Issue No. 6: The Fashion Issue

ISSUE NO.6: THE FASHION ISSUE

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KACEY LYNCH, OWNER OF BRICKS & WOOD

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A NOTE TO OUR READERS

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Thank you for supporting us into our sixth issue. It is both an honor and a privilege to know that we have kept your attention for this long, and we do not take that for granted.

We would be terribly remiss (and somewhat out-of-character) if we did not use this space to publicly thank all of our contributors—from photographers, to designers, to models, to hair and wardrobe stylists, to makeup artists, to production assistants, to writers, to set designers and creative directors. Every tiny piece that every single person added to the larger picture is acknowledged, appreciated, and celebrated. SVGE, as many of you know, is a publication and platform designed to push the culture and serve the community. As such, it only makes sense that our content reflects the current direction of said culture and the interests of said community. We hope that we have done a good job.

Finally, on the topic of community, please be patient with us in this transitional period, as we tap into what you want to see from us, digitally, in print, and in-person. We are currently striving to diversify and be more inclusive with our content and our programming. As we work on this from the inside, please never hesitate to share an idea, drop a suggestion, or lend a hand from the outside. We are here for you, and we invite you to be here for us.

Once again, thank you all for your continued support. There are not enough words in this letter, in this issue, or even in Webster’s Dictionary to fully express how grateful we are.

Yo u r s , Ayodale Savage & Chioma Nwana Proud SVGE Moms

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Founder & Chief Executive Officer: Ayodale Savage Creative Director: Chioma Nwana Editor: Ella Xu Contributing Photographers: Dotun Abeshinbioke, Aking-Bola Aking-Tewe, Emerald Arguelles, Dani B., Justin Carter, Gerry Cooper, Jenny Desrosiers, Thomas Duh, George Jenkins, Salvador Johnson, Kacey Lynch, Kathy Ngo, Chioma Nwana, Robert “Thiiird” Owusu III, Niya Paige, Jacqueline Pounder, Noe Zepeda Contributing Writers: Andrew Bosompem, Mikayla Cumberbatch, Chioma Nwana, Dominique Upshaw Special Thanks: Ashley Elliott, Julieta Lozano, Robert “Thiiird” Owusu III, Robyn SM // 8 Price Pierre

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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Nelly.Co

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“The Hood Called”

Tolu Oye

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Ghetto Friends

Avenue Studios

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58.

Kacey Lynch

OBI’S NEW YORK

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Empire Taste

Christyna Pourhabib

Infantry Collective

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Unlikely Fox

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Model: Shunelle Porcena. Photography: Aking-Bola Aking-Tewe, Emerald Arguelles.

Garments in order of appearance: Cosmic Crew Neck, Mars Dust 3-Piece Set, Space Jumper.

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Models in order of appearance: Devonte Rhodes, Justen Hampton, Khari Vaughns, Gevon Jenkins, Geandre Jenkins, Simon Hovanessian, Devonte Rhodes, Nigel Hockenhull, Chance Cobb, Hakeem Washington, Shay De La Cruz. Photography: George Jenkins, Kathy Ngo. Creative direction: George Jenkins, Hakeem Washington. Garments in order of appearance: Mafia Logo Tee, Infantry Dickies, University Crewneck.

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This shit is for us.

THE HOOD CALLED: WE WANT OUR CULTURE BACK

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Words by Dominique Upshaw Photography by Dani B.

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For many years, aspects of Black culture once classified as ghetto have been ripped off and repurposed for high fashion. It’s almost as if Black ideas are only acceptable after they have been approved by the likes of white fashion gatekeepers. A du-rag is now chic after having been rebranded as an “urban tie-cap,” and cornrows, now renamed “boxer braids,” are suddenly all the rage in Paris. In both examples, staple pieces of Black culture were only publicly deemed fashionable after they had been repackaged for white consumption. Of course, we’ve seen models strutting down the runway wearing pieces of Black culture during various fashion weeks and have even seen certain cultural trends make appearances in magazine spreads and on front covers.

However, the fashion industry, as seemingly welcoming as it is of Black culture, does not welcome or celebrate Black people in the same way.

forever. Black women have been described as ghetto for wearing brightly colored weaves, while our non-Black counterparts are praised for their boldness and creativity when they imitate us. Black people are alienated and discriminated against for indulging in the various aspects of our own culture that have existed for centuries, while others are idolized for appropriating what we have. Society tries to shame Black people for being ourselves by labeling us as ratchet, loud, and ghetto.

However, as of recently, we have been loving ourselves and our culture unapologetically and loudly enough for the people in the back to hear.

Black people are fighting against erasure and reclaiming our rightfully owned place at the forefront of Black culture.

This shit is really for us, by us.

For his show during Spring Fashion Week 2017, Marc Jacobs featured a cast of white models sporting multi-colored faux dreadlocks instead of simply casting Black models with natural dreadlocks. When critics highlighted the lack of diversity in his show, Jacobs responded, “I don’t see color or race. I see people… Appreciation of all and inspiration from anywhere is a beautiful thing.” You could almost hear the sound of Black people everywhere rolling their eyes, and here’s why: dreadlocks are seldom appreciated on Black women. At the workplace, they’re described as unprofessional. On the red carpet, even when a household name like Zendaya wore them, fashion critics made snide remarks, accusing her of smelling like patchouli oil and weed. Though Mr. Jacobs may believe otherwise, there is more than enough evidence that the supposed appreciation for Black people in the fashion industry doesn’t run very deep.

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Models: Robert Acquie, Jasmine Smith. Creative direction: Dani B. Hair: Helena Koudou.

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Model: Magdelene Barjolo. Photography: Dotun Abeshinbioke.

Designer: Tolulope Oye. SM // 29

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SMSM // // 3131

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Models in order of appearance: Jacob Crain, Juanito, Neon, XVR, Max, Elias, Mateo, Ty Prada, Jaden-Raphael. Photography: Noe Zepeda. Garments in order of appearance: Hell in A Cell Mesh Pants, HueHue Mask, HEATWAVE Tee (collaboration with Uniqu3 Mind-s).

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Models in order of appearance: Taylor Rogers, Jade Copass, Dominique “Domdi� Dillard, Jenny Nguyen.

Photography: Gerry Cooper, Justin Carter. Garments in order of appearance: Collegiate Hoodie, Collegiate Tee, Vercetti Tee, Classic Tote.

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Cody and Kacey, photographed by Salvador Johnson. Featured product: Support Your Homies Tees in white.

Words by Andrew Bosompem & Chioma Nwana. Photography by Chioma Nwana.

Assisted by Ashley Elliott.

A love lette Central

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er to South

In conversation with Kacey Lynch, SM // 45 founder of Bricks & Wood

Who are you and what do you do?

I’m Kacey Lynch, owner and founder of Bricks & Wood. Based here in Los Angeles—born and raised in South Central to be exact. I do what I want.

In the streetwear industry, where competition between brands often stifles collaboration and discourages designers from supporting each other, you’ve chosen to take an alternative path.

Can you explain why you created Support Your Homies and what purpose it has served since its conception?

Granted, I didn’t create the term “support your homies.” It was just me

understanding that I had influence. I didn’t really identify with that before because I was such a student to the game. I was like, “Wait, people pay attention to what I say and do.” It’s not to be cocky—it’s just recognizing who I was and what I was doing and knowing that it was impactful. People pay attention to what I do and what I like, so they’ll support what I support too. I start posted the homies’ stuff on Instagram and created a hashtag.

People copped their shit and followed their brands like, “I found it because of Kacey.” The Support Your Homies collaboration came from one of my friends, Cody, who has a brand called URLA. He sent me the graphic and said, “We should collaborate on this,” and I was like, “Yeah, let’s do it.” Turning that into apparel turned it into this whole

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other thing. Support Your Homies is a sub-brand. It’s not Bricks & Wood. It’s not URLA. It’s Support Your Homies.

It’s something that everyone can relate to some degree. Support Your Homies is a verb. It’s actually doing it, actually posting it, actually liking it, actually buying it, actually supporting it, actually going to events. It’s more of an action than just making a t-shirt or a hashtag. Cody didn’t have a super big platform, and neither did I. But that goes to show, when you put something meaningful out and showcase it on a real level, people can really tap into what you’re doing.

It doesn’t matter how big you are.

They put the Support Your Homies hoodie on GQ. We’re both kids from South Central having fun. We had a graphic, paid $150 for the graphic, got it done, and it turned into this

colossal thing.

if you’re doing something that’s real and honest, it’ll always come About people being individualized in back to you, no matter what. If it’s a this game: I grew up in the backend of pure intention behind it, it’s going to the game. I saw a lot of backend stuff make its way. If you were humble at from my pops and from when I worked one point and then you get on, and in streetwear. I realized that we can you’re not humble, that means you all act like we’re isolated, but we all were never humble. That means essentially do the same shit. I wasn’t you let something else define you— afraid to admit that me and another you’re not in control. I don’t identify brand use the same blanks—we just with those people. put our logo on this one, and you put your logo on that one. People buy into Will Support Your Homies take what you put into it. Your story, your different forms this year? pictures, your effort. That’s why people buy into the brands. People need to We’re trying to turn it into another get out of their shells and be more brand and showcase it on the open. We all go through the same action level. We’re not just selling process. You just have this audience you something so that we can there, and I have this audience here. make profit off of it. We want We could bring the audiences together to show how we really interact and share this moment.

A lot of people think that success is binary. They think, “I’m either successful by myself, or I’m not successful.”

In the real success stories, no one ever did it by themselves.

That’s not even a thing. There was some helping hand at some point, whether it’s a collaborative, a partnership, or someone believing in you. I don’t know where that pride comes from. Maybe it’s just them feeling themselves in the moment, but

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with our friends and people that we support. We’re definitely trying to do events and a Support Your Homies festival, bringing local brands together. We’re trying to map that out and figure out some sponsorships. Outside of that, for Bricks & Wood itself, I’m always open to collaborations. As long as it’s real, makes sense, and we have something that we can bring to the table. Not just a cool design—I’ve had cool designs before, and I don’t put them out because they don’t have a story behind them. If I can’t relate it to something meaningful, then I refuse to put it out. I sat on my first ever graphic t-shirt for a year before I put it out because I couldn’t tell a story at the time. As long as it’s something meaningful, there’s always going to be collaboration on the table.

Putting our money and support into our creative peers is not just an investment into the individual, but into the community and culture as a whole. How did you come to understand this so early on in your career? What, to you, is the definition of the community dollar?

I knew how important it was when I realized what I can do with my own dollar. When I first started Bricks & Wood, I had a $600 check. I took $300 of it and started making hats. I didn’t really invest well, but

more your brand grows, the more tightly it clings to roots. Why is that? Why is South Central so integral to the brand?

I realized that if I continued the cycle, it wouldn’t change anything.

If I live check to check, or if I go make these hats, sell them out, and spend all my money on food and bullshit, then I’m back to where I started—then what I did meant nothing. Now people who want to buy into what you’re doing are like, “You can’t even supply your own shit,” because you spent the money.

You have to discipline yourself.

Understanding how to break a cycle is what made me more mindful of how I spend my money and how I supported other brands, other communities, and local restaurants.

I was like, “Okay, if you’re out here everyday, taco man, selling tacos until midnight, and I keep putting money into your account, and you’re still coming, that’s showing me that I’m helping you stay in business. I’m helping you, and I’m being supplied because I enjoy eating your food.”

Community, for me, is another word for convenience. You should be able to reach within your local whatever to get what you need to build.

The definition of the community dollar is convenience, resourcing, and understanding that what you invest into a company can help things stay the way you like them to be.

We complain all the fucking time.

And I understand. Due to history, we have a right to be vocal, but just talking about it doesn’t really do shit.

We gotta look in the mirror. We can’t just keep pointing the finger because the person you’re pointing the finger at is going in the opposite direction.

You’re just following him and pointing the finger at him. For me, it’s just understanding that I invest into my community because I want to see change and growth. I want to see you keep doing what you’re doing, and I want you to be fulfilled when you achieve the money and acknowledgment.

Many “grassroots” brands are quick to abandon their respective communities for public acclaim.

However, Bricks & Wood is truly a love letter to South Central: the

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I truly can’t create without thinking about myself, what I’ve been through, what I’ve done, and what people have for me. A lot of it stems from South Central, Los Angeles. I’m just doing what everybody should be doing: you look at what’s around you, and you build off of that. You build off of what you have. I just grew up here.

I could have grown up in Nebraska, and it would have been a Nebraskan brand. It’s just South Central is where I’m from, that’s where I live, that’s what I do on a daily basis. Ninety percent of it is based here. It’s just who I am. That message, on its own, should show people: start with yourself. Look in the mirror, look at what’s around you, then go. That’s longevity. You’re doing it for the Self and for the soul—not for the trend or because it looks cool. People tend to change and shift when things get to a certain level. I’m going to grow, but I’m trying to grow within this. I’m trying to grow us. I’m trying to show South Central how to have quality.

I feel like that’s something that we lack. Being from here, I can say that about my community. We lack selfawareness, accountability, quality, and appreciation of our own shit. You have to be able to grow with the thing that you support.

In a recent interview with Dazed, Virgil Abloh made a bold statement that streetwear is definitely going to die. Of all the people who have shared their opinions on his take, you made yours pretty clear with the “VIRGIL GOT ME FUCKED UP” tees. As an ever-growing streetwear designer, did you feel any nervousness, taking a stab

at such a household name in fashion?

I’m from South Central, L.A. I’m never afraid of shit. I wasn’t nervous. I saw it as an opportunity to stick my chest out even more. Let’s say someone publicly makes a statement about your friend. It’s human nature to to defend people you support, especially if your friend has helped the person who’s talking shit. I’m going to be honest, I’ve never been a fan of Virgil.

I do have his book right here—one thing about me is that I respect the process. I respect how he put things together and the range of things that he’s done, and he’s Black. But I don’t

like the work, and I don’t like the result. That’s just my own personal taste. It doesn’t mean he makes bad shit—he just doesn’t make things for me. The thing is, he was deeply rooted in streetwear with Pyrex Vision and Off-White. That was streetwear, no matter how you want to see it.

Now he’s with Louis Vuitton and the white man, so he’s disrespecting the culture that put him on? It was a slap in the face. So I made a shirt that said, “VIRGIL GOT ME FUCKED UP,” because he got me fucked up.

I personally felt offended. I already wasn’t rocking with him because I felt like he was a sellout. He’s been selling Black culture to Black people

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but not putting on for the people whatsoever. Virgil used his skin tone to identify with us, he manipulated my culture and people who I know fuck with him, he made all this money and got all this clout. If he’s going this route, then I’m going to speak up. He’s talking about something that I’m putting on for and that I’d never disrespect. That’s like me saying, “Fuck South Central. I’m over that.” If someone won’t speak on it, I’ll speak on it. I got a platform. I already had my closed opinion about him, but now it turned into a lot of subliminal disses to me. I took that personally. He got me fucked up. I didn’t say Vigril was fucked up in general. I’m talking

about myself. If you put that shirt on, that statement he made got you fucked up because you feel a way about it. On top of that, it showcased the power of the culture that put him in his position. That shirt went crazy.

That shirt was not a part of my plan.

I had twenty other items that I had to get out in seventeen days. That was the most untraditional, out-of-pocket, out-of-character thing I’ve ever done.

There was no promotion, no campaign, nothing.

Nothing. I did a mockup, put it on my website, sold it for dirt cheap, and said, “Here you go.”

If you’re angry, here’s a shirt.

It was a little bit of backlash, here and there, from industry people. I’m like, “Man, you don’t know me, so you can’t tell me how I feel.” I’m a man enough to understand that it’s just my opinion, and I felt a way. If you feel how I feel, then this is for you. Go ahead, Virgil. You’re going to fashion week and doing Louis Vuitton, so you try to shit on streetwear, but remember where you came from. All I did was clarify that he was never us. He was looking for a way out the whole time.

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What is your current perspective on the streetwear industry? If it’s not dying, then how is it changing?

Where is it going?

That shit is not dying whatsoever.

That shit is growing, rapidly. It’s a gift and curse though. It’s a gift because Black kids are becoming entrepreneurs overnight. People are moving out of their moms’ cribs and buying houses. I have a homie who had all his fucking clothes in the living room of his mom’s house. This nigga now has his own warehouse, drives a Tesla, hired his mom, and I’m pretty sure they live in a house together in the Heights. Streetwear is dying?

Hector and Jose, photographed

by Kacey Lynch. Featured product: Support Your Homies Tees in black and white

How is it dying when I just put this shirt out ten minutes ago, and it went viral and is probably my most sold shirt in damn near the whole year? How is it dying when I keep seeing Black models from the streets in high fashion look books?

Where do you think they come from? Do you think they grew up high fashion?

I’m sure they didn’t. But streetwear is dying? You look at all these runway shits— these niggas are wearing hoodies, sweats, white socks, and sneakers. What is that? High fashion? Since when? Streetwear is nowhere near dead. The curse of it is that there are people doing it for the clout. I think streetwear is growing.

I can’t say it’s growing with quality—I can admit that. But I can also tell you that it’s not going nowhere. This is the first time that streetwear has been on the

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forefront. There was always a disconnect, but now there’s collaboration. There was a Supreme and Louis Vuitton collaboration. High fashion has to pay attention to us.

Trust me, they’re talking about us. They want to know what’s going on. They want to know how to be a part of this.

perspective. Not one person in my family has ever started their own business. Everyone has worked for somebody— everyone has worked for the white man.

They’re trying to figure out how they can benefit from us. But streetwear is dying?

It’s challenging because you don’t get the full support.

People don’t know until there are numbers involved. You gotta go through the ringer of your family looking at you like, “What are you doing?” They’re not understanding that you just did a fucking collaboration with a big brand.

They don’t know that brand, they don’t know your brand.

That’s the challenge. I don’t feel good about proving them wrong, to be honest. Why couldn’t they support this in the beginning? It’s challenging when you think about it on a personal level.

In addition to your community support, you are fortunate in that you have an immediate family that stands behind you and your brand. What is that like?

In terms of my dad’s side and my mom’s side, it’s an even split. My dad’s side always promoted Self, promoted me being me. If I decided not to do something, they’d give their opinions, but they always supported what I did. My mom’s side was way more textbook: go to school, get a job, get a house. Very by the book, which I understand because that’s how they grew up. They didn’t know better, to a certain degree, so when I got older, I couldn’t complain about it anymore—I just had to show them. I had to change the narrative so that when my nephews and little cousins grow up, they have a different understanding of how to become successful. It’s not just the textbook way. It’s like, “Uncle Kacey has his own company.” They might come work for me for a summer. It’s all types of ways that you can go about it when you have a different

What is it like being the first?

You would like to know that they support you, not just because you’re making money. Because then it looks like they’re supporting the fact that you’re making money rather than supporting you, the person, and your idea.

It took GQ covers and Anderson .Paak for people to take it seriously. If I’m being honest, even though they’re family, I’m still categorizing them in the same way as a random ass friend or somebody who wants to be supportive all of a sudden. It’s the same energy. Blood ain’t no thicker than

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never going to need another black beanie again in your life. My duty and my goal is to bring hope and inspiration and to get people to think.

Understand that you can be from here and think differently. You don’t have to be accustomed to what the standard of your environment is. I’m going to be honest. It might sound weird to say, but I’m not just here to give back. I want you to use your mind to think and define yourself.

Bricks & Wood is me being honest to the people, hoping that it inspires you to be honest with yourself. If that’s what people are getting from it, then great. I don’t do anything that I don’t support, and I don’t make anything that I don’t wear.

There are a lot of people who make clothes but won’t wear them.

Virgil Abloh.

water. If you’re family, you should really understand and should have really been there. Thank God I had a balance. Thank God I had my dad’s side. I would have been so jaded to success if my dad was the same as my mom.

What do you feel is your personal duty to a community that has done so much for you and your brand?

Does Bricks & Wood act as a vehicle for that duty?

My duty for South Central is to showcase inspiration. Like I said earlier, I’m more inspired by the process than by the result. I don’t want you to just look at the result and think that’s success. No. Ask me questions. Bricks & Wood, the clothes are just merchandise. This is a platform. I never saw this shit as just clothes. I’ve always seen it as something that can touch real estate, non-profit organizations, the whole

nine. Have I tapped into all those things yet? No, I’m still figuring it out.

But I’m going to get there through the things that I have passion for, which are apparel, design, and things of that nature. When it comes to giving back to the community, I want to give back inspiration and hope. If I put a store in South Central, it’s not going to be just another store in South Central.

It’s going to feel like something you would see on Melrose and Fairfax.

It’s going to feel like a SoHo type of store. I’m not lowering my standard.

Y’all gotta think differently. I’m willing to take that risk—if my store is slow, if people don’t want to buy because they think it’s too expensive. I did a market before in Leimert Park.

I remember it being slow. People walk by, see the $40 beanie. “Oh, too expensive!” You haven’t asked me one question about the beanie— how it’s made, why it’s $40. None of that. It’s just too expensive? You buy this one black beanie, you ain’t

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I have friends in fashion who said, “I didn’t see what I wanted in the store, so I made it for myself.”

They literally only wear their own brands, and I love it. If you don’t wear your own brand, why should I? I am the biggest fan of Bricks & Wood. I treat this shit like it ain’t mine.

I see the future of this shit. I take pieces like, “I’m going to archive this and save it. Five years later, niggas are going to be mad that they didn’t get this.” I archive my own shit. I put them in plastics, I put them in the bins. I’m a real collector of my own shit. It ain’t even got no resale value.

I want people to look at what they’re doing as high quality. I started this by looking in the mirror, looking at what was around me, and working from that. I started from myself. If you can get that message from Bricks & Wood and what I’m saying? Dope. That’s empowering you, as an individual, to continue doing what you’re doing.

I’m trying to inspire people to tap in with themselves. There’s nothing

I can give you that can make you do that. I can’t hand you anything to make you feel that. You have to look at something and use your mind to think deeper.

You had lived in New York for a bit. Though South Central eventually called you home, what role did your time in the concrete jungle play in your personal development and in your journey as a designer?

Everything. That shit changed my life. That was the best decision I ever made, on a personal level. Moving to New York when I shouldn’t have and wasn’t ready was the best thing I could have ever did. It put me in an uncomfortable place. I was too stagnant. I was going through the motions. I was glad something inspired me enough to take the leap of faith. It was abrupt, too. I figured it out, got a job, and the next day, I told my manager, told my family, got a spot, and I just left. From the people, from the energy, from the lifestyle, you’re either going to make it work in New York or it ain’t going to work. L.A. is different. In New York, the work you put in, you’ll get the result. L.A., you’re in practice mode until something comes your way. Unless you create your own and do something for yourself, in terms of opportunities, they come to you, and you just have to be ready. In New York, you can create your own luck, to a certain degree. I’m a very mindful person, so it wasn’t a tough adjustment. You just have to have tough skin.

You just have to jump into it.

Drop me off, and I’ll figure it out. I figured that shit out.

I wasn’t even there for a full year. When I came home, this shit was all slow, not moving at all. I’m like, “Oh no, fuck that. By November, I’m going to quit my job.” My job shut down in July, but by November I had my first office.

New York just put this battery in my back and showed me how to go get it. It showed me how to make my own luck. Thankfully, my goal was to be an entrepreneur, so I didn’t have to wait for an opportunity. My time spent in New York was life-changing. I didn’t even move back because I wanted to move back. I kind of had to. I was dealing with some family shit. I stayed here a little bit too long on a visit and lost the job in New York. Lease was up. I was like, “Fuck it, I might as well just stay.” I got my old job back. It kind of worked itself out. It’s funny that New York is the Concrete Jungle because during my time in New York I was shooting a lot of photos and wanted to make a coffee table book—I was going to call it “Jungle to Jungle.” The neighborhood I grew up in was called The Jungles, and of course, New York is known as the Concrete Jungle. Moving from The Jungles to the Concrete Jungle, it was easy for me to adapt. I’m thankful that I was able to tap in. You can meet so many people

in passing, at an event, walking into a store, someone coming into your store, through friends, Instagram.

Besides the weather, it was easy to personally connect with New York. I think it’s because of where I’m from.

How was returning to South Central? Did you feel like you let yourself or others down? How easy was it to get back into the swing of things?

Returning was weird. I was leaving to showcase inspiration, and then I came back sooner than I expected. It was like, “Oh shit, I don’t want people to think I played them.” It was a weird situation. I was super low-key about it. I told select people and then slowly started to come out to events. It just showed me how stuck we still are. I left for New York and came back, and South Central was on the same shit. I usually get inspired by things that we don’t have, and hope was one of the things we didn’t have, besides Nip. Nipsey was the only person that was shaking and moving within South Central, point, blank, period. I was really inspired by the process. I was like, “I need to do what I can with what I have and figure out how to fill in the gaps.” That was tough because you have to find a starting point. But like I said earlier, you just have to look in the mirror. Whatever that answer is, that’s how you start. Then you figure it out.

How many people are on the Bricks & Wood team currently, formally or informally? How is that working for you? Do you aspire to have a huge team? Or would you rather keep things close to the vest?

Right now, there’s me. There’s my brand operations manager, slash intern, slash mom-of-the-brand, slash first lady, Dani. She’s my first employee that I ever hired.

I had another kid, Marcus. He just recently left because he moved even further away than he was originally. He was doing inventory and stock manager stuff. He was super good at that. Now, it’s just me, Dani, and my boy, Daizon, who I went to high school with. Daizon helps with marketing, photography, and campaigning. So it’s just us three and my boy, John, who does my wholesale.

But John doesn’t work for me at all. He’s kind of informal.

He strictly does my wholesale, but he’s also a helping hand with anything. If I need something, John is like, “I got you.” His job is literally to sell the brand to stores, but he’s like, “I’ll come in here and set the showroom up for when we have meetings. I’ll sweep.”

Do you aspire to have a large team?

Honestly, no. It’s actually super hard for me to think about another person on the team. I wish it could just

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be me, Dani, and Daizon doing all this shit together. Maybe one other person. John is really good at wholesale, so I would rather he just stick to wholesale and not do shit else. Daizon is good at marketing, campaigning, and photography—stick to that. Dani is good at organization, communication, coming up with ideas. That’s why she’s the brand operations manager. She’s like the creative director to a certain degree.

I want people to do their job, and then I’d just get one more person who could just do inventory or stock shit perfectly. That’s all I need. I’ve already had my ups and downs with letting people go, people fucking me over. I’m trying to keep this little circle even tighter.

So you have everything that you need, and you have what works for you right now.

I feel like it’s tougher and more timeconsuming to teach someone new than to learn with who you already got. You gotta learn about the person and get comfortable. There are so many different levels. The people

I’m talking about, I know them on a personal level, I know them on a work level, I know them on any level. We all know how to get shit done. My goal is to come up with people who came up with me. If that’s who this team is and who it’s going to be, then ten years from now, we’re in the office together and still doing the same shit, that’s fine by me. That’s the goal.

It’s never really to open up to more people. If I have to, I will, but I strive to not do it. Honestly. That might sound fucked up because people hit me up all the time for internships, and I hate when I have to turn people down, but I try to keep it in-house.

What should up-and-coming designers keep in mind as they build their brand’s team?

You can’t teach loyalty. Loyalty comes over everything. If that person is loyal to you, whether they can do something or not, they’ll take the time to learn how to do it. I’ve seen Dani do shit out of her own willingness.

Organizing the stockroom because she said, “This shit looks ugly.” It’s just certain things that I’ve seen her

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do to hold it down, and I was like, “That’s why you’re the best at what you do and why I love you so much.

You are loyal.” I don’t care about the work you can do. If you have loyalty, we can go far. That’s the best trait you can have. That’s something that you can’t teach. You either have it or you don’t. I look around, and the people that I’m with so far, they got it. Daizon, I’ve known him since high school. We had another brand together in high school. I know his loyalty is solid. Dani, she’s shown it for the last year. I know it’s solid.

John, I know it’s solid. That’s what they should focus on. You have to know who you’re dealing with on a personal level. If they don’t got certain traits that align with what you got going on, then you’re wasting your time. You just have to trust your gut, but you don’t want to let too many people in. It’s hard. There’s no right or wrong way to go about it. The only piece of advice for the question itself is to start with loyalty. Find that.

If you find that somebody, then you’re making the right decision. If they fuck you over, don’t feel bad. You thought you made the right decision; you thought you believed in them and thought they believed in you. You’re learning now. You’ll start to see the signs.

And of course, what can we expect from Bricks & Wood this year?

Anything exciting that you share with us at this time?

I have nothing that I can talk about.

Yeah, there are NDAs, but I also don’t want to put too much into something that might not fall through. It ain’t written in stone. The beauty of what I do is that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Anything that happens— collaborations and shit—have just been me being open and ready for moments to unfold. I haven’t really done too much of, “Alright, I want to do this to get this.” The only thing I really work on is myself, everyday.

Dad and baby, photographed by Kacey Lynch. Featured product: Heavy Knit Beanie in wine.

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I work on my creativity, my process, how to be a better boss to my team.

How do you work on those things?

Holding myself accountable. When something is wrong, realizing how I could have done better. Looking at me first before I point the finger. Granted, I ain’t perfect at that.

I still struggle with the finger pointing, as a Black man growing up in South Central. At the end of the day, I think the growth is the awareness. At first, that was not a thing.

I would have never known these things were issues until now. I think that 2019 was a year of accountability and responsibility and understanding how to take control of who I am. I was telling my homie the other day: who I am now is who I am for the rest of my life. 26 year-old Kacey Lynch, from now until the day that day comes, it’s just going to be enhancement, but I think I’ve figured out who I am. What you see is what you get, for sure.

I thought that before I didn’t give a fuck, but now, I don’t give a fuck.

If it ain’t nourishing or fulfilling, I’m not doing it. This is who I am. Since I know who I am, what are the things that I don’t like that I do? Let me figure these things out.

Holding myself accountable for what I’m doing. Stop pointing the finger all the time. There’s a lot more at stake now—I’m an adult, I have a brand, and I have employees around me. I have to tread lightly. The start, for me, is accountability and keeping myself in a progressive mindset by doing things that I genuinely want to do. That’s how I become better. I’m taking control and not blaming nothing else.

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Models in order of appearance: Braxton K. Jackson, Kerra Harris, Amberlynn Ulloa, Raphael Oloyede, Brianna Mena, Dakaibo Tallerand, Imhotep Mensah, Luigee Adolphe, Tafari Smith. Photography: Niya Paige. Creative direction: Obi Anazodo. Set design: Dotun Abeshinbioke. Production assistance: Cindy Anazodo, Veriane EstimĂŠ, Micky Sees. Model scouting: Unsigned Models.

Location: Grayscale Studios.

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Models: Minh Nguyen, Kevin Hsia, Jocelyn Hu, Stephen Reid, Ashley Bryan.

Photography: Thomas Duh.

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CHRISTYNA POURHABIB As a kid, she used sneakers to separate herself from the monotony of uniforms in her private school. Today, sneakers are the glue that holds together the pages of “The First Pair” book, Christyna’s exploration of sneaker culture through the lenses of sneakerheads and streetwear junkies from New York City to Los Angeles.

Words by Mikayla Dominique Photography by Jacqueline Pounder, Robert “Thiiird” Owusu III

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Who is Christyna Pourhabib?

I’m a creator, and I’m someone who is determined to master myself. I am a woman who carries many stories of love and hurt and joy, and I’m committed to sharing those stories through my art and connecting with others along my journey. I love reading books and listening to old school music. I’m always bumping some Sade, Anita Baker, or Marvin Gaye. I’m a lover of vintage things—I really appreciate items that carry a story with them. That sentiment is echoed throughout my life, from the things I buy to the things I set out to create. The ability to connect and the ability to tell stories is an amazing thing that really makes me who I am.

What’s your sign?

Aries. I’m surrounded by Aries. All of my family are fire signs.

How did you get into the streetwear culture? Do you have any industry favorites?

Really just growing up in L.A. Streetwear and sneaker culture were all around me. It was embedded in the culture. I went to private school, but on the weekends and after school, all of my friends would just go hang out on Melrose or Fairfax. It was very much a part of the culture and a part of the environment. I had friends who worked in streetwear stores on Fairfax.

In private school, I was wearing uniforms, so sneakers were the only way I could express myself.

On the weekends, I was super into Stüssy. Industry favorites? For women, I was definitely looking up to Vashtie. She was untouchable to me. Pharrell. As I got older and started doing a little more research, I was really focused on the women that were making waves.

You had Melody Ehsani. Aleali [May] was around in L.A., too. These staples who were going against the grain.

Of course, streetwear is a male-dominated industry, so seeing people break out of that mold—that’s what I was attracted to.

What led you to create “The First Pair” book?

My background is in journalism and storytelling. I thought that I was going to make something different. I was talking to people, and I was like, “I think I want to do something involving Jordan. I think I’m going to pitch an article.” The more people I talked to, the more I saw that this was more than an article. This was bigger. It was much more that people had to say. I started just talking to people in my circle—people that I knew were a part of the culture. Not any sort of hypebeasts. Just people with genuine love for it. I was just curious about what got them started. What was the story behind it?

The question that I asked when I interviewed people was, “What was the first pair of sneakers that made you feel fly?”

From there, the stories really opened up. I wanted to create something that had a personal touch. I wanted something that you could feel in your hands and turn the pages. I wanted to create something that existed in people’s homes. It had to be physical. Another part of it,

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too, is that there was nothing like it out there. If there’s something that you want to see or something that you want, just go in and make it for yourself. As a woman in the industry, I wanted to be a part of the conversation, but I wanted to do so by sharing other stories as well. I tap into my story for a little bit, but this was definitely a space for people to express that love. You hear about all of the designers and people who have been moving the cultures, but the people who are actually affected by it and love it? That’s what it was really about for me.

What was your process?

It started with the stories. It started with interviewing, day after day. I did the interviews and transcribed them.

I knew I didn’t want it to be long-form.

I would go through and highlight parts that I felt really stuck out. I was like, “I know what stories I want to be in there.” Then it was a process of elimination. Which ones held more weight? Which ones really said something? Because a lot of people were like, “I really love sneakers, and this sneaker was cool.”

It wasn’t just about the sneakers— it was about the human connection.

Once I got over the creative part of the interviews and what the story was going to be, then it was how I was going to to tell it visually. What was the aesthetic that I was trying to show with this? Again, it was a process. I had to deal with missed deadlines and things not going smoothly. But it was a lot of practicing patience and realizing that with everything that went wrong, I was learning something from it. I learned how to do something differently the next time. That’s how I looked at it. My lens had to be completely positive. Otherwise, I would be overwhelmed with different things. It was a process, but it was so fun. All of the interviews I did in New

York, I was just walking on the street, and I would stop people. I was just like, “Hey, I’m working on a project.

Do you have time to talk about it?”

Every single person was down to talk.

I’d interview them, and sometimes I’d have a photographer with me and we’d just shoot. Or I would just have a camera. I’d interview them and say, “Let me get a few shots.” It was really cool, and I loved that part about it.

How, in your opinion, do the streetwear and sneaker industries treat women? Where has progress been made? What still needs to be changed?

I think that the industry is taking a more inclusive route. They’re much more open to female designers and innovators. That kind of goes into what Nike did, when they had 14 designers reimagine the Air Jordan 1. Nike’s doing some really great things with that. Puma’s doing some really great things. The conversation just needs to continue. I want to see constant progression. Going back to Melody—she just dropped another shoe. Giving them the space, allowing them to break the mold.

Doing whatever they want with it.

I think brands are open to that. I realize that they see we’re moving the market, too. It’s not just men.

We have dope styles and ideas. It’s profitable for them to introduce more women into the space. It’s still a challenge. I think there’s pushback still. It’s still a male-dominated industry, but a lot of brands are making active decisions to include women. The work needs to continue.

Have you faced any challenges navigating the streetwear and sneaker industries as a woman of color?

I think that I’ve had the privilege of being in those spaces growing up.

But now, I feel like I have to have something to show. For example, this book. I may have a conversation with

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you, telling you all of my knowledge and how I feel about it. It sounds good and cool, but I think that having something else to show for it says that I’m really serious. I don’t know that I even see it as a limitation. I see it as changing someone’s viewpoint of what this industry looks like.

It’s us continuing to make our way into the space, holding that space, and knowing that we’re meant to be here. The challenge is on them to accept it.

What was your first pair, and what is your favorite pair of sneakers now?

My first pair was the Air Jordan 11 Space Jams. That was the first pair that I had ever camped out for. That experience was insane. I’m at the Fox Hills Mall in L.A., and it was freezing cold. I’m in the underground parking structure. I’m one of a few women there. I think I was 16 or 17.

It was just so crazy because I was buying Jordans, but this was a whole other part of it. These people were sacrificing sleep, safety, everything. It was so cool. I don’t even know if I told my parents what I was doing. I didn’t have no service down there either. In the morning, my parents were like, “Where were you?” I was like, “Y’all, I was camping out for some shoes.” It was so funny. From there, I camped out every December when they dropped the holiday Jordans. That was always my favorite pair, and the shoe was just crazy. It was the black patent leather and the icy blue soles.

My favorite pair now? I’ve really been rocking with the Sacais, the waffles.

But favorite? I feel like my answer is always changing. I feel like my top, for sure, is always going to be the Space Jams, but the Jordan 1 Royals? Those are sick. Those pretty much go with everything.

My first pair of sneakers is kind of embarrassing. I used to live in

Brooklyn, and there were these people who sold fake sneakers. My parents didn’t know, so they just bought me a bunch of white Air Forces. Come to find out they were fake.

about that time.

How did you realize? What did they look like?

It’s the Vashtie 2s. And you know why? Every couple weeks, I check StockX and GOAT. I thought I was dreaming or something because I remember looking at the app, and I saw they had my size. It felt like I did it, but I woke up in the morning, and I was like, “Did I ever push confirm on that?” I was half asleep. I was in Japan, and there was the time difference. I went and looked on there, and they were gone. But that is my pair, for sure.

I’m going to have to hit up Vashtie because I can only go so many more years.

Exactly the same, but everything was stiff.

Everybody’s looked soft, and mine looked stiff.

Then when I got into Jordans, my father treated me to some. He bought me a pair of Team Jordans.

When I came into school, I was so happy. I was like, “These are the 23s.” I had no clue. These guys were laughing at me like, “Those are Team Jordans.” I was like, “What?!”

Like, “Dang, I thought I was fresh right now.”

If you were to create your own sneaker, who would you collaborate with?

Nike is my vibe, for sure. I was doing a shoot, and I looked at my shoes like, “Most of my shoes in here are Nike.” Even the people that I talked to in my book—it points to how powerful the brand is. There are so many people in Nikes and Jordans. There were a few people talking about Adidas or what Pharrell was doing, like dropping the Ice Creams. But yeah, Nike for sure. That would be amazing. I’d make something super dope.

They’ve only had four female sneaker designers. It’s

What is a sneaker that you’ve always wanted to own but couldn’t get your hands on?

What’s next for you? Can we expect a sequel to “The First Pair” book in the future?

I want to have more collective conversations where we’re sitting down and talking about sneakers, the impact, and letting that open up. I want to see what that grows into and where I want to take that. In the meantime, I’m continuing having these conversations and adding the voice, creating a space for more women, and providing a platform where we’re able to own that space and honor where we are and where we want to be. I think that’s what’s next. Just having fun with it. It’s something that we all really rock with. Even more than that, it’s about the human story.

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UNLIKELY FOX

Black pants: NorBlack NorWhite

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Models: Jazzy Roulhac, Tamika Jeanty, Elke Guignard. Photography: Jenny Desrosiers. Crochet design: Krysta “Fox” Grasso. Production assistance: Cara Taylor.

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