On May 2nd, Komune hosted a London Takeover on Orchard Street, bringing together nine British designers for a weekend of cross-continental style and subculture. We were invited behind the scenes to watch the space take shape, speak with the founders, and take part in the buildup. What we witnessed wasn’t just a pop-up, it was a collision of worlds, threaded with purpose and lit by possibility.
Martin Li doesn’t speak much when he moves through a space, he doesn’t have to. With Brandon Fogarty’s lighthearted charm grounding the room, and Alex Tao’s precision anchoring from the edge, the Komune team let the work speak. On Friday, it was shouting.
I am a bit of a skeptic by nature, and fashion often gravitates towards noise. Pop-ups are predictable. But something about Komune’s invitation read differently, less like a pitch, more like a provocation. By the time I saw the lineup, I knew I wasn’t going to miss this. I was certainly excited to meet the team and see what a Komune reception felt like in person, but I wasn’t expecting to be transfixed by the sheer vibrancy of the space.
To put it simply, Komune is a New York collective that spotlights emerging designers. They are working on building a space for discovery, dialogue, and design that cuts deep, deliberate, disruptive, and human. They exist both online and physically. When researching their brand, I stumbled upon a couple of articles featuring the collective, and what I found was a web of like-minded visionaries, from textile artists and jewelry designers to archival polymaths, all cerebral, high-concept thinkers with ideas tucked behind meticulously curated heritage garments.
Immersing yourself in Komune’s online world feels like diving into a black box of fashion anthology—enigmatic, dense, and strangely revealing. “I’m less concerned with Komune in the greater sense of the world, or even New York culture,” Martin, co-founder and store manager among other motley roles, told us, as we sat outside sharing a cigarette while designers Charlie Constantinou and Octi slipped inside to set up the workshop Sophie and I would later attend. “I care more about the people that are in it.”
We arrived around 11AM and were greeted by a storefront that channeled the gritty charm of a London pub in Lambeth, one where Marc Bolan and David Bowie might’ve shared a pint. Inside, we were quickly met with a red telephone box (those public phone booths that were once common thorough the United Kingdom), a collection of curated garments suspended in an air of libertinism and arcane industry, and Alex, who handles press relations, amongst other things (his favorite role, he says sardonically, is Twitter intern).
Brandon, the founder and curatorial authority, and Martin were perched on dainty wooden benches. In the back, an archivist attentively organized racks affixed to the walls. The clothing rails had a stark industrial aesthetic with brutalist overtones. As we wandered to the space, we were caught off guard by the subculture woven into each garment, like vessels of quiet information reimagined as something the body could wear. Foucault once said, “Objects are made to speak… they are caught up in a network of relations that give them meaning.” And here, they did, every piece discreetly declaring lineage, intention, rebellion.
The place was quiet; it was noon, and we sat down to chat with Alex while the rest of the team prepared for a workshop scheduled for 1PM with Octi, one of the designers arriving from London for the rendezvous. Octi was going to teach the group about the jewelry-making process, offering wax molds for participants to carve and customize. At the end, they’d have the option to have their designs cast into full metal rings. “The initial goal of the event was to represent how London is unique within the greater fashion zeitgeist”, Alex said with an air of nuanced sophistication and unmasked interest.
“I think what really makes the city stand out is the resources: both the institutions and the funding bodies that are available for emerging designers. This is why it felt aligned with our store as a whole. In the same way that we try to platform and empower emerging designers, London functions as an incubator and an empowering structure”.
While we were talking, the team started playing The Clash and Martin came over to chat for a bit. “Since our first pop-up, every activation we’ve done has at most 2 brands involved, versus now that we have 9, I'm glad thematically everything looks so different. London is sort of a melting pot of a bunch of random things, similar to New York.”
As Alex spoke, surrounded by garments that seemed to speak to us with layered purpose, I understood what he meant. Komune wasn’t just importing fashion from the capital, it was importing mood, memory, and purpose. And in that room, with wax molds being passed around and punk rock unwittingly enchanting in the background, the distance between two cities momentarily collapsed.
London has long been an incubator for artists and designers, shaped by a mix of historical, cultural, institutional, and socioeconomic factors. For one, it’s one of the most ethnically and culturally diverse cities in the world. Like the pollination of a flower, the fusion of ideas, traditions, and aesthetics here creates a fertile ground for new and innovative creative expressions. At the same time, institutions like Central Saint Martins, the Royal College of Art, and the London College of Fashion produce some of the world’s most influential and imaginative designers and artists. London also has a rich tradition of supporting underground scenes—from the punk movement of the 1970s to grime in the 2000s. Lastly, London’s design culture often feels charged—politically, socially, and emotionally. It’s a city that doesn’t just produce packaged allure, but bold statements.
“One takeaway I’d want to emphasize is that it’s easy to write off the idea that anything can originate from anywhere, but I really do believe London is unique. The city’s environment feeds different looks in different ways,” Alex told us with a certain dry defiance. “There’s a lot of beauty and cultural nuance that gets written off and homogenized because everything is so digital. People think, ‘I don’t need to leave my room—I can see what it’s like in X place if I just go online.’ I hope that when people come in here and experience these creations in person, they’ll really feel the difference.”
It was 1PM, and the workshop was about to begin. At the table were tools and materials neatly laid out, ready to be picked up by creative hands eager to shape jewelry from moldable blue wax. Octi was warm and attentive as we sat down, playfully handling the same instruments she might use in the quiet of her London studio. She explained the magic behind her process with grace. At first glance, her pieces looked organic, almost improvised, but the nuance lay in her precise use of form. The juxtaposition of micro and macro, like the subtle implementation of Fibonacci spirals, emerged naturally, making you think, “Yes, of course, and it’s beautiful.” Her Melon Mountain ring is a perfect example of this philosophy.
We got to work, surrounded by other sharp, creative and open minds. As we shaped our ideas into form, the pieces began to take on a life of their own. “Sometimes you have to go back to go forward,” Octi said, as she gently helped me refine my ring-knuckle concept, sanding away a mistake before carving in finer lines. I finished my piece, and with the help of the team, I’ll soon have my own personalized Komune knuckle-ring cast in metal! And of course, thanks to Octi’s guidance and inspirational approach to creative jewelry.
Sophie and I left after talking about Joy Division and Interpol with Alex in the basement. 7:00PM came unannounced and with it a packet of energies that one could sense blocks away from Komune. The electricity could be felt in the air even as I stepped off the train in Delancey. It was like the opposite of the legend of the whistling ghost, where the whistle or call of a ghost grows quieter as it draws near and louder when it's far away, inverting expectation and creating a haunting tension. Yet in this instance, the expectation was loud and clear, the closer you got to the store the more exhilarating the atmosphere became. I witnessed Komune at the peak of its blossom.
Seeing everyone congregate outside the store was an entrancing experience. I hadn’t even taken any drugs, but I felt like I was on LSD. The hypnotic radiance of each person, their clothes, aura and predisposition, dazzled like moonlight filtering through drifting clouds. You could tell that the brand’s DNA was being reflected on the consumers and shoppers, and even the designers, like a mirror eclipsing its own light. I could see Brandon and Martin everywhere, but weirdly enough I also saw myself, as I caught a glimpse of kids pulling up in full PHS and CCP, just like I would’ve at their age if I had had the funds.
I thought to myself, “Where am I?”. Alex was standing by the door letting people in, and when we saw each other, I went up to say Hi. He reminded me of Charon from Greek mythology, who doesn’t guard the River Styx bridge per se, but symbolically, performs the same role: allowing or denying passage between worlds.
“I look at all of them, and I recognize faces. Some are more familiar than others, but they are all friendly. We know them and they know us.” Alex said, as he vigilantly kept his gaze towards the public of style fiends and drip devils that kept coming in and out of the venue.
I went in and grabbed a drink. The layout was the same as when we had arrived, except the jewelry display had been taken over by a bucket of ice filled with drinks. Martin was organizing one of the racks. When I asked how we keep track of everyone coming in and out, he shrugged: “We don’t really keep count. We kind of send private invitations and, like many other events, the invitation gets passed around. Usually, the people that show up are customers or friendly loiterers that hang out in the store or on the benches outside, so it’s not that much of a headache.” As he answered, he moved toward the ice bucket, restocking it with Gins and Tonics.
Inside, I tried to speak with designers Charlie Constantinou and Octi, but the crowd was intense and I started to feel overwhelmed. I stepped outside for some fresh air and ran into a few fellow Komune regulars, all of whom had nothing but good things to say. “It fosters a collective.”
“It allows for emerging designers to be seen.”
“It strengthens the Asian community, which is scarce sometimes.”
“It carries really cool shit.”
I paused, lit a cigarette, and looked up at the enigmatic UK flag hanging above us, a detail that, in retrospect, brought to mind the question raised at the Q&A panel two days later: “Do you think New York is ready for a London takeover?” The designer’s answer was nearly unanimous: This is more about building a stronger bridge between the two as opposed to a takeover.
The issue of US and UK designers being seen more in Milan and Paris than in their own countries can get tied to a lot of issues, most of them structural. Fashion weeks in Milan and Paris are often better funded, with more established infrastructure, sponsorships, and media attention compared to New York or London. At the same time, like the Komune team believes and many other designers like Charlie Constantinou and Ko Leung, the reason why London is exporting many incredible and talented creatives is because they are being given the space and financial elasticity to be able to maintain longevity in the current climate. “I am very grateful to be able to receive support from the BFC as part of their Newgen programme in the UK, and I think emerging designers in NY would really benefit from a similar system”, Constantinou said during the panel. Analogously, “I think globalization has made fashion feel less mysterious nowadays. Cities and fashion weeks used to play a much more significant role — they were landmarks. You’d see a brand through the lens of its city, with brands promoting the cities and vice versa. But now, the internet has taken over all of that”, states VeniceW.
If I could describe the weekend Komune had for hosting London in New York, I’d depict it as a victorious bloom of dualities and exchange of aesthetic codes. It not only brought exceptional styles and approaches to Orchard Street, but it also illuminated issues that must be taken into consideration when it comes to growing a network of care. There must be structures that support and aid those young designers that want to take off into the universe of producing without drowning in the possibility of slipping through the cracks. Despite the maybe lack of structures in New York that help aid these young brands, I found something irrevocably beautiful as I exited the event: It was dark outside, and I saw Alex by the door, contemplative and pensive, looking at the crowd that had gathered in the benches, covered in clouds of tobacco and perspiration from the warm bodies, I asked him what was he thinking, to which he said “I’m just grateful, you know? “To be able to witness this. One big exchange of identities. I see people I have met before, and I see them meeting new people. I’m seeing real connections become real in real time. It’s a lovely thing to see.” I looked at the crowd and it was true: the dialectic of drape and edge, flourishing like the spring that has now dawn upon us.
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