Go beyond Charleston's King Street to explore the working-class neighborhood redefining southern cool
New Yorkers aren't afraid of a little schmutz. When Queens-born Chef Shuai Wang and his wife Corrie went hunting for a spot to open their new Charleston restaurant, they wanted a place that was both affordable and authentically homegrown—a tall order in a city where home prices frequently soar past $2 million and two-bedroom apartments cost $4,000 to rent a month.
The couple found their answer in Park Circle, a 110-year-old historic garden neighborhood in a fast-changing, working-class community called North Charleston with a gritty heritage standing in stark contrast to the genteel, steeple-stippled skyline, expensive boutiques, and luxury hotels further south. For Wang, who starred in the most recent season of Bravo's Top Chef, that difference felt right.
"Park Circle is Charleston's Williamsburg," he says, drawing parallels to Brooklyn's once-scruffy creative enclave.
The couple opened Jackrabbit Filly on Spruill Avenue five years ago (recently relocating it to nearby East Montague Avenue). They weren't alone. Only a 16-minute Uber ride from downtown Charleston's Marion Square, Park Circle has quietly become the Holy City's vibrant magnet, drawing residents priced out of living "below the neck"—the stretch of peninsula wedged between the Ashley and Cooper rivers and separating North Charleston from the bourgeois world of the historic city.
No such airs are on display in Jackrabbit Filly, the 1970s wood-paneled walls furnished with quixotic thrift-store finds contrast with intricate wood screens imported from China. There's a clatter of plates and the hum of conversation coming from the 44 tables, all booked. The air is filled with aromas of soy vinegar and chili oil, and there is anticipation for dishes such as glass noodles and the Japanese fried chicken known as karaage, so popular devotees drive from miles around to enjoy the food and atmosphere. That's no surprise to Pearce Fleming, whose airy microbrewery Commonhouse Aleworks sits around the corner.
"Park Circle's a place that fosters community," he says. 'It's what we try to do at our brewery. We exist to bring people together to celebrate over a pint of social lubricant."
To encourage that conviviality, Fleming, whose brews include IPAs 'Navy Town' and 'Park Circle' named for his neighborhood, helped establish one of the community's biggest festivals. In 2010, Park Circle was the first to celebrate Pride in Charleston, which it continues to do to this day with more than 40 participating organizations. Now, other annual events like the musically minded Riverfront Revival and Rockabillaque, featuring rockabilly music, classic cars, and barbecue, draw thousands of people.
Music is center stage throughout the year at other venues including Holy City Brewing and the Firefly Distillery, famous for its sweet tea vodka. Visitors can sample the lemony-flavored drink, and its bourbons and whiskeys, in its tasting room. Outside, Firefly's five-acre music space regularly hosts bands. Past performers included Chappell Roan and Willie Nelson.
While a Roan concert wasn't what its founders could ever imagine, Park Circle is finally fulfilling its original intention in some ways. The neighborhood began as a genteel gamble in the 1910s when city businessmen envisioned a streetcar suburb that would lure young professionals and their families north of Charleston's traditional boundaries. "They couldn't kick start interest in moving there," says Brittany Lavelle Tulla, an architectural historian at BVL Historic Preservation Research. "It couldn't just get off its feet."
Instead, the US Navy took center stage. Its base, the Naval Complex, employed 25,000 workers at its World War II peak. Workers performed a variety of duties from disassembling Nazi U-boats to maintaining Cold War fleets. Their communities—which would incorporate as the city of North Charleston in 1972—earned a brawling, blue-collar reputation immortalized in Pat Conroy's novel "The Lords of Discipline."
(Related: Charleston's newest museum reckons with the city's role in the slave trade.)
Yet Park Circle's original garden city design endured. The central circular park, that gave the neighborhood its name, still anchored streets that radiated outward like spokes. When the base closed in 1996, that historic blueprint, combined with the bungalows, worker cottages, and mid-century buildings left behind, created perfect conditions for renewal. Young entrepreneurs and artists soon discovered East Montague Avenue's wide, herringbone-bricked sidewalks—perfect for outdoor cafes, kids, and dogs—and a new chapter began.
The avenue's shops reflect the neighborhood's eclectic spirit. Neighborly modern furniture shares space with local artisans' work. Odd Duck Market sells food and coffee, while Black Octopus Mercantile transformed surf wear into streetwear. The shop is a cheery place, probably due to the ebullience of owner Missy Johnson, who designs most of the merchandise herself. Some of it is regularly featured on the hit teen drama The Outer Banks.
'I love being in Park Circle,' she says. 'We may be off the beaten track but we're quite the gem of the realm sitting between the pine trees and the river.'
The river that Johnson is referring to is Cooper River, where the old naval facilities are also undergoing a metamorphosis.The 140-acre Riverfront Park now occupies part of the former base, including grounds initially landscaped in 1896 by the famed Olmsted Brothers firm for a project predating the naval yards. Walking paths crisscross beneath century-old live oaks, leading to a 1,200-foot boardwalk jutting into the water.
The former base commander's Colonial Revival mansion and its columned porches, or 'piazzas' in local parlance, is now an event space overlooking the river where anglers cast for red drum, spotted sea trout, and flounder. The graceful Noisette Creek Pedestrian Bridge and its two 55-foot-tall steel arches connect the park to the River District North development, an ambitious plan where 70 acres of former naval land will become a mixed-used village with housing, offices, and retail spaces.
While the River District North promises a glossy future, Park Circle's past isn't forgotten. Kelsey Bacon, a floral designer at Roadside Blooms, bridges both. Her great 'grand mamie' Virginia Kirkland toiled in the naval factories during WWII. Bacon thinks she would have been amazed to see the transformations that have turned the community into the one now on travelers' itineraries.
'It's a melting pot of different lives and different people, says Bacon. 'As long as I'm in Charleston I'll be in Park Circle.'
(Related: Discover the best of Charleston with these top 10 things to do.)
Where to eat: The tide-to-table Walrus Raw Bar inside Holy City Brewing offers the chance to slurp local oysters and quaff an array of artisanal beers. On East Montague, Southern Roots Smokehouse features brisket, chicken wings, and traditional barbecue sides. Across the street, EVO Pizza offers wood-fired pies like pistachio pesto or the pork trifecta with a farmer's salad.
Where to stay: Airbnbs on offer in the neighborhood. Something new in North Charleston: The Starlight Motor Inn, an authentic 1961 motel with strong mid-century modern design vibes and live music in its upstairs bar The Burgundy Lounge (Rates from $100). Downtown, The Ryder, which opened in 2021, offers a contemporary vibe different than many of the traditional hotels (Rates from $203)
What to do: New last year, The Park Circle Playground is the country's largest inclusive playground designed to allow full accessibility to children with autism, sensory issues, or in wheelchairs full accessibility. For playful adults, retro Pinky and Clyde's Arcade Bar on East Montague lets patrons play vintage video games like Donkey Kong and Pac-Man. On Spruill Avenue, the Station offers shoppers vintage housewares and clothing as well as new art and fashions curated by a changing mix of some 30 artists, designers, and thrifters.
(Related: 10 of the best hotels in Charleston, from historic landmarks to hipster hotspots.)
Andrew Nelson is the author of National Geographic's recently published travel book Here Not There. Follow him on Instagram.
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Hypebeast
21 minutes ago
- Hypebeast
Kaytranada: Waves of Rhythm
This article originally appeared in Hypebeast Magazine Issue 35: The Wavelength Issue. Whether we inspect the behavioral mechanisms that propel the cosmological motions of the universe or the spiritual shifts within us, the wave is nature's most fundamental rhythm. One either learns the power of its force—or drowns beneath it. For the two-time Grammy-winning artist KAYTRANADA, success—as producer, DJ, and now singer—has been predicated on a profound understanding and manipulation of how the waves flow. This mastery has been both self-evident and continuously evolving throughout his career, as reflected through his production's maturation. Sonic alchemy appears on the track 'Feel a Way,' from 2024's TIMELESS , where his adroit ears transmute the quotidian into gold. It is a seemingly effortless feat in chopping samples to fit his swinging grooves. Here, he takes an innocuous sound, a drag-of-a-joint, from an obscure Jack Margolis record and transforms it into a slinking percussive loop. This is the kind of aural latticing that might be lost on casual listeners, but in perceiving its sonic nature, one realizes how each part of the whole is important—where, in this instance, the sample texturally accentuates the song's salient and hazy ambiance. Throughout KAYTRANADA's process, sounds are expertly flipped, stretched, and run through an effect bus, ultimately becoming his LPs or loosies. Those recordings are then tightly curated onto unassuming flash drives. Tracks are spun on CDJs from a sleek, lectern-like station; his DJ sets become gatherings where the 32-year-old, Port-au-Prince-born artist can commune with the energy his music stirs in the crowd. His sets unfold as an emotionally-pendulous journey. Bodies in the crowd ripple in waves and screams as his careful choreography guides every listener's pulse to his whim. That is craft at work. If it truly takes ten years to become a renowned household name, KAYTRANADA's fifteen-plus have turned him into a cultural fixture. Even a cursory search reveals how trusted he is in the industry, evidenced by an extensive list of credits: from Kali Uchis and PinkPantheress to Mach-Hommy, Aminé, and many other titans. But you don't even need to look; just listen. Whether you're a diehard fan or not, his influence on modern music is ubiquitous. That's not to say he has single-handedly created 'the sound.' He's undeniably a product of his upbringing on the internet, shaped by torchbearers like J Dilla and Madlib. But rest assured, if you hear a bouncy, staccato bass line accented by bright, jazzy synth chords, KAYTRANADA is likely the foundational driver behind those 'type beats.' Yet, even as he appears culturally buoyant, seemingly steady while the industry is engrossed with what's en vogue, his emotional buoyancy is another story. KAYTRANADA, or the public-facing persona many know, is informed by Louis Kevin Celestin, the person. And artistry is nothing without introspection. In conversation, KAYTRANADA describes TIMELESS as one of his most expressive and unencumbered projects to date, explaining that achieving solidity as an artist required an evaluation of his ongoing relationship with existentialism. And through this reflection, KAYTRANADA learned to embrace what we can't control—that we must surrender to the flow of uncertainty. HYPEBEAST: First off, congrats on the three latest Grammy nods. You've been nominated eight times now. How do you mentally process that? What's changed since your first nominations? KAYTRANADA: I feel good. I'm not putting all my attention on it, though, because it'll be disappointing if I lose. I'm nominated alongside some heavy hitters, and it's a toss-up. But they're all amazing peers. Whoever wins, it'll make sense. So yeah, I'm not trying to put my heart into it. Whatever happens, I'm not going to overreact. The core of that sounds like radical acceptance, which reminds me of a Creole proverb I learned: 'Dlo pa janbe trou.' To me, it feels like it's about resilience and understanding that we can't control all hardships, but we can control how we move through them. TIMELESS has that feeling. Yeah, I saw that when I was making this album—especially across the years since Bubba . The pandemic and moving to LA coincided with so many changes. Big life changes. I had to accept that when it comes to making music, it doesn't have to be so important that I feel a need to prove myself or stand out against other albums. I was overthinking a lot while making TIMELESS , wondering, 'How can I top my last one?' It got ridiculous. Eventually, I realized I really don't care. I'm just going to express how I felt in those times. That time of evolution and acceptance—giving up control and letting things be—translates into the album. I'm in an acceptance mood, taking things for how they are. That's connected to a quote from you about how it was hard to be yourself in your salad days while still innovating. What parts of your earlier self did you hold onto, and what did you let go of to embrace this evolution? Like I said, I had a lot of controlling thoughts—overthinking and comparing myself to my peers. That kind of thinking kills creativity: How can I be better than everybody else? That felt ridiculous, but you see how a generation was influenced by people like Kanye saying he and his music are better than everyone else. It led people to believe they needed to think the same. I realized that was a manipulation tactic: Why do I need to be better? Therapy showed me a lot: self-discovery, self-love. I always loved myself, but I never knew it was so important to care for yourself in that explicit way. That wasn't taught to me. After winning a Grammy in 2021, I went through things I didn't comprehend until therapy. I just had to go through a lot of old traumas. I get it, especially in a Black family. The idea is to be great first, then worry about trauma later—or not at all. Perfectionism creeps in. Eventually, we realize we can't keep measuring ourselves against everyone else. We need our own standard, our own lane. Yeah. Growing up Haitian, my mom was always like, 'You can do better than that. I was top of the class, so you can be too.' But I had trouble in school—bad grades, shy, found it boring. No matter how hard I tried, getting an A was tough. My mom would say, 'Why can't you get an A-plus? Why come back with a C-minus or B-plus?' It was always, You can do better. That bled into my music. I had to break myself from those chains. I feel that. My mom used to say, 'This is an A household.' I think sometimes our close collaborators can become a chosen family. That can bring 'family-like' clashes. TIMELESS has a lot of collaborators—a broad spectrum of voices. Despite that, it's cohesive. How did you maintain harmony while navigating creative disagreements? That definitely happened. Early on, I struggled to give feedback to artists. I wasn't great at saying, 'Hey, try this.' Sometimes I didn't trust my ideas, or I wasn't sure I had the idea. So I'd let them do their thing while I made the music. It still felt collaborative, but I got a bit more comfortable speaking up by the end of creating the album. I'm shy, and sometimes I feel my ideas aren't the best. Maybe I'm still healing from past trauma where collaborators told me my ideas sucked. That shattered me and made me not want to speak up. But sometimes their ideas are better—so it's about merging ideas. I never want it 100% me or them. I'd rather have a 50/50 approach to show it's truly collaborative. From a listener's perspective, it's hard to imagine you struggling with that, especially with the album's cohesive flow. And it also marks the return of your brother Lou Phelps as a featured artist. Family can be comforting but also tricky. How did that relationship influence you two musically this time around? It's been a journey. There were moments when we disagreed. As The Celestics, our second project was Supreme Laziness . Around that time, I was blowing up with my electronic stuff, but Lou was still trying to 'make it.' In a family, there can be entitlement. He assumed it would be easy— just drop an album, it'll go fine. But headlines made it seem like 'it was just KAYTRANADA and his brother.' That bothered him—and me. I wanted him to have his own shine. Early on, it was easy to give him my opinions, but he'd shut them down, wanting to prove himself. So I'd think, Never mind, do you. Even if I said, 'I'd change this idea,' he'd get defensive. That was something we had to go through. During the pandemic, he had an epiphany: 'Damn, man, all this time you were trying to help me be better.' Subconsciously, I agreed. He wasn't on my previous albums either, though he wanted to be, which was a scandal for my mom. She asked, 'Why not put your brother on?' But it didn't feel right until now. Lou was ready, and 'Call You Up' was just a demo of his that I grabbed for the album. This journey took understanding, communicating better, and maturity. We still collaborate. The Celestics haven't broken up. Lou's always been around. In both of your growth processes, you saw that family is family, and we just need to let them have space to be them. Exactly. Lots of patience and maturity. There's a vulnerability in that which extends to TIMELESS and its danceability. I told a homie some tracks feel like 'crying while dancing on the dance floor.' How'd you balance emotional weight while giving people something to move to? Life experiences, plus my favorite disco and boogie songs are often heartbreak anthems that are still upbeat. 'You broke my heart, but I'm going to be okay,' type songs. Think heavy instrumentation, bass, strings, drums — like seven or eight minutes, giving you a breakdown that feels so emotional. That's what inspired me. That was always my type of music. I've always loved danceable sad songs, with big chords and heavy drums but also a vulnerable message. Also, on TIMELESS , I explored more R&B, so some songs lean purely that way. That emotion also comes through on 'Stepped On,' where you follow in the footsteps of J Dilla and Madlib's Quasimoto by putting your voice on the track. What made you express yourself that way — where you're even more vulnerable than being behind the track? Pure self-expression. Nobody else has the melodies or ideas I have for my music, except maybe my brother. My beats are upbeat, but I don't always want house-style vocals. Sometimes I want it off-grid, like Raekwon or Q-Tip. In today's industry, people are often on the beat or even ahead of it, so I decided to do it myself. Also, as a Black gay man, I asked, What would I sing about? On 'Stepped On,' I wrote about a breakup and my personality as a yes-man—just feeling stepped on. The lyrics came easily. Being on tour with The Weeknd pushed me, too. I thought, I'm going to try to write a song for The Weeknd to challenge myself. During Bubba , I had demos singing with Thundercat playing bass; I wasn't confident, but everyone said, 'You sound good, Kevin.' I was like, really? Eventually, outside compliments—and compliments from somebody I was dating—pushed me to take it seriously. Now I have more demos stashed. 'Stepped On' was my test to see if people would like it, and it worked. In previous interviews, you've mentioned referencing punk, new wave, noise and genres known for being subversive and pushing sonic and cultural boundaries. How did they become tools for you to push your own or society's boundaries? In those genres, you don't need a perfect singer. It's purely self-expression, often dark, nighttime vibes. I found a link to some sub-genres of hip-hop—Dilla, Black Milk, Madlib—because they'd sample synthy new wave tracks, making them sound funky, electronic, but still hip-hop. When I started searching for those samples, I really listened and realized, They're just expressing themselves with synths and drum machines. They're not trying to stand out by doing something over-the-top or calling in extra producers. They're just being themselves. That was inspiring. I wanted that formula for my vocals: no rigid approach, just expression. Right, it's about letting go of those boundaries. In a way, you're paying homage to new wave/noise's ethos: Get on a track, say what you need to say, and move on. Exactly. TIMELESS is like a time capsule. Listening to those '80s and '90s artists, they'd just make an album—12 songs, here's how I feel. It could be their best album, their worst, or mid. Who cares? It's how they express themselves. I want my future albums to be that way, too. Not, 'Oh my God, gotta create the biggest album and do the biggest rollout.' No, just express yourself. Don't overthink it. Frankie Knuckles once quoted Robert Owens, saying, 'Give me roses while they're dead because I can't use them when I lay.' As an artist whose evolution has been visible, do you think you're getting the recognition you deserve, or is it too early to call? I'm still learning. I also feel not everyone hears what I'm doing—listeners can be lazy, skimming tracks too fast, creating quick judgments. So a part of me feels I have something to prove, but at the same time, I don't. Music is self-expression. I do it for myself and the people who are waiting for more—not for those who don't like it.
Boston Globe
21 minutes ago
- Boston Globe
Shigeo Nagashima, ‘Mr. Baseball' of postwar Japan, dies at 89
More than any player of his generation, Mr. Nagashima symbolized a country that was feverishly rebuilding after World War II and gaining clout as an economic power. Visiting dignitaries sought his company. His good looks and charisma helped make him an attraction; he was considered Japan's most eligible bachelor until his wedding in 1965, which was broadcast nationally. Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up The fact that he played for the Giants, who were owned by the Yomiuri media empire, amplified his exploits. He wore his success and celebrity so comfortably that he became known as 'Mr. Giants,' 'Mr. Baseball' or, sometimes, simply 'Mister.' Advertisement 'No matter what he did or where he went there was a photo of him -- attending a reception for the emperor, or coaching a Little League seminar, or appearing at the premiere of the latest Tom Cruise movie,' Robert Whiting, a longtime chronicler of Japanese baseball, wrote about Mr. Nagashima in The Japan Times in 2013. 'People joked that he was the real head of state.' Advertisement None of that celebrity would have been possible had he not excelled as a ballplayer. Along with his teammate Sadaharu Oh, Japan's home run king, Mr. Nagashima was the centerpiece of the country's most enduring sports dynasty. He hit 444 home runs, had a lifetime batting average of .305, won six batting titles, and five times led the league in RBIs. He was a five-time MVP and was chosen as the league's top third baseman in each of his 17 seasons. He was inducted into Japan's Baseball Hall of Fame in 1988. In his first season, 1958, he led the league in home runs and was second in stolen bases and batting average, earning him rookie of the year honors. One of Mr. Nagashima's trademarks was his work ethic, a trait that was particularly celebrated during Japan's postwar rise. Under the guidance of manager Tetsuharu Kawakami, Mr. Nagashima practiced from dawn to dusk, enduring an infamous 1,000-fungo drill that required him to field ground ball after ground ball. In the offseason, he trained in the mountains, running and swinging the bat to the point of exhaustion. He bought a house by the Tama River in Tokyo so he could run there, and he added a room to his home where he could practice swinging. By the early 1960s, word of his talents had reached the United States. Bill Veeck of the Chicago White Sox tried unsuccessfully to buy his contract, as did Walter O'Malley of the Los Angeles Dodgers, now home to Japanese superstar Shohei Ohtani. (Ohtani offered his condolences on Instagram, posting photos of himself with the aging icon.) Advertisement After ending his playing career in 1974 (his number, 3, was retired), Mr. Nagashima became the team's manager. He was far less successful in that role, at least initially. He pushed his players -- some of whom were his former teammates -- to work as hard as he did. 'Bashing the players this year cultivates spirit,' he told The Japan Times. In his first season, the Giants finished in last place for the first time. The next two years, they won the Central League pennant but lost the Japan Series. The Giants failed to win their division for the next three years, and Mr. Nagashima was let go in 1980. Shigeo Nagashima was born Feb. 20, 1936, in Sakura, in Chiba prefecture. His father, Toshi, was a municipal worker and his mother, Chiyo, was a homemaker. He grew up rooting for the Hanshin Tigers, the Giants' archrival. He took up baseball in elementary school, but because of wartime shortages, he made a ball from marbles and cloth and used a bamboo stick as a bat. After graduating from high school, he entered Rikkyo University, where he started at third base. Rikkyo, typically an also-ran, won three college tournaments. After graduating from Rikkyo, Mr. Nagashima signed a then-record 18 million yen (about $50,000 in 1958) contract with the Giants. As his star rose on the field, speculation about his marital status grew. In 1964, he met Akiko Nishimura, a hostess at the Tokyo Olympic Games who had studied in the United States and spoke fluent English. Their wedding was the most-watched television broadcast in Japan the following year. She died in 2007. Advertisement Their oldest child, Kazushige, played sparingly for the Giants when his father managed the club and now works in television. Their second son, Masaoki, is a former race car driver, and his daughter Mina is a newscaster. Baseball icon Joe DiMaggio joined Mr. Nagashima (left), Minoru Murayama, former manager of the Hanshin Tigers, and a group of young baseball hopefuls in Tokyo in 1983. The event was part of an international sports festival. Tsugufumi Matsumoto/ASSOCIATED PRESS After Mr. Nagashima's first stint as a manager, he worked as a television commentator. His affable style came with occasionally incomprehensible chatter. But his charisma made him an irresistible target when the Giants were looking for a new manager in 1993. Then 56, Mr. Nagashima debated whether to return to the dugout. 'My wife and I were looking forward to a quiet life playing golf, and it was hard to decide to throw myself back into the fight,' he told reporters. 'But I was raised as a Giant, and if I have the strength, I will do whatever it takes for the Giants.' Mellowed by age, he was easier on his players this time around. He also had the good fortune to manage Hideki Matsui, the team's cleanup hitter and one of the most fearsome sluggers of the 1990s. (Mr. Nagashima would later criticize Japanese players, including Matsui, who joined the New York Yankees in 2003.) The Giants won two Japan Series titles, in 1994 and 2000, during Mr. Nagashima's nine-year tenure. In his 15 years as a manager, his teams won 1,034 games, lost 889 and tied 59 times. The Giants made him a lifetime honorary manager. As he was preparing to manage the Japanese team at the Olympic Games in Athens in 2004, Mr. Nagashima, then 68, suffered a stroke that partly paralyzed the right side of his body. Though he was seen less in public in the years that followed, he was no less adored. In 2013, he and Matsui were given the People's Honor award by Prime Minister Shinzo Abe. Eight years later, they were torch bearers at the opening ceremony at the Tokyo Games. Matsui walked slowly, holding Mr. Nagashima, as his old teammate, Oh, held the Olympic torch. Advertisement This article originally appeared in
Hypebeast
21 minutes ago
- Hypebeast
WILDSIDE Yohji Yamamoto Repurposes Archival Fabric in Limited-Edition Patchwork Cushions
Yohji Yamamoto'sWILDSIDElabel pushes the Japanese designer's signature deconstructed, vintage design aesthetic into new territory with its latest limited-edition release, which uses its archival fabrics. However, instead of offering an apparel capsule, WILDSIDE is applying the repurposed materials to a range of one-of-one patchwork throw pillows. Each cushion features eight fabrics in a textured quilt of rectangular patches. Elegant textiles, including a woolen green and blue tartan and an ornate floral jacquard, are contrasted with military-inspired materials like camouflage sherpa and solid green fabrics with stenciled typography. WILDSIDE Yohji Yamamoto wordmarks are scattered throughout the design, following the stencil motif on the front and back sides. While Yohji Yamamoto has released various throw blankets before, often through his Y's for Living line, the newest release expands on recent craft-oriented forays into homeware from his label. In 2022, WILDSIDE unveiled another limited-edition design project with EYEFUNNY, releasing a charcoal-toned stool adorned with floral designs. Later, in 2023, the label collaborated with Miyoshi Rug to transform its red flower motif into a tufted area rug. Like previous design projects, the cushions are made in an extremely limited run, stenciled by hand from 01 to 20, and come with a unique serial number. The WILDSIDE Yohji Yamamoto Limited Edition Patchwork Cushion will be offered at 24,200 yen ($170 USD) exclusively at WILDSIDE's Harajuku boutique.
