mind

• Corduroy Is For The Baddies

If you enjoy what you’re reading and want to help keep this thing going, consider subscribing. Duchump takes more time than my screen-time report would like to admit — between hunting down pieces, chatting with designers, and writing these essays — and your support genuinely helps fund the work.

Please consider leaving a like and sharing this publication if you enjoyed reading this article, found it informative or fun, or if it simply helped pass the time.

Thank you for your support. Any and all feedback is appreciated.

Subscribe now

Share Duchump

The Current State of Menswear Discourse

First things first — there’s nothing wrong with being a hater, as long as you have the cojones to say it with your chest. We’ve grown a little too kind in fashion, offering fewer and fewer critiques around a collection, a trend, or — in this case — the state of menswear discourse.

You can’t deny it: we’ve all had a sip of the Haterade at some point in our lives. Whether it’s someone in your office getting a promotion over you, or seeing someone you’re into get with a friend of yours — the examples are endless. It’s only natural. You just need to know your limits, and when it’s actually appropriate to be a hater.

Lately, I’ve had a lot of people reach out asking for my thoughts on the ever-evolving state of fashion-bro culture, taste-making, and what happens when A-tier Duchumpian brands like Comoli, Auralee, and Graphpaper start circulating in spaces like Throwing Fits, Jake Woolf’s orbit, and the wider menswear internet.

Am I a hater? Oh, absolutely — but hear me out.

Read more

In case you’re reading Duchump for the first time, you can catch up on my latest work — the last three posts are just below:

• Bad Influence, Good Taste: A Duchump State of Mind

• Corduroy Is For The Baddies

• I Spent $18,000 And All I Got Was This Post

If you enjoy what you’re reading and want to help keep this thing going, consider subscribing.…

Read more

In case you’re reading Duchump for the first time, you can catch up on my latest work — the last three posts are just below:

• Corduroy Is For The Baddies

• I Spent $18,000 And All I Got Was This Post

• Very Nice Niceness

If you enjoy what you’re reading and want to help keep this thing going, consider subscribing. Duchump takes more time than my screen-time report would like to admit — between hunting down pieces, chatting with designers, and writing these essays — and your support genuinely helps fund the work.

Please consider leaving a like and sharing this publication if you enjoyed reading this article, found it informative or fun, or if it simply helped pass the time.

Thank you for your support. Any and all feedback is appreciated.

Subscribe now

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Fits, Pick-Ups, Thoughts

It’s been an eventful few months.

This could be a one-off, or we may be looking at more — but I had my first article published for GQ Recommends a few weeks ago. This was special for a few reasons, mainly because I never thought I’d be featured in a publication like GQ — especially after only a year of writing on Substack, without a background in writing, journalism, etc.

If this isn’t a sign to get on with your goals, I don’t know what is. I’ve been working — or at least orbiting — this space for years: as a photographer, founder of two print publications, consultant, and even posting on TikTok (rip) and Instagram. And despite all of that, I never thought this day would come — but it finally happened.

I do want to thank you for your support. I’ve genuinely enjoyed meeting Duchump subscribers and hearing what’s inspired you, what you’ve picked up, and how I’ve been an incredibly bad influence. No regrets — I’m taking you down with me, pal.

Anyway, let’s move forward and talk shop.

Read more

In case you’re reading Duchump for the first time, or you’ve been MIA (like me), you can catch up on my latest work — the last three posts are just below:

• I Spent $18,000 and All I Got Was This Post

• Very Nice Niceness

• Cult From A Different Cloth: An Ode to Comoli

• Cringe Culture

Please consider leaving a like and sharing this publication if you enjoyed reading this article, found it informative or fun, or if it simply helped pass the time.

The FW2025 Duchump playlist has been updated. You can stream it on both Apple Music and Spotify.

Thank you for your support. Any and all feedback is appreciated.

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U N’ A Bomber (relax, it’s about a jacket)

I’m stirring my spoon, making sure the honey ratio in my peppermint tea is right — incense burning, hands beginning to thaw after a cold morning. During this, I’m thinking about the progress I’ve made creatively and personally, but most importantly, I’m thinking about what I’m going to wear with my new jacket by Sono.

(Wait, before we dive in — have you seen Kitchen Nightmares? My life hasn’t been the same since I started watching this. I’m too lazy to stream it, so I’ve just been watching full episodes on YouTube.)

You thought I was playing when I said I was getting it, didn’t you? We don’t play here — not in this house. After weeks of deliberation and consulting with others, I finally did the damn thing and bought the Bo Bomber by Sono. It’s surprising to see it still sitting online, considering the quality of materials used — recycled double-face wool, organic cotton lining, and wool–alpaca ribbing — and its overall construction. Great shape, sits beautifully, button closure instead of your typical zip-up bomber — knit cuffs, collar, and hem.

What’s not to love?

Listen, we’ll tackle this later, but I do think the negative reputation tied to bomber jackets needs to end. There are plenty in the market — whether by Dries, Sono, or Unlikely — that deserve homes. But from what I’ve gathered after talking to several people, the hesitancy can’t be shaken, and it makes me wonder why. It’s something I’m going to dig into for a future post — keep your peepers peeled.

Aside from this, the UK label is firing on all cylinders — from their Carl Coats to the Caspa Terra Cardigan — bringing a refreshing and honest approach to design by being conscious of their presence in fashion and transparent about how each piece is made. On top of that, you can’t deny how fair their pricing is for the quality of work they deliver. Take their Shaka Shirt, for example — a wool overshirt inspired by an old house suit — priced at $919 CAD. Meanwhile, a basic cotton shirt from The Row that, if I’m being honest, looks like something you’d find at Walmart will set you back nearly $2.3K.

My goal is to inspire you to shop more consciously and look beyond overpriced status brands like The Row, and toward smaller labels like Sono that are quietly creating thoughtful, lasting, well-made pieces that are deserving of more attention.

What I’ve Been Loving

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