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I’m now unemployed.

After seven or so years, maybe six and two quarters, I was let go from the company that I’d seen grow from a handful of employees (I believe I was employee 14?) into an actual full-fledged company. Since getting canned, I’ve kind of taken some time to reflect on my overall place in the world. As silly as that sounds, with all this free time you naturally start wondering, “Okay, what am I going to do now?”

Aside from watching various Pokémon card opening videos (I don’t even collect the card, which makes me wonder why am I watching this), I’ve been thinking a lot about my place within the fashion space, sphere, realm, whichever term you prefer, really. One of the main things that keeps coming to mind is, “what am I actually doing with the messages I’m trying to share in each post?”

I’ve shared how existentialism, the meaning of time, about being inspired by our communities, by family, by traditions from different countries, and all of these beautiful ideas, have inspired various designers and collections I’ve talked to. So, eventually, with references like this in mind, it’s hard not to think about the same when writing these posts. These conversations rub off on you and, truthfully, that’s when I believe you’re doing something meaningful.

My partner and I recently went to the Vancouver Art Gallery, more commonly known as the VAG, and saw a three-screen video installation about climate change and mass consumption. Seeing our waters continue to heat up, mass hunting of whales, and destruction of habitats across the world. From my interpretation, it examined our past, present, and future.

Expectedly, it was a tough pill to swallow.

Since then, and again this could purely be tied to suddenly having all this free time, I’ve found myself following far more climate-related news. Reading about how the Arctic is warming up about four times faster than the rest of the world, seeing revised projections showing global temperatures rising by .35°C instead of the expected .2°C

The more I read, the more this feeling of hopelessness and dread has started creeping in. It’s the main reason I’ve taken the last week or so away from writing.

Although I genuinely try to encourage more thoughtful shopping habits and highlight brands that appear to be making better decisions around materials and production, it’s hard not to occasionally ask myself why this all matters. I can spend thousands of words talking about a brand that’s using more sustainable practices, fabrics, or taking greater care in how garments are woven, dyed, or manufactured. Those things absolutely matter, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

It leaves me wondering what more I can do to ensure I’m making a positive impact in this space.

Especially when you’re working in an industry built around consumption. There’s so much waste, so much misinformation, and, ultimately, you never really know the full picture behind what a brand chooses to tell you. This is could for so much more though, but let’s save that conversation for another day.

At the same time, you’re still seeing overconsumption.

Maybe this is simply because I’m completely off TikTok now and spend most of my time on Substack, with the occasional Instagram story spree, but I do feel like there’s been a bit of a shift. It seems like more people are being more intentional, they’re taking more time to dissect what they’re potentially buying rather than purchasing something on impulse. It’s a hard habit to break, so kudos to anyone that’s shifted gears.

I had a discussion with a friend the other day, he works at a local boutique here, about how more people are actually looking at care tags now. He’s had discussions with customers about the dos and don’ts about how to care for a product, the story behind a designer, collection, or how something is made. People are showing more interest in knowing the full scope of something, rather than limiting themselves to the surface-level.

I’ve definitely been on the other side of that coin. I’ve bought things because they were flashy, or because someone whose opinion I trusted said they were worth buying. Hearing that more people are taking a minute to see what something is made from, looking into the brand behind it, and learning about its practices, is genuinely encouraging.

All in all, it’s hard not to feel a little existential about what I’m doing with this Duchump, and the platform that I’ve somehow, slowly but surely, managed to build. Although, to be fair, you could probably say that about almost anything right now. The world feels is burning, whether it’s here in North America, the wildfires across Europe, or everything happening in the Arctic, we’re seeing the effects from every angle.

I remember asking Jonah from Blackbird Spyplane a similar question:

“How do you stay interested in fashion and continue writing about it when everything around you feels so bleak?” Or, something like that.

I don’t remember his answer word for word, but I believe it was something along the lines of being able to separate the two. Fashion is his thing, it’s his lifeblood. Even while the world is struggling, there’s still room to have thoughtful conversations about clothes, and his writing has always reflected that. He doesn’t just tell you what to buy or recap a collection, he writes pieces that leave you thinking, and I do respect that, especially since we’re in such a recommendations-heavy culture right now.

Still, I can’t help but feel the two are connected. It’s a strange time to be writing about fashion. I don’t really know what the point of this post is. I don’t even know why I’m saying all of this. It just felt like I needed somewhere to vent because, despite everything, this little corner of fashion can be incredibly exciting. It’s deeply community-driven — you meet people who genuinely feel like your peers, people you can bounce ideas off of and, in a weird way, feel whole around. We’re kinda like Freaks and Geeks, except not in the 80s.

I’m incredibly grateful to everyone who’s made this possible. The agencies, the brands, the designers who’ve taken the time to speak with me, invite me to presentations, or simply have a conversation. It’s just hard not to occasionally wonder whether any of this matters when there are much bigger problems in the world.

Maybe this connects with someone, maybe it connects with no one. Either way, that’s okay.

I’ve always written because I wanted to share whatever happened to be on my mind, so if you’ve been feeling anything like I have lately, I’m here to chat. Even though this is a fashion newsletter, all of this is pretty small potatoes in the grand scheme of things. I’m happy to help with styling advice, recommend brands, but I’m also here to chat about the everyday parts of life.

At the end of the day, I’m just another person trying to figure things out, especially now.

What I’ve Been Reading, Watching, or Will Read

Climate Change

• A Sharp Acceleration in Global Warming

• Climate Change May Be Making Us Lonelier

• Butterflies Moves to Poles In Response to Climate Change

Fashion

• A PSA from Colin Meredith

• Fashion in the Surveillance State

• The Princesses of China

Miscellaneous

• The Phenomenon of Performative Identity

• Even Sound Systems Are Being Gentrified

• Unfortunately, You Need to Know What the Jevons Paradox Is

• Nobody Believes In Later Anymore

• Arctic Monkeys (Reading Festival 2006)

• The Real Reason Substack is Collapsing

And this week’s album is Lost In Sound by Yusuf Lateef.

Your subscription keeps this project alive and independent. At a time when much of fashion media is driven by traffic, affiliate links, and advertising, I want Duchump to remain a place for thoughtful reporting and honest, at times chaotic, criticism.

Thank you for your support.

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I was never a star student.

During my first four years of high school, I was usually at the basketball courts down the street instead of class. Some could say I was living my own version of One Tree Hill, except instead of being a star basketball player and Caucasian heartthrob, I was a light-skinned, curly-haired, lanky teenager wearing graphic tees that read, “I’m just like you, only smarter and better looking,” Limp Bizkit-enthusiast-sized jeans, and Phat Farm shoes (RIP).

On rainy days, I’d be listening to Bullet For My Valentine, Alexisonfire, John Coltrane, Lloyd, Bobby V, and Soundgarden, while spending countless hours on MapleStory. School wasn’t exactly my forte, so I never imagined fashion would somehow bring me back into a classroom years later.

This personal lore recap brings me to shoes. My biggest struggle with fashion is, and I’m definitely not alone here, footwear.

I can’t express the frustration of putting together a brilliant fit (when it hits, shit got me feeling like Bradley Cooper in Limitless), only to come crashing back down to earth when I realize I don’t have the right shoes to complete the look. It’s tragic. Makes you think, man. Makes you think.

Truthfully, I think this ongoing issue with footwear comes down to three things:

1. There are way, way too many options. I’ve lost track of how many pairs I’ve missed out on because I couldn’t decide between the colour, the leather, the sole, or whether I’d actually wear them enough to justify the purchase.

2. Shoes have become absurdly expensive over the past 5 years. How are you supposed to commit to a pair when it’s about to burn an $800–1,000 hole in your wallet? WWD recently reported footwear prices jumped another 5.2% this past May, marking the fifth increase in six months, and the most significant jump in four years. While that’s largely referring to sneakers, you can see the same thing happening throughout contemporary menswear.
   (For my Our Legacy friends, remember when Camions were around $560 CAD? They’re now creeping towards the $1,000 mark.)

3. Lastly, and probably my biggest gripe, footwear feels stagnant. Brands seem more interested in replicating one another than actually pushing things forward. Not feeling Paraboots? That’s all good, you’ve got Klemans, Yuketen, Solovair, or even Instagram brands like Collegium. Even fast fashion companies have their own versions now. Everyone’s making the same Michael-esque shoes, and if I’m being honest, it’s become quite boring.

Unsurprisingly, one of the bigger conversations throughout Paris Fashion Week was footwear, or more specifically, where to find good footwear. We’re starved for something refreshing, exciting. Or, if you’re like me, something that sits somewhere between wearable and weird enough to have elderly people walking past wondering whether you’re real, or a figment of their imagination.

(Sorry my shoes are hard as fuck, gramps. You hate me ‘cause you ain’t me.)

If I’m expected to spend so much on a pair of shoes, then they better tick off a few boxes like comfortability, design, quality, etc. I’d say practicality, but I’m 31 years old and I still don’t own a raincoat while living in the Pacific Northwest. It’s safe to say practicality isn’t a huge factor here.

Which brings me to Sine & Cosine.

Founded by Felix Koopmans and Robert Pans, the Dutch-based brand has managed to do something that's surprisingly difficult today: make familiar footwear feel exciting again and their collections are entirely unisex. They've taken what could've been an ordinary shoe and turned it into something entirely their own. Naturally, this left me wondering how two people making actual fun, yet sleek, footwear landed on a name straight out of a Grade 10 math class.

“Robert and Felix both have a background in mathematics: Robert holds a master’s degree in econometrics, and Felix in stochastics,” Thomas Hibbert, their Head of Communication, tells me. “As neither had any formal education in fashion, they found a way to apply their academic knowledge to the design process. Hence, the brand was named after a cornerstone of mathematics.”

It’s an origin story that sounds a little strange at first, but after viewing their collection, it weirdly makes perfect sense. There’s something reassuring about knowing Felix and Robert don’t come from traditional fashion backgrounds. The fashion industry has a funny way of making you think you need the right education, the right internship, or the right connections before you’re allowed to contribute. Instead, they took what they knew best, applied it to footwear, and ended up launching one of the more exciting brands in fashion right now.

So, where do you even begin building a footwear brand like this?

“It started with the wooden clog, a piece of Dutch heritage that had become a tourist novelty,” Thomas tells me.

If you’ve been following Duchump recently, you’ll have noticed we’ve had a bit of a Dutch streak going, so it was fun seeing that thread continue. Robert and Felix wanted to reinterpret the clog through a contemporary lens, rather than leaving it as little more than a classic souvenir you bring to your parents. “That was the inception of our first design, The Hannes Clog. The process of bringing that design to life is what ultimately led to the founding of Sine & Cosine as a brand.”

Speaking of heritage, the brand had brought on a historian to work with the team. “Thomas joined the brand shortly after its launch,” Felix tells me, “It wasn’t a deliberate choice to bring someone with his background onto the team, our paths crossed through a mutual friend. Nevertheless, Thomas’ background in history grounded our concepts, pushing the design process forward.”

Their Theresia Derby is an example of this new, natural integration within the team, as the shoe feels historical, or as they say on their website, “draws inspiration from bygone centuries.” It looks like a relic, something lost in time only to be found and refurbished into something new. The cut-out opening makes almost any look more fun, especially paired with a good pair of socks.

It’s this blending of whimsy and stoicism that intrigues me, incorporating darker leathers into otherwise fun silhouettes. “There’s a methodology inherent in academia that we apply to our designs,” shares Felix. “For example, in mathematics, a problem must be distilled to its core components to be understood and solved,” he adds, “we apply that same methodology when designing. A historical reference is abstracted, disregarding any unnecessary details. With only the core components remaining, we form that into a minimalist contemporary design.”

Hearing Felix speak, my own trauma from failed math classes started creeping back in. My attention span could never survive a full lesson, though one teacher did figure out that the quickest way to get through to me was through music. We’d spend half the class talking about whatever I was listening to at the time before he’d throw on tracks like The Flaming Lips’ “I Wanna Get High, But I Don’t Want Brain Damage” and somehow convince me to pay attention for the next twenty minutes.

Song sucks, by the way.

To the average consumer, mathematics and fashion seem like polar opposites, but the more you think about it, the more you realize they’re actually quite intertwined. The precision in measurements, pattern-cutting, sizing, it’s all connected. “The intersection of those two worlds in a practical sense doesn’t largely influence our creative process,” shares Thomas.

“Of course, it helps a lot with the examples you mentioned. We focus more on mathematics as a theoretical and conceptual principle that drives our designs. For this season, the collection was inspired by topology—spatial characteristics of forms and how they hold their fundamental properties even as they change and shift. A theory like that, when you think about it, logically translates to footwear. It’s through those intersections that our approach is shaped.”

This perspective feels refreshing. It's not every day you hear a designer reference topology instead of nostalgia. Most brands today will find inspiration behind things that, in my opinion, feel more like a fabricated story for the sake of having a story. Things like “oh, I saw people at a cafe and felt inspired by the social aspects of life,” or the colours someone wore at Target, or “I listened to Creed and was touched by Scott Stapp’s lyricism.”

The last two have probably never been a source of inspiration for, well, anything. If you’ve heard otherwise, please let me know as I would love to interview whoever that is.

Whether or not topology means anything to you is almost beside the point. What stuck with me was seeing two people take the language they understood best and use it to solve a problem they felt footwear wasn’t solving. That’s a far more interesting starting point than chasing trends, and maybe that’s why Sine & Cosine’s work feels so different in the first place.

Brief pause.

You know what's funny?

Mathematics has always felt completely foreign to me, yet here I am discussing it with people who’ve mastered it. If anything, this conversation reminded me that the best ideas rarely come from the places you’d expect. While Felix and Robert’s approach to design immediately stood out, I was just as curious how that same mindset had shaped the brand.

“In your experience, can you touch on the progression of growing a smaller brand? Were there any significant hurdles or challenges along the way?” I ask.

“The most important challenge to overcome was finding a way to position ourselves to be patient with the brand,” Thomas shares.

“Finances are always an issue, cash flow problems with production, for example, so you’re inclined to jump at every opportunity and focus on short-term goals instead of long-term ones. We’re still very much at the beginning of our brand, but being patient has built a strong foundation we can expand upon.” We’ll often see small brands do too much, too quickly, but Sine & Cosines opts for the opposite, leading to their organic growth. “Figuring out how to achieve that position will differ from person to person and from brand to brand, but doing so is of great significance. Slow, sustainable growth will always trump quick cash and fast-paced expansion.”

With this in mind, this is the second Dutch-based brand I’ve interviewed recently, which makes me want to pull this thread further to see what else is cooking in places like Amsterdam. “It’s [Amsterdam] a creatively rich place that has a lot to offer for such a small city,” Thomas says. “Right now, there is definitely something brewing within fashion specifically. There has been a strong momentum for Dutch brands over the past few years, earning the city, and the Netherlands, more international recognition.”

And we’ve seen this with brands like De Dam Foundation slowly, but surely, stirring up buzz throughout menswear writers on Substack, and recently in the debut issue of In The Practice by Sven Minnis. “This momentum has also led to Amsterdam being a perfect incubator for smaller brands–in which we found ourselves. There’s no elbowing yourself to the top, everyone is keen to help each other in the capacity that they can. It’s an exciting development that will hopefully continue to further grow and blossom into the future.”

With this, it leads to my final question of the interview.

In your opinion, what’s the best way for a brand to survive, and actually thrive, in today’s landscape?

In a world where almost anyone can start a brand, and anyone with enough money can accelerate it, I was curious what surviving as a smaller operation actually looks like today. “Become recognizable through consistency in all your output and find a business strategy that will allow you to grow your brand steadily and sustainably.” The latter feels almost lost in today’s culture, as the number of people I’ve seen strive for greatness quickly without taking the time to settle, grind, get better, is disappointing, especially when you see potential there.

“This will help you to build a strong foundation without watering down your ideas.”

Right now, there’s nothing more precious than an innovative, creative mind. Your ideas, your concepts, your interests, it’s all so precious. We need more brands like Sine & Cosine. Their perspectives, their inspiration, the way they design and work, it’s refreshing to see and discuss.

This conversation left a funny feeling in my stomach, which sounds ridiculous considering we’ve spent the last few thousand words talking about shoes. But I don’t think this conversation was ever really about shoes. It was about curiousity, if that makes any sense.

I wasn’t a good student growing up, yet somehow fashion brought me back into classrooms I never expected to be sitting in, speaking to people I never thought I’d be chatting with, to discuss things such as mathematics, history, social justice, science, and so on. This time, I didn’t have the urge to skip class, or come up with an excuse to stay home for the day. Like my final year in high school, I found a way to connect to subjects I’ve always found terrifying, but in a way that’s comforting, and now with a curious mindset.

Maybe that’s what stayed with me most.

The best ideas rarely come from the places you’d expect. Sometimes they come from mathematicians making shoes, sometimes they come from historians helping shape them. All I know is I left the conversation feeling more curious than when I walked into it, and right now, that feels like one of the most valuable things fashion can offer.

I just hope I never lose this feeling.

Credits:
Words by Chris Maradiaga
Photography by Mackai Sharp

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Sleep started to feel more like a fictional concept the longer I stayed awake.

I’d count more sheep than I’ve ever seen in my life, I’d slow my breathing down while listening to a man, who very closely resembled Jesus Christ, repeat affirmations to me and 300K viewers, hoping to get even a half hour of rest.

I wonder how many of those 300,000 viewers are also struggling to sleep. Or, maybe they’re simply in it to watch faux-Jesus tell them how they are deserving of massive financial gain. So far, these affirmations have yet to come to fruition, but maybe if I listen to his video again at a certain volume/frequency, it’ll hit.

Another hour would pass, yet I’m still awake. Not in a calming, zen type of way, but instead in that dizzying state of disassociation that only comes from a severe lack of sleep. Eventually, once it became socially acceptable to be outside, I’d step into a freezing cold shower and start thinking about what I was going to see that day.

Even if I felt like a shell of a human, I was still determined to drag my lifeless body around Paris (think Weekend at Bernie’s, but in Paris and in nicer fits) in search of the latest and greatest in menswear.

This process, whether here in the city or at home behind my computer, can be surprisingly exhausting. There is too fucking much out there. You start feeling a little crazy digging through countless product pages, flipping through Instagram accounts, visiting shops, and hoping something eventually clicks. After an hour or two, you kinda just want to stand up, have a fizzy drink, or have a cigarette if you’re hard as fuck (I am not).

Anyways, my trips to Paris Fashion Week have become as much about catching up with friends and previewing collections from brands I love as they are about finding lesser-known, newer voices to feature and write about. People with something to say, even if their garments might look deceivingly simple at first glance.

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Thank you for you…

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(Last Edited, 9AM PST — July 6th: Hyperlinks, changes to a few sentences. I’m still tired and jet-lagged from this trip, sue me.)

Letter from the Editor

While this interview was being formatted by our contributing writer, I had the pleasure of visiting John Ro at his showroom during Paris Fashion Week SS27 to see the collection in person, while also having a friend of mine, Mackai Sharp, photograph the space for this piece.

The reason I keep coming back to De Dam Foundation, and why I’ve desperately wanted to own one of John’s pieces, is because of his commitment to quality in his collections. That, and our conversations never cease to amaze me. He’s one of the more honest, open, and knowledgeable people I’ve met throughout my trips to Paris Fashion Week.

He’s also known as Porsche Guy, but we can dive into that at a later date.

As for the result of that commitment to quality, well, you get a beautifully made collection, consisting of clothes that feel like luxury without ever feeling overdone, or over-designed. All while simultaneously being able to flatter a wide-range of body types through his one-size-fits-all sizing. He prides himself on the fabrics he uses, sourcing the majority of them from Italy and Japan. This season, he introduced a few lightweight knits (seen below), all three being made in Italy through a small, family-run operation.

Out of curiosity, I asked him how it’s been working with this particular mill.

“It’s incredibly technical, knitwear is a completely different world compared to woven fabrics,” he says. “They’ve been invaluable in helping me develop these pieces.”

SS27 introduces a welcome dose of colour to De Dam Foundation. One of my favourites was a butter-yellow jacket that sat somewhere between a classic chore coat and an artist’s smock. That, alongside the lightweight linen sweaters, which come in washed grey, navy, and brown, were among the highlights of the collection. John also showed me a standing-collar zip blouson (message me for pics u lil freak), which I believe was cut from a lightweight black wool. If he’d had an extra sample lying around, I probably would’ve walked ran out of the showroom wearing it.

The collection strikes this satisfying balance between luxury and practicality. Everything feels sharp and sophisticated, yet these are garms you can wear in almost any setting, rain or shine. Well, ideally not rain, but you get what I’m saying.

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After nine hours in the air, eating questionable airline food, collecting my luggage, and making my way to my BnB in 40-degree weather, it was hard to feel excited about Paris Fashion Week. The days ahead suddenly felt a little daunting, already exhausted.

Knowing this, I booked an appointment with Gajiroc on my very first day. The conversations I have there are always calming, and it felt like the perfect way to ease into the week. Rather than rushing into the chaos or aimlessly wandering Paris alongside waves of tourists, I wanted to begin somewhere familiar, somewhere that helped me settle into the rhythm of it all.

While most may think fashion week is constant chaos, and it is, there are pockets where time slows down. You can breathe, take the space you need.

Yes, you’re surrounded by beautifully made clothes, but my appointments are rarely just about the garments. They’re about catching up with people I’ve gotten to know over previous seasons, asking how they’ve been, what’s new in their lives, and simply checking in. It’s that sense of community that keeps bringing me back. As much as I love discovering new brands, I also value the friendships that come with them. The human element is just as important as the clothes themselves.

Saying that, this season I received an increase of invitations to runway shows. While the schedule was still packed with showroom appointments from brands like De Dam Foundation, Irenisa, Sororam, Sine & Cosine, and a handful of others, I also received invitations to larger-scale productions from Kiko Kostadinov, Auralee, Soshiotsuki, and more.

It’s still surreal being seated as press alongside people I’ve looked up to for years. (I kept running into Edward Buchanan throughout the week, we were practically following each other from venue to venue.) It’s a genuine privilege to attend Paris Fashion Week, cover these collections, and spend time with the people behind them. A few years ago, I never would’ve imagined this would become part of my life, but it’s now become a side-job of sorts.

As always, thank you for reading and supporting what I’m building here. Enough of the sentimental shit though, let’s talk about clothes.

(Sidenote: I didn't include Auralee in this round-up because I wrote a separate review of the collection, which you can find here.)

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Saying that, this…

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Before We Begin

Somehow, over the past two years, I’ve always managed to pick a film to watch during my flight that has a prolonged sex scene. There’s something uncomfortable about watching any kind of sex scene next to complete strangers. The last film I watched featuring this was Wall Street which, if you don’t know already, has a top-tier soundtrack as it features several tracks from My Life In The Bush of Ghosts by David Byrne and Brian Eno — a forever S-tier album.

Anyway, I just felt like sharing that.

In case you missed it, I wrote an article for Highsnobiety covering big shorts. My original intention was to write about the brands I like, and the ones I’d personally wear today as someone that leans heavily toward the big short end of the spectrum.

With this post, I’ve highlighted several big shorts I’d actually wear. I’m aiming for something lightweight, breathable, ideally linen, and ready for summer. Though I’m always down to get freaky and try something new.

But first, a few thoughts.

Satisfy x Adidas: The Tech-Bro Collab

Satisfy released their campaign with Adidas titled, well, something. I’m too lazy to search it up.

But, I can tell you that it felt like a corporate takeover of hardcore punk aesthetics and beliefs. As an outsider looking in, with loose ties to punk and the various subgenres tied to it from growing up around the music, it’s honestly laughable seeing how Brice Partouche utilizes anti-establishment and anti-capitalist imagery to sell product.

Even during the drama with Running Supply — or whatever that other running company was called, there are too many elevated running or luxe activewear brands to keep up with now — Brice used Fugazi lyrics in a story while calling out the competing designer, even though Fugazi would absolutely despise everything this brand represents.

You cannot position yourself as anti-system while charging nearly $500 CAD for trail-running shoes that most actual runners seem to agree are mediocre.

Truthfully, Brice now reminds me of any tech-entrepreneur that’s trying to schmooze you for your money by coming across as hardcore, edgy, and against the system. You now, the type of Silicon Valley entrepreneurs that say a product is revolutionary, and will inevitably break the system, when really it’s just going to destroy our environment, pollute our water, lead to illness, etc.

As a consumer, I do like Satisfy — I just haven’t been able to justify the price for any of their garments.

Now, it’s hard to shake the feeling that buying from the brand would just further this guy’s descent into some kind of big-tech-guru madness. I no longer see a brand that’s looking to further the design of activewear, but a brand that’s profiting off the disguise that they are.

I’m also quite tired of this mass-yassification of running, for the lack of a better term, culture, if you will. While brands like Literary Sport intrigue me, (I genuinely like the campaigns, creative direction, and collections) I do feel a bit sick seeing activewear priced the same as half your rent.

Listen, it’s cool that you’re bringing premium design elements into fabric sourcing and construction. However, I don’t need to be wearing a $300 shirt, or $600 running jacket while I’m sweating profusely and making the most un-arousing facial expressions imaginable during a run. Well, okay, they’re not un-arousing, but they’re not great.

As someone that’s been taking their health more seriously recently, I’ve also started noticing the toxicity within wellness culture more and more. Individuals turning marathons into campaigns and product-heavy reels, only to stand in the way of people trying to hit a new PR. Or creators using hiking as content fodder while simultaneously bragging about making half-a-million dollars and posting endless shopping sprees, all while trying to come across humble and human when they’re anything but.

The activewear side of fashion, and the communities around it, have become deeply corrupted. Which makes it refreshing seeing the few people blending fashion and movement in healthier, more genuine ways.

Unfortunately, they’re usually the ones grinding for years to build an audience, while those at the tippy-top, with zero positive intentions toward anyone but themselves, continue to thrive with ease.

Brands Currently On My Watchlist

This month, or past few months, have been pretty bad. I remember saying SS26 ain’t gonna do shit for me, yet here I am making numerous purchases to the point where I simultaneously feel content with my wardrobe, and foul for spending an absurd amount of money.

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Quick Thought on Anonymity

There are periods where I simply do not have the patience for anything related to fashion. It could just be me getting older and finding pleasure in other things. Right now, I’m obsessed with 98.12.28 Otokotachi no Wakare by Fishmans, Yu Su’s latest release, and Ambeesh by Sa Pa. The latter was mentioned in ’s latest post.

But it’s also due to the ridiculousness fashion attracts, especially from individuals like the one below, where “ranting” comes across more like some testosterone-heavy chest beating than an actual point being made.

Discussions in fashion are always welcomed, and I’m all for deep-diving into a specific brand or designer, but I feel like social media has completely gutted any form of decent conversation around clothes, though this can be said for almost anything now (politics, films, music, etc).

It’s all become rageslop.

I recently read a piece about how we’ve become obsessed with reclusiveness in fashion, and how brands like The Row became hot commodities partly because of their elusiveness and mystery. We rarely see Mary-Kate Olsen and Ashley Olsen in public (though that changed recently, and it lit the internet on fire), nor can you bring your phone to any of their shows. No photos from journalists, buyers, anyone.

You’ll see it when it hits Vogue, but until then, shhhhhhh.

We’ve all become so dialed in online that anything opposite to our chronically online behaviour suddenly becomes desirable. People wondering where the twins are, or back when Martin Margiela was helming his brand, and even now, people still want to see him, know what he’s up to, hear from him, anything.

We’re so tethered to the internet that disconnecting from it feels almost impossible at times. Yet instead of trying to untether ourselves, we become obsessed with those who already have.

As I get older, I realize anonymity is worth more than I ever gave it credit for. There’s a reason it takes me a minute to release posts, and it’s because I’m usually trying to spend my days outside, wandering around aimlessly, spending time with friends and family, just existing away from all of this.

There’s a reason many people who work in fashion completely clock out once the workday ends, and spend their time in nature. Even if you look at Dries Van Noten in the documentary Dries (reminds me of the Carson Clay bit from Mr. Bean’s Holiday); he’s foraging, gardening, and doing regular human shit. He’s living the dream.

Being so deep in fashion is exhausting, and in an industry that takes and takes while rarely giving back, you have to separate yourself from it personally.

Anyway, these are my thoughts before diving into today’s piece. I’d love to know how you feel about fashion commentary today, online communities, and your own relationship with fashion.

Introduction

Throughout my life there have been spaces, physical and virtual, I’ve either willingly stepped into, or unintentionally, possibly during my half-asleep scrolling sessions, that have given me what they call the ick. A few examples of this: Brandy Melville, The Kingdom Hall of Jehovah Witnesses, and for the past few years, though casually, r/ThrowingFits.

The ever-growing, or possibly now declining, subreddit — originally started as a way to discuss the popular podcast — has over 121K weekly visitors. Posts range from outfit advice, rating one’s fits, various posts on Our Legacy and mfpen, thoughts on a particular collection and, the topic of today’s post, an occasional thought-piece on a designer.

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As a subscriber, you’ll get early access to releases from Wallace Mercantile and designers we love, along wit…

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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.

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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, 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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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

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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.

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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 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

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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.

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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.

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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:

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.

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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.

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