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JUN HASHIMOTO: CLOTHES FOR YOU
Words and pictures by Jasper L
“When you know very good material and very good styling, you can’t go ‘down,’” Jun Hashimoto tells me. “But if you buy good to wear every time, every season, it’s too expensive.” He doesn’t want his customers to have to re-buy the same thing, or even different things, every single season. He iterates, he fiddles, and he does what he likes.
His booth at Pitti is an exercise, almost aggressive, in restraint. There is a small table with a laptop on it. To the right is a single rail of white shirts. A sign taped to the computer declares: “WILL EXCHANGE BUSINESS CARDS WITH VENDORS ONLY.”
“I want to focus on basic items,” is the first thing he says after I dare the sign and discover that Jun Hashimoto is both very friendly and very thoughtful. “But, I don’t like too much basic.” He doesn’t like Too Much, either. Pitti is Much Too Much, and so he only brought white shirts with him. I find this quiet rebellion both hilarious and hugely admirable. Problematic, too: how am I supposed to write an article about a single rail of white shirts and an empty booth?
“We need change,” he says, gesturing at the shirts, but talking about more than clothing. “Now, today, I like this style. Maybe in the future, I don’t like this length, this width. I’ll need more change.” And so he makes subtle adjustments to his patterns seasonally, or as the mood strikes him. For now, the shirts feature slightly elastic panels at the side that allow for movement and breathability, as well as custom hardware. The collar is ever-so-slightly belligerent, and Braille on the cuffs differentiates the sleeves.
None of these features are visible in passing, and I say something about the occasional stand-out pieces that punctuate and complement his collections. He tells me that I have a very good eye, which is by far the highlight of my day, and this leads us to the turtleneck he’s wearing under his stand-collar leather jacket: the body is wool but the roll neck is 100% cashmere, and you can’t tell unless you put it on. The focus on the way clothing feels on the body and on actively muting visible impact seems very different from the way most brands at Pitti operate. “Different,” he agrees, “and difficult.”
“It’s kind of like Carpe Diem,” he says; which is where he learned a lot about what he wanted to do with his own line, and a lot about what he didn’t. “It’s just, I like it. And I have a reason, for the price and style. But if you don’t know, I don’t care. What do you know?”
Nothing, really. No one around us does either. His booth is empty, unlike that of the overdesigned sneakers down the hall. It’s just him and his assistant, unspeaking; a computer; and a rail of white shirts. Like him, the clothes are quiet, almost aloof; when you get them talking, there’s nothing friendlier.
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