Taylor Norman, Author at HUMANITY Magazine

CHEF ENEKO ATXA

Posted on November 7, 2016February 27, 2018 by Taylor Norman

FRANCE MAY HOLD PERPETUAL BRAGGING RIGHTS FOR BEING THE BIRTHPLACE OF MODERN CUISINE, BUT IT’S THE SPANIARDS WHO’VE LAID CLAIM TO REINVENTING IT. AND WITH ASCENDANT, FEARLESS YOUNG TALENTS LIKE ENEKO ATXA WORKING AT THE HEIGHT OF THEIR POWERS, SPAIN SHOWS NO SIGN OF LETTING UP WHEN IT COMES TO REWRITING THE SCRIPT ON WHAT IS POSSIBLE INSIDE A KITCHEN.

Like his country’s culinary godfather, Ferran Adrià, who started a revolution with his work at El Bulli on the Catalonian coast in the 1990s, the 38-year-old Basque chef has become something of a legend among molecular-gastronomy junkies, thanks to his mind-bending embrace of science in his pursuit of flavor and texture as well as his awesome technical wizardry in the kitchen. His base of operations: Azurmendi, located in the heart of his beloved Basque country and currently recognized as one of the best restaurants on the planet, according to San Pellegrino’s definitive World’s 50 Best Restaurants list. It also made Atxa the youngest three-starred chef in his country’s history.

While Atxa is best known for his headline-grabbing gastro experimentation—such as using an ultrasound machine to make garlic-infused olive oil and recreate “natural sea aromas,” or preparing an “inside-out” hen’s egg with a “yolk” of injected truffle broth—those who’ve had the pleasure of actually eating at Azurmendi know that his conceptual reshuffling of the dining experience extends far beyond the plate. To eat there is to immerse oneself in what Atxa calls his holistic approach to cuisine, which begins with his love of Basque culture. “For my people, life is experienced around the table, which is a magic place for us,” he says. “It’s there where one listens to the oldest people in the family, where one can learn, enjoy, understand life, socialize. Gastronomy is the unifying thread of all this experience. The best moments of my life are linked to the table, and for that reason I believe food to be a universal language that can reflect, talk and transmit who we are, how we are, how we live and where we go.”

In the 10 years since opening Azurmendi with his uncle and business partner, Gorka Izagirre, Atxa has continued to develop a conceptual aesthetic that reflects his fierce loyalty to his homeland as well as his total disregard for convention. “In our restaurant you will experience something totally different to what you may live through in Michelin three-starred restaurants,” he explains. That includes a narrative approach to the dining experience that feels very much like a visit to a private home rather than an elite restaurant. An evening at Azurmendi begins in Atxa’s indoor garden, followed by a tour of the outdoor vegetable gardens and greenhouse, where a variety of snacks are playfully camouflaged in between the plants. Up next is a round of small bites during a “picnic” inside Azurmendi’s fully sustainable main building, then a trip to the main dining room, where guests have the option of ordering from one of two menus: “Roots,” which features classic Basque recipes, or “Branches,” home to Atxa’s famed culinary explorations.

Along with his celebrated commitment to ecology and the environment (Azurmendi has been called the most sustainable restaurant in the world), Atxa and his team have also immersed themselves in social causes and public health education, including writing a book on the causes of and treatment for obesity. He’s also well down the road with an ambitious internationalization project that began with the launch of Aziamendi in Phuket, Thailand, in 2013 and will continue with a major announcement in the coming months.

“I always reiterate that the award received yesterday is not valid for today,” says Atxa. “We face a big challenge every day when we open the restaurant, when a client arrives to visit us. We must always start from scratch.”

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DANIEL HUMM

Posted on May 2, 2016February 5, 2018 by Taylor Norman

IN THE VICIOUSLY COMPETITIVE, PERPETUALLY TENUOUS AND TOTALLY UNFORGIVING WORLD OF FINE DINING IN NEW YORK CITY, IF YOU’VE GOT A WINNER, DON’T MESS WITH IT, EVER. UNLESS YOU’RE DANIEL HUMM.

Four years ago, the Swiss expat was rolling. Since taking over the kitchen of restaurant impresario Danny Meyer’s Eleven Madison Park in 2006, the onetime wunderkind (he earned his first Michelin star as an executive chef when he was just 24) had risen to the top of the international food chain. His neoclassical approach to cooking, firmly grounded in classic French technique yet also playful, whimsical and forward thinking, had just scored him four stars from the New York Times, three from Michelin and his first entry (albeit in last place) on San Pellegrino’s annual World’s 50 Best Restaurants list. A definitive, painstakingly crafted coffee-table cookbook was already in galleys. The engine was purring and the house was in order.

Then, with no warning, Humm and his partner/general manager Will Guidara announced that they had just bought out Meyer and were giving Eleven Madison Park a top-to-bottom makeover. It was an unprecedented gamble that paid off in spades. Since reopening in 2012, EMP has been the most awarded (and arguably the most relevant) restaurant in the United States. Famed for its 12-course tasting menu, Humm’s dream house has achieved top-5 status on the World’s Best Restaurants list for three years running.

Humm cites Miles Davis as the inspiration behind the relaunch of EMP, which is understandable. “Davis changed the musical landscape with just a trumpet and a vision—he didn’t reinvent the mechanism.” Humm operates in much the same way in the kitchen, with a less-is-more style whose stock-in-trade is execution, technique and specificity rather than molecular gastronomic invention.

“I’ve always believed that there is beauty in simplicity, that in fact it’s harder to put less ingredients than more,” says Humm of the guiding principle behind his masterfully restrained, exquisitely rendered plates. “As a young cook I would sometimes overthink things and use many techniques and dozens of ingredients on a plate. But now, if I can find a way to showcase only two to three ingredients, that’s a more successful, beautiful and delicious dish.”

The lengths to which Humm and his team go to provide an aesthetically flawless dining experience have become the stuff of legend among those who’ve had the pleasure of experiencing a meal at Eleven Madison Park. For starters, there’s the building itself: the old Met Life building, architect Harvey Wiley Corbett’s 1933 soaring art deco skyscraper in Manhattan’s Flatiron district. The dining room, an expansive, exquisite space with 29 tables, is staffed by four service teams: a sommelier, a captain and two servers, all of whom have spent countless hours in training to meet Humm’s exacting standards. (A maître d’ once joked to New York magazine that it takes 10 months to learn how to pour water properly at EMP.) “We’ve always wanted to bring a bit of fun to fine dining, with an equal importance put on delicious food and gracious service,” says Humm.

In order to keep pace with the standard set by the culinary marvels being prepared in the kitchen, the front-of-the-house team makes a point of doing their homework too. “Guests are joining us for three to four hours and we want them to have fun, to enjoy the meal, but also to be at ease and comfortable,” says Humm. “It’s important to us that we find creative ways to do that and to engage with them on a more human level. Maybe it’s through a communal course we serve on the table, or in going the extra step to provide a guest with something special.”

By the time guests arrive for the famed EMP 12-course menu, the staff will have already done their research, starting with preliminary interviews and extending to everything from cultural/geographic backgrounds to favorite musical genres. Then they’re paired with a dining team who can best relate to them personally. If you’re into bossa nova, don’t be surprised to get a captain for the evening who can hold her own in a conversation about Gilberto vs. Jobim.

“It’s humbling to receive such honors and naturally it provides some validation for the hard work we all put into this restaurant, but it’s important that we never rest on our laurels, or focus too hard on any of the awards,” says Humm. “EMP is a restaurant that’s ever-changing, and if we ever become complacent then the entire restaurant will suffer.”

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HUMANITY N08 Exhibition in Berlin

Posted on April 22, 2016September 28, 2017 by Taylor Norman

HUMANITY Magazine celebrates the launch of its eighth issue with an exclusive photography exhibition at Galerie 206 in Berlin. The works featured in HUMANITY N08 by renowned photographers Francesco Carrozzini, Rafael Pulido, Scott Lipps, and Lee Jaffee will be showcased at the stand-alone gallery space located inside Department Store Quartier 206. The exhibition includes photography from key stories in the Spring issue including Yoko Ono, Anthony Kiedis, Rita Marley, and Sesame Street. Proceeds from the work sold will benefit Silverlake Music Conversatory, an educational music organization where Kiedis serves as a board member, as well as Sesame Street’s global philanthropy, Sesame Workshop. The exhibition is open from April 21st through June 25th, 2016. For more information: https://www.dsq206.com/galerie-206.

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LISA CANCELLI

Posted on April 5, 2016February 21, 2018 by Taylor Norman

Viola Lovely, a boutique with three locations in the Boston area, has been pushing the envelope since its origins in 2006. The boutiques showcase indie designers from across the globe, bringing minimalist but statement-making items to an adoring group of fans. From Isabel Marant to Golden Goose, pieces on offer are painstakingly curated, going beyond here-today, gone-tomorrow trends; and it’s all the brainchild of one woman, Lisa Cancelli, who’s taken a long, winding path to her career in fashion.

Cancelli grew up in Worcester, Massachusetts, the daughter of a self-taught professional jazz guitarist and a mother who “can pretty much do anything creatively.” In virtually all her free time, Cancelli was devoted to her first love, figure skating. “I competed for many, many years,” she recalls. “It taught me a lot about discipline, grit, stamina and will.” Her years as a “rink rat” also gave her a bit of experience in fashion. “I’d design all my own skating costumes. I even worked on them myself—I’d be literally attaching the bugle beads with a needle and thread on the way to competitions.” She quit the sport after having trouble with her hip, but the lessons Cancelli learned on the ice stayed with her. “That art form is so much about presentation,” she says. “You become very aware of the way you hold yourself, the way you look. I always loved the way we could convey who we were to the world without having to speak.”

After graduating from college, Cancelli worked at a few art galleries in Boston and Nantucket. She was working assorted freelance jobs when she was offered a temporary stint in the tech world. (“It was the best money I’d ever made, and I thought, ‘Oh, this is kind of nice.’ ”) That gig led to another corporate job, and she ended up spending years in the decidedly un-artsy world of semiconductors. “I almost got my master’s in engineering management, but I realized, ‘This is not what I wanna do.’ ” By that point, she’d identified a need on Boston’s North Shore for a store that would offer uniquely modern fashion. She was willing to do whatever it took to get it off the ground. “I thought, ‘If I have to sell shoes out of my trunk, I’ll do it.’ ” She opened the first Viola Lovely—which is named after her grandmother—in 2006. Additional locations followed in 2008 and 2013. But the initial years weren’t a walk in the park. “In our first location on the North Shore, they were very vocal if they didn’t like something. For a long time I took it very personally, and it was crushing. It’s your point of view; you’re exposing yourself. But since then, I’ve embraced the element of vulnerability.”

At home, Cancelli is supported by her partner, Peter, a pilot who “ends up taking flights at a moment’s notice.” After the 2010 Haiti earthquake, in fact, he ended up coordinating 40 medical-relief flights and helping orphanages that had been affected by the quake. The couple also have two rescued Weimaraners at home, which can make for an occasionally rowdy household. “Sometimes we bite off more than we can chew, I’m not gonna lie,” she laughs.

These days, Cancelli is more focused on connecting with customers than making a quick sale. “People say, ‘I have no style.’ But they understand a lot more than they give themselves credit for. I love working with them, saying, ‘Let’s bring you to your best self.’ ” While running three boutiques sounds like a hectic undertaking, Cancelli doesn’t seem fazed. “I’ve only been doing this for 10 years, which isn’t that long when you think about mastering your craft. But you take everything you learn, and you bring it all together and make sense of it. Hard work ends up looking good, but you gotta do the work.”
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CURTIS CARROLL

Posted on April 5, 2016February 21, 2018 by Taylor Norman

SAN QUENTIN IS ONE OF THE MOST NOTORIOUS PRISONS IN AMERICA. HOWEVER, IT IS PERHAPS ONE OF ITS MOST PROGRESSIVE. WITH SEVERAL EDUCATIONAL AND THERAPEUTIC PROGRAMS, SAN QUENTIN MAY JUST BE A PART OF HELPING RESHAPE THE PATH TO PRISON REFORM.

By all accounts Curtis Carroll is a killer. He is serving a life sentence for a murder he committed over 20 years ago when he was 16. My own early exposure to violence and the underlying causes of violent crime committed by kids has had me on a 30-year journey working in both juvenile and adult institutions, not only because I don’t believe in throwing people away, but I have learned that many of the criminal offenses that result from poverty and lack of education can be intercepted. I have been motivated to find solutions to end excessive violence and help people heal from trauma.

It was through my work with Lonnie Morris, an inmate and founder of “No More Tears,” a rehabilitation program inside San Quentin, and my Aim4TheHeart/Mic-Sessions workshops that I first met Curtis “Wall Street” Carroll. Carroll discovered and developed his genius behind bars, by creating and implementing a curriculum to teach financial literacy. The workshop he is doing inside San Quentin prison with the support of the California Department of Corrections has the potential to have a massive impact on the lives of young people who grow up unvalued and underserved just like him. His work is not only at the heart of rehabilitation but can affect those who have never known habilitation in the first place. Examining Carroll and his work is an exploration into our humanity and a coming to terms with the value of life.

Carroll was a child born in the heart of the crack epidemic that left a generation of children fighting for survival in the streets. No guidance, terrible examples, an addicted mother, no father present—a boy nurtured by deprivation. He is the result of a community ravaged by drugs and poverty. His was the life that didn’t matter until he took someone else’s. When he committed murder as a teen he didn’t even see a person, he saw an opportunity to take what he didn’t have. Not to mention that the teenage brain is not developed enough to understand the permanence or consequence of one’s action. This is not an excuse but an effort to diagnose a condition that has our prisons filled with primarily black and brown bodies. I have heard it said too many times that life is all about choices. I know that to be only partially true. It is much more complex than that; we are only equipped with the choices we are taught that we have.

This is the story of a young man who found his redemption and reconciliation while learning about finance. It hurts to see what Carroll has created in the worst of conditions. Can you imagine who he could have been had he grown up in an environment that nurtured his gifts—if he had the opportunity to be mentored by lawyers, businessmen, investors and doctors instead of gangs, dealers, pimps, prostitutes and addicts?

In 2014 I led an initiative with University of Southern California law professor Jody Armour, with whom I co-teach a class on “Stereotypes, Prejudice and the Rule of Law.” We brought over 30 law students together with a group of inmates to participate in different programs inside San Quentin for a discussion on law, accountability, redemption and advancing the work of restorative justice. One of the most important parts of the day was when Carroll prompted a discussion about the role of money and business education as a crucial part of any sustainable impact, suggesting that if we want to see a significant decline in recidivism we need to teach commerce—because the majority of offenses stem from crimes related to economic advancement.

As I learned more about the course he created and taught every Thursday, I was interested. I asked if I could attend his workshop. My own work with youth has been in emotional literacy, but I know that it goes hand in hand with what he was developing. With the support of Lieutenant Sam Robinson and Media Specialist Larry Schneider, I was invited to join and allowed to document my experience. Carroll opened the class of about 50 men in a large circle. He has a gentle, unassuming presence with deep eyes and a huge smile that lights up the room. He doesn’t look a day over 25, and yet when he begins to talk he commands attention. I was moved to tears. Why did he have to lose his freedom to find his way? It is one thing to become literate in the world of wealth but another thing entirely to be able to translate it. He has done both.

He opened the session with a discussion about the meaning of the word “money.” It was fascinating to see the varied responses when he asked for everyone’s definition. He connected the study of business to dreaming, having a mission and goals for one’s life. He has created a framework for learning that is accessible to those with no experience, and he speaks in a language that is relatable. His work can be duplicated and he encourages everyone in the room to take what they learn and apply it to friends and family on the outside. He gives the participants a window into family structure, morality and its relationship to the world through the study of capital, with a mathematical breakdown of how and why crime doesn’t pay. The study of business is a study in values, he explains, specifically what and whom we value. A child who is not valued never learns how to value himself, nor the capacity to value others. Through his class I witnessed how empowering it is to become financially literate. What struck me the most was watching him reclaim his power in the service of others and reconstruct the mindset of the inmate population to rethink approaches to making money. In one of America’s most notorious prisons, here is a young man incubating the economic engineers of tomorrow. Many of these men will now have the opportunity to lead productive lives as a result of Carroll’s class.

The brutality of racism and sheer waste of human life has never been more present than in prison privatization and its mass incarceration of people of color. It is a travesty that most people don’t want to look at. The politics of unrelenting pain turned rage play out in pages of court transcripts and so many lives lost in the system. Inmates have become North America’s working capital and end the school-to-prison pipeline. It’s do-able—I want us all to want to see a better world in our lifetime. I want to see people like me, who were born wanted and loved, to care for those not as fortunate. Empathy can go a long way. Instead of throwing away this young man, we can look at ways to let his gift be better served and hopefully prevent more wasted life, because sometimes the brightest minds are behind bars blinded, because brilliance misdirected is lethal.
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ROBERT T. KNIGHT

Posted on March 30, 2016September 28, 2017 by Taylor Norman

ROBERT T. KNIGHT MIGHT JUST BE CHANGING THE FUTURE OF HOW WE THINK.

That’s not hyperbole—the neuroscientist, neurologist and UC Berkeley psych professor is working on projects that center on the brain’s frontal lobe, an area that’s at the core of understanding human beings and our diseases, neurological disorders and psychiatric issues. “We’ve been working with a group in Germany where we stimulated the reward area of the brain,” he says. “We studied five intractable alcoholics, and with that stimulation, they stop drinking. I’m also involved in a project where we’re trying to alter mood behavior by stimulation.” So someone whose depression hasn’t been treatable with medication could have their mood changed in a period of months—effectively altering their brain’s physiology. “I know it sounds crazy,” he acknowledges.

Knight is fascinated by how the brain functions and the way it misfires. For example, there’s been plenty of debate lately regarding head trauma in professional athletes. “I’ve been working on a new helmet,” he explains. “It diminishes the amount of force that gets to the skull and the brain when you’re hit.”

Another of his projects focuses on the brain’s response to marketing. Around seven years ago, he and two other scientists developed a way to measure people’s cerebral responses to advertising, working with an outfit called NeuroFocus. Nielsen (as in the ratings) was, of course, interested in the technology and bought the company. His ongoing partnership with Nielsen has allowed him to develop yet another monitoring system. “It’s a wireless EEG system, like a swimming cap, that records your brain’s electrical activity.” While a conventional EEG costs about $50,000, he’s optimistic about getting the cap’s cost down to $200. “Roughly 75 percent of the world doesn’t have access to an EEG,” he says. “So if a kid falls down, you don’t know if it was a heart event or a brain event. If we could get this into sub-Saharan Africa and rural China, you could measure anyone’s brain waves, transmit that information to an iPhone and transmit it to a neurologist so they could take a look.”

Given his impressive set of skills, you might be surprised by Knight’s upbringing, which wasn’t packed with Montessori schools or Baby Einstein DVDs. Raised in rural New Jersey near a Superfund site, Knight grew up in a 480-square-foot house, where he shared a tiny room with his brother. “My dad was an eighth-grade dropout—his father died and he had to work,” he explains. “His educational plan for us didn’t include tutors. It was basically, ‘Keep going to school till you can’t stand it anymore.’ As soon as we finished eating, my mom would say, ‘Get out of the house and don’t come back until the next meal. And wear clean underwear in case you break a leg.’ ” At night, he and his sibling would “blow things up and do all sorts of crazy stuff in our room.” That brother? He’s now a botanist who has discovered several new species. Knight says that at a family party years ago, someone asked his mother why her boys had turned out so well. She cracked, “I think there was something wrong with the water.”

There were more happy accidents along the way. “My plan was to become an architect, and the first day of college, they said you had to take mechanical drawing, and I said, ‘Forget it. What major doesn’t have that?’ They said physics,” he recalls. “So I became a physics major. I was basically functionally illiterate. Really. They let me substitute COBOL [an early computer-programming language] for my language requirement.” Then, one professor changed the course of his career. “I saw all these guys and gals who’d done Ph.D.s and postdocs in physics who weren’t finding jobs. So I asked my professor what to do. And she said, ‘You’re a smart guy—why don’t you go to med school?’ ” In his junior year, he applied to med school but realized that biology, which he’d never taken, would be on the test. “I got a biology book, read it, took the admission test and got in. You can’t make this crap up,” he laughs. “It’s serendipity.”

Since becoming a full-fledged scientist, Knight’s taken a special interest in epilepsy, which is sometimes difficult to medicate. “There’s about 3 to 3.5 million people in the United States with epilepsy,” Knight explains. “And of those, about 15 percent aren’t controlled with seizure medications.” To treat them, Knight and his lab team place electrodes deep in their patients’ brains. They’re taken off their meds and monitored in the hospital. “Once we’ve got three seizures that all come from some specific point,” he explains, “they go to surgery.” The onset spot is then removed from the patients’ brains. “It’s really a remarkable procedure.”

His current research is so complex and fantastical, it almost seems like sci-fi. But Knight is uniquely well equipped to explain his work in terms even a kid could understand. “I started a journal two years ago called Frontiers for Young Minds. We ask scientists to submit a paper targeted at 9-to-15-year-olds. Then kids review the paper, and the scientists have to make any changes they want. It’s really designed to empower kids, but I think it’s going to be a resource for anyone to get information in an understandable manner.”

The National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke has awarded Knight (twice) for his work, and in 2013, he was given the Distinguished Career Contributions Award by the Cognitive Neuroscience Society. But he clearly doesn’t take himself too seriously. I ask about an odd-looking profile photo he’d posted online, on a medical journal’s website. “That’s my grandson eating chocolate out of the garbage can,” he laughs. “It’s funny you should bring that up. A week ago, the editors of the journal asked if I could replace it with another profile picture, so I sent them a shot of me wearing an Elmo shirt. So we’ll see how that goes. I’m not rolling easy—I’m from Jersey, man.”

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OFR

Posted on March 25, 2016February 27, 2018 by Taylor Norman

The website for Ofr (pronounced like the individual letters, O-F-R), the Paris-based minichain of bookstores, is rarely updated; the last event listed was back in 2013. The home page reads, “No more time for this website and no more time for phone.” But considering how much Ofr, and its co-founder, Alexandre Thumerelle, are up to, it’s easy to forgive this slightly underdeveloped web presence. The 19-year-old entity (which has three permanent shops in Paris and one in Tokyo) hosts events weekly, including live music, book parties and art openings. And, of course, the shops offer plenty of tangible objects, ranging from small souvenirs to serious indulgences. “We have postcards that are 1 Euro, and expensive photography books that cost, like, €5,000,” says Thumerelle.

Ofr is less like a traditional bookstore and more like a collective with a few different clubhouses, united by a passion for art and community. And Thumerelle’s affection for live music ensures the shops are always generating some kind of beautiful noise. “Last year we organized an event with Thurston Moore from Sonic Youth. Two weeks ago, we did a show for Herman Düne.” But Ofr’s influence goes beyond one-off events. “If people have an idea, we can transform it into a book,” he explains. “Or if they have a book, we can sell and promote it. Ofr stands for Open, Free and Ready. And that’s what we try to be: super available, and capable of transforming an idea into a reality. So we’re open every day of the year, and we have live events two or three times a week, all year long.” If that wasn’t enough, Ofr also has a weekly live radio show, recorded right in the store. “We do a lot of music and interview people around us, sometimes even people in the shop at that moment.”

Thumerelle started Ofr in August 1996 with the help of his sister Marie, who’s three years his junior. “It was sort of my idea—I needed someone I could trust.” But they’ve collaborated in some form since they were teenagers. The siblings produced the first Daft Punk concert in the early ’90s, and they’re close with the band Phoenix, who created music for Thumerelle’s first film, En Route. “Whenever I’d say, ‘I need you,’ she’d be there,” he says. “I’ll be 44 this year and we’ve worked together since I was 16. That’s a lot of years.” Their partnership even extends to real estate: They recently bought a house together in the south of France, which will serve as an artists’ residence. “So if artists in Paris need some air or space, we give them keys and they can stay a week or a month,” he says. “It’s a big house by a river. It’s not trendy at all, but it’s a nice place to produce a show or a book.”

Given how fractured familial relationships can be, it’s a wonder the two have happily worked side by side for so long. “Sometimes there’s huge drama and we think it’s the end of Ofr—it’s happened a few times,” he says. “But we’ve made it through. We’ve been through lots of catastrophes and we’re still super close.” So close, in fact, that he takes care of her baby weekly. “I’m not just an uncle on the phone, or an uncle from time to time. I try to really be important to him.” Thumerelle’s a family man as well—he has three children with his American wife. (“Even with this I don’t speak good English,” he jokes self-deprecatingly.) “I like taking care of kids,” he says. “My two older kids are teenagers now, and we really listen to each other, and it’s wonderful. That’s my biggest success, being close with the kids. It’s not easy, but it’s real.”

While Ofr is a tidy acronym, there’s a deeper meaning to being “open, free and ready,” says Thumerelle. “It’s about being free to build the life you want. Being open, free and ready are the three qualities that make you a happy person, because you’re not just a dreamer,” he explains. “You’re someone who can fight back, and you’re not afraid. You believe in yourself.”
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HIRO IKUTA

Posted on March 23, 2016September 28, 2017 by Taylor Norman

In the past month alone, Hiroruki “Hiro” Ikuta has put over 1,000 miles on his car. That doesn’t sound like anything out of the ordinary for an average Angeleno, but it’s practically a milestone for Hiro, who clocked in less than that during the two years he owned a car in Japan. But now, as a newly minted Redondo Beach resident, a car is not only essential to his daily commute to Downtown Los Angeles; it’s symbolic of his new life in America.

“In Japan, I took the train every morning and night. You just stand and listen to music. There’s not even room to read a book, or space to make a move. You just stand there,” he says. “Even though we have traffic here, the car is your own private space. You can think without pressure from everyone else. That’s a good thing.”

Add it to the ever-expanding list of things Ikuta is enjoying since moving to the West Coast to take on the role of Citizens of Humanity’s general manager of international production and fabric sourcing. “California is a place of dreams for everybody,” says Ikuta, who was born and raised in the Japanese port city of Yokohama, as the younger of two children. His formative years were spent at a private boys’ school, where soccer was his passion, though occasionally fashion did come into play. Weekends meant trips to Tokyo, where the latest European and American designs were regularly on display, thanks to both a strong foreign military presence in Japan and the country’s booming economy. “At that time, we could only wear a school uniform, and that stuff was so expensive for high school students, so we got a lot of things secondhand,” says Ikuta, who during school days was resigned to wearing a sailor-like uniform, which now makes him chuckle.

Ikuta graduated and went on to study economics at Yokohama University, and, inspired by a friend who had matriculated ahead of him, applied for a job at a major national trading company that handled both imports and exports across a variety of fields, from textiles to energy. Ikuta, then 22 years old, was selected to join the fashion sector, where, in typical Japanese style, he immersed himself in everything from logistics to accounting, working 16 hours a day or longer—sometimes even sleeping at the office.

Three years later, Ikuta was offered a position in domestic textile sales, where he began to study the intricacies of Japanese denim. “I learned a lot about quality control issues, and what makes a fabric good,” he says. He brought his knowledge to the European market for the next seven years, working with clients ranging from Diesel to Replay, and began developing his own fabrics for his company. “Denim has a long history, but it keeps changing. It’s a simple indigo-dyed fabric, but it can still be improved,” he says about what draws him to his work.

In 2008, he was sent to Hong Kong to manage the company’s business in China in addition to his European clients. It was during this time he first crossed paths with the Citizens of Humanity team. It took three years before Ikuta finally came on board with the brand, fulfilling not only his dream to move to the United States but also to work for a company that made its own product. “The name, Citizens of Humanity—it sounds good to me,” says Ikuta. “It’s representative of my lifestyle. I like people. I like to be honest with everybody. It’s one of the reasons I joined this company.” This spring, he packed up his life (including 80 pairs of his 150-strong collection of denim) and headed for the Golden State.

In addition to his new role, Ikuta is also learning his way around the culture of the American workplace—a far cry from the rigid structure of a Japanese corporate environment. “Here, everybody has their own freedom, and that comes in the form of responsibility. Everyone has to be mature. In Japan, responsibility only comes with age,” he explains.

Even the finer points of life in America, like food, have taken some getting used to. “When I was younger and first came [to California] for sales meetings, I was quite fanatic about real American hamburgers,” he says with a laugh. “I used to try a lot of that kind of stuff.” These days, however, it’s all about the abundance and affordability of fresh, organic vegetables, which are expensive to come by in Japan.

But for all the differences between Ikuta’s life in Japan and California, there are similarities, too—most notably his love of water sports, including sailing and more recently surfing. “My hometown is near the beach,” he says of his decision to settle on the ocean in Los Angeles, too, where he is now committed to surfing as often as possible.

“Surfing is like driving,” he says of his two passions. “When you ride your board or play in the waves you don’t feel pressure and you can think.”

Spoken like a true Californian.

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Danny Trejo

Posted on March 21, 2016February 27, 2018 by Taylor Norman

The film Machete was a joke from the start. It began as a trailer with no movie to go with it, made as part of Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez’s double-feature Grindhouse, a movie about bad movies. Then, when Rodriguez decided to make his farce into a real film, a comedy about border issues centered on a Mexican-American super killer, he chose as his star a guy who’d stumbled into movies accidentally.

Danny Trejo, a born-and-raised Angeleno with long dark hair, a gravelly voice and a distinctive weathered face, would be “Machete.” And he would be quite good at it: He’d take low-riders on spins, use knives to fight off gun-toting villains and get the girl despite the odds. At 66, he would go from supporting actor to leading man.

“My mom was calling me Machete before she passed,” remembers Trejo. He’s sitting in his backyard in the San Fernando Valley, a few yards away from his prized avocado tree. He’s wearing boots and black pants, but he’s just taken off his shirt for a photo shoot—the photographer wanted to see the tattoo on his chest, of a woman wearing a sombrero. Nearby, there’s an oblong swimming pool with a machete tiled into the bottom of it. He laughs about that.

“I was in France,” he says. “Max, my assistant, he put that big machete down there.” It was meant to be funny. The oversized machete-shaped decorations on top of his garage are meant to be funny too. “I love it,” Trejo says of the machete joke. Three of his five dogs gallivant around the yard, and the smallest jumps up to rest his paws on Trejo’s lap. “That’s John Wesley Harding,” he says of the dog. “The meanest cowboy in all the world.”

Trejo, who refers to himself as a drug counselor rather than an actor, was born in 1944 and grew up on Temple and Figueroa, near downtown L.A. He had a rough youth. He developed a drug habit early and participated in a string of armed robberies, going in and out of prison several times before landing in San Quentin on drug charges. While there, he fell in with a group of men in on murder charges. For a price, they would protect newcomers from the inevitable dangers of prison life. “Prison is the only place in the world where there’s only two types of people: There’s predator and there’s prey,” says Trejo. He learned to be a predator with a business plan.

In 1968, he and two friends were involved in a prison riot. A sergeant was hurt, as was a civilian. While in solitary confinement, sure he would receive a death sentence, Trejo prayed. “God, if you let me die with dignity,” he remembers saying, “I’ll say your name every day and do whatever I can for my fellow man.” But charges were never pressed. “One thousand guys on the yard and they couldn’t get a single witness,” Trejo chuckles. “I thought it would be a couple of years before I’d be dead. It’s been 46 years now.”

He was released in 1969 and started working as a drug and alcohol counselor a few years later. In the mid-1980s, he went to visit the set of Runaway Train to check up on a kid he was counseling who was working as a PA on that set. While there, he ran into an old prison friend turned screenwriter, Eddie Bunker, and before he knew it, he had a small role in the film.

“And I just kept getting job after job. I found that if you’re pleasant, people tend to gravitate toward you,” he explains. “The first five years of my career, I was just ‘Inmate Number 1,’ ‘Bad Guy 5,’ ‘Tattooed Guy.’ I didn’t know what typecasting even was.”

He remembers being on a particular set and having a director pull him aside. “ ‘Danny,’ the director said, ‘I want you to hold this shotgun and kick in this door. It’s a robbery. You’re going to rob a poker game.’ ” Trejo kicked in the door, taking out a stuntwoman and a “big hillbilly” before the director yelled, “Cut.”

“My god, Danny, where did you study?” the director asked.

“Vons, Safeway,” Trejo answered. It had all come back to him immediately, the adrenaline rush and the performance of being the robber in real life.

By the mid-1990s, Trejo began to receive speaking parts. He appeared as Navajas in Desperado and a thug called Razor Charlie in From Dusk Till Dawn. Still, even after his movie career started taking off, he says he had no aspirations as an actor.

“I still work for Western Pacific Med Corp. That’s my real job. I still work with addicts and alcoholics,” he says. “Let me tell you what that did for me,” he continues, referring to his acting breakthroughs. “My passion is talking to young kids in trouble. Well, the trouble with talking with kids is that first you have to get their attention, which is impossible because they have none. And then you have to keep their attention, which is impossible because of number one: They have none.” Now, he goes to schools and kids listen. “Not Danny Trejo, that’s not who they’re listening to, but the guy from Spy Kids, the guy from Desperado, the guy from any movie they’ve seen.”

All the assistants who live in his house, who have been coming out to feed the dogs and who take care of business when Trejo’s traveling, are former addicts he’s counseled. Today, his 27-year-old son Gilbert is in town and the two are driving down into Hollywood to take a meeting at the American Film Institute about a script Gilbert wrote, a strange spin on Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow-Up and Brian De Palma’s Blow Out. Trejo’s most recent project was a PSA for the Friends of Animals, for which he wore a full-body dog suit and played “T-Bone.” He’ll sign autographs in Canada later this week.

“I’m blessed,” says Trejo, recalling something Eddie Bunker told him: “The whole world can think you’re a movie star, but you can’t.”

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DIBI FLETCHER

Posted on March 17, 2016October 3, 2019 by Taylor Norman

THE FLETCHER FAMILY, OFTEN CALLED “THE FIRST FAMILY OF SURFING,” IS RENOWNED FOR ITS DYNAMIC MEN, BUT AT THEIR HEART IS THE EXTRAORDINARY DIBI FLETCHER.

“I’ve always been an achiever, but not in a predictable way. I didn’t like school; I didn’t like the kids in it. I always felt like an outsider. I ran away with Herbie when I was 16. And then you better have pedal to the metal, honey! No education, no skills, and it was just the two of us. And so we ended up doing all this stuff—maybe we were too dumb to know we couldn’t.”

That’s Dibi Fletcher, telling how the Fletcher dynasty came to be. Dibi is a fireball of a conversationalist, blond hair framing her vibrant face, chunk jewelry accentuating her expressive hands, a voice of great empathy yet great force. She punctuates her observations with screeching laughter. She asks big questions, then throws her hands up to the sky. She exudes a sense of absurdity, as if perpetually flabbergasted by the mysteries, ironies and atrocities of life.

We are sitting in Dibi’s office in San Clemente, California, which is decorated with family pictures and Dibi’s paintings and sculptures. The Herbie she refers to is her husband of 47 years, Herbie Fletcher, surf wizard, founder of Astrodeck traction pads, producer of the Wave Warriors video series. They have two sons: Christian, 45, aerial surf icon since the late ’80s, and Nathan, 40, champion surfer/skater/snowboarder/dirt bike rider. And two grandsons: Greyson, 24, son of Christian, is one of the world’s best skateboarders. Laser, son of Nathan, is only 2, but he’s already surfing, skateboarding and occasionally riding around on uncle Christian’s Harley. And that’s not even mentioning Dibi’s sister Joyce, ’65 and ’66 world surf champion; dad Walter Hoffman, big-wave pioneer; and uncle Flippy Hoffman, surf-world rapscallion.

#fletcherdna, as Dibi ends her Instagram posts, is something extraordinary. They are perhaps the most influential family in surfing history. I first met them in the early ’80s when Christian, Nathan and I were on the amateur circuit. I’d see them at contests between San Diego and Santa Cruz. They were eccentric. Dibi had pink hair and wore loud outfits. Herbie was an eternal teenager, pulling crazy tricks on a canary-yellow longboard. Once, Christian invited me up to their truck for a bite to eat. Dibi, clad in bright-colored tights and flashy running shoes, served us an avocado and alfalfa sprouts sandwich on whole wheat bread. Most everyone I knew at that time ate junk food. Dibi was a strict vegetarian. “This is the good stuff,” she explained, and went on about the value of healthy eating. “Okay, I’m out of here,” she said, handing Christian the car keys. Then she trotted off on what I would learn was her daily run—12 to 13 miles in soft sand.

And that’s the Dibi Fletcher I’ve known for over three decades—always deeply immersed in some giant passion. First it was running and vegetarianism, then it was painting and sculpture, then it was ballroom dancing, then real estate, then gemology. Today she runs the family business, Astrodeck, and writes, and cycles 25 miles a day.

“When I get interested in something I just get immersed in it,” she says. “I get every book I can find on it and I get up at 4:30 every morning and read for a couple of hours.”

Astrodeck HQ sits atop an industrial district in San Clemente, the small beach town that’s been home to the Fletchers for as long as I’ve known them. Five years ago, with the economy in a horrible place, Dibi took the helm of the business, which started in 1976, so that Herbie could focus on his art career. “My family is my biggest achievement,” she says. “We’ve done it our way. And my best talent is to see where something is needed in my family and to come in and fulfill that role.”

I ask her what it’s like being surrounded by action men who charge giant waves and ollie over tall buildings. Before I can finish she chimes in: “Why do you think I turned out the way I am? Was I going to be the delegated chief? Fuck you, I’ll fight you for chief!” We share a big laugh.

“I really wanted to keep Astrodeck going,” she says. “Herbie invented it. He did a lot of firsts in the surf industry and certainly didn’t make the money that a lot of the others did. And I thought it was very important to keep this, as part of a legacy. And I’m not afraid to work. I don’t care if it’s not glamorous. My UPS driver did say I’m the best-dressed person on his route! I said, ‘Of course I am, darling!’ ” She giggles. “But anyway, I’m not a quitter. I never give up.”
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