Despite the omnipresence and convenience of online shopping, the best way to get new clothes remains, unequivocally, to go to a store, touch some fabrics, chat with the staff, try some stuff on, and buy what moves you. I know how daunting that seems. How time consuming and troublesome. Which is why if you’re going to do it, you’ve got to be sure that it’s going to be worth it. The new Evan Kinori store in San Francisco, a rice paper-wrapped sanctuary of conscientious style on a low-key stretch of Valencia Street, is worth it. That’s an understatement. The new Evan Kinori store is worth flying across the country for, as I did in December when it opened to the public.
Kinori sells his clothes online, and through stockists around the world, but the earthy, high-quality, low-concept clothes he makes are best experienced in person, at the source. His design studio is located in the back of the shop, and most of the clothes are made in factories nearby in San Francisco or in Los Angeles. The cathedral-like shop with lime plaster walls and white washed floors houses the latest Evan Kinori collection—including some store exclusives, of course—as well as furniture by BCMT and Frama, and ceramics made by Mallorca-based Dora Good and New Mexico’s Shed Project. These are makers who Kinori has discovered along the way, traveling and making friends who share his slow, craft-forward approach to design.
Since launching his brand six years ago, Kinori has established a strong and committed customer base—obsessive Kinori fans gather on forums and on Discord to debate and share experiences about washing instructions and the occasional small pattern tweaks the designer makes. Kinori’s clothes—simple but unique, unfussy but meticulously considered—are worthy of the cult following they’ve garnered. But they’re still accessible and alluring enough to appeal to those who aren’t looking to join a pants-based community—to strike someone who happens to be walking around San Francisco and sees a compelling storefront.
With the new store, Kinori has expanded his world. Much like the gut renovation he did on the building he now occupies, he’s knocked down walls and created new spaces, literally and metaphorically, for us to occupy in his world. And, now he has a full-sized dressing room—scented with Santa Maria Novella potpourri, no less.
I sat down with Kinori just after the opening to talk about making honest clothes, choosing fixtures for the shop and walking in the ancient redwoods that grow thirty minutes away.
GQ: What's the story behind the store opening? Was this something you'd been planning or hoping to make happen for a long time?
Evan Kinori: It really came together by chance. My old workspace was in a building that sold and the new owners wanted to take the space over quickly. I was given a few months' notice and was pretty stressed to find a new home for my work. It's a big energy output to search, find the right spaces, negotiate, pack it all up and move, set back up and attempt to keep working the whole time. The move was last summer, when everything was starting to look positive post-vaccine, which was actually bad timing to start looking for a space since it meant rents were going back up. San Francisco is a really tricky city to find art studio-style spaces—everything gets labeled as a “tech startup” space and rents are inflated.
After a few months of striking out—and with two weeks left on the clock—I came across this really unique set up: A big storefront with an almost equal sized workspace/warehouse in the back connected by a doorway, all on the ground floor of a 100 year old Victorian. Prior to this new spot I had a separate small appointment space that was ten minutes from the workspace. It was increasingly challenging to keep the two spaces connected and functioning. This new set up was ideal and as soon as I saw it in person I wanted to go for it—even though it was in really rough shape and we had to do a significant amount of work just to move-in.
I didn't have a solid plan for the space right away and was playing around with layout ideas and how to approach the division of developing and showing work under the same roof. The more I thought about it, the simpler and increasingly straightforward I wanted it to be—which is a bit funny to me as most of my favorite stores are nothing like what I ended up doing. I've always had some form of presentation space within my workspace, mainly open to clients and visitors by appointment up until now, but once I saw the bones of this space I felt like it was a worthwhile challenge to give it everything I had, to make the best space I could to present my work and the work of people I admire and connect with.
Tell me about the design and vibe of the shop. Is it meant to be an extension of the brand? Like it's all one aesthetic universe?
It's definitely an extension of me, which is true for the clothing and anything I make. It's all one universe. After this project I want to make my apartment the same way. There's really no line to draw in the sand. I'm just expressing myself in the work as my interests evolve, whether it's fabric or furniture or the finish of the walls. I think it all comes from the same root of intuition-guided decisions. It's not like a big intellectual discussion happened about the space design being in line with the product. That probably happens in larger, more calculated corporate environments. I just made decisions and worked out ideas with people to get to the final product, which still will evolve over time.
Is this the home you always dreamed your clothes would have?
The space isn't meant to be some ultimate home for the clothes. It's more of a unique expression in time, a combination of circumstances and people working together with me directing the trajectory. It’s a reflection of this specific space, as opposed to building a space from scratch, that has led to the finished product. So in that way it's more of a reaction—seeing what was here, trying to read what was available and possible, and what would feel the most natural within the given environment. It also occurred to me early on in the process that one should always start simple and leave room for evolution or tweaking later on, rather than do something really high concept or design-specific that isn't as flexible.
I always thought the coolest part about opening a shop would be all of the little decisions you get to make—picking all of the fixtures, that kind of thing. What are some of the things customers will encounter in the shop that you didn't make?
Developing a space is super fun and an intense process. It's about the road to get there as much as the finished product. It's pure expression in three dimensions and all the senses, like putting together a puzzle with no picture of what it should look like. When you find the pieces that you feel go together it's really fulfilling.
As far as making the space, there was a great cast of specialists each working with their own medium, that all had to deal with my myopic vision and me freaking out the whole time. The fixtures in the space range from antique and vintage pieces I've sought out, to contemporary makers like Black Creek Mercantile and Lakes Studio.
I am really excited to share a variety of pieces I've been inspired by—vintage books, furniture, functional objects and some more on the art side. Everything in the space is a result of some discovery during travels or through connections made and friends.
San Fransisco isn't exactly a fashion capital, but it certainly has rich histories of style and culture. What aspects of the city inspire you and influence your work?
I get asked sometimes “Why are you in San Francisco?” Especially from people from outside the U.S. who are into clothing. I enjoy the quasi-punk, underdog feeling of doing something where people don't expect it. The simple answer is that I moved here because I love this place; the city itself feels more like a town since you can pretty much bike to get anywhere and always run into someone you know. Equally important to me is the surrounding nature and small towns within an hour or so north or south. I can be walking in the redwoods or sitting on Mt. Tamalpais completely isolated from society in 30 to 45 minutes.
I am passionate about clothing in general and not necessarily just through a fashion lens. There is a rich history of style from all different eras here, particularly the Beats in the 50's and early hippie movement of the 60's. I think being here allows me not to witness too much contemporary fashion culture, and to exist in my own bubble. I sometimes enjoy certain aspects of the clothing world—but mostly I'm just trying to make simple, beautiful clothing to wear regularly. I'm more interested in elegant tools for living rather than fashion or trends. I like to think that my work is subtle enough to not draw attention, but at the same time, the trained eye can see that it's something special. If I was really into more avant-garde clothing or wild shapes, it would take a lot more confidence and willpower to do it here since you don't really see that stuff on the street.
As a designer you exhibit a tremendous amount of restraint. How do you know when to hold back and when to push into new territory?
Every decision is guided by intuition and circumstance to a degree. We are a team of three to four people doing everything for the moment, and it's a lot of work to make everything function, which doesn't really leave a surplus of time to play around with patterns and sewing and to develop new things all the time. But it also fits in with how I feel about clothing and how I want people to approach my work. I wear the same thing for long stretches of time. For example, I've been wearing the Big Shirt and Elastic Pant daily for a few years now. It's a natural progression based on when my mind evolves a bit and I'm ready to add a new piece or design to the way I dress. I don't want to deal with fifteen styles of shirt, personally. I just want like two or three that I really feel are the essence of an idea, and then to have them in a few different fabrics for different scenarios. Sometimes I worry it's too slow for people and it seems boring when compared to the insatiable speed of most clothing brands creating new styles. But it's honest to how I dress, and it's what I want to present to people. It would be good if we could all slow down a whole lot and get less stuff that carries more meaning for us.
