A conversation with Jesse Lee

I haven’t really talked much about this before, but I grew up between Seoul, Chicago, and Southern California. I spent my elementary school years in Korea, but every summer I visited family in the States. That’s how I kept in touch with American pop culture like music, sports, and sneakers in particular. I would take those things back to Korea with me. But when we moved back to the States, to the suburbs of Chicago, the reverse happened. I’d have cool stuff from Korea that the kids here didn’t have. I didn’t know anybody when we moved back, and I was starting middle school, which was intimidating. But I remember a classmate offered me money for a backpack that I bought in Korea.

Yes, it was early. And my parents had really great style too; they always dressed well. I was definitely inspired by them. Fast-forwarding a bit, my style evolved more with music. I started DJing in high school and throwing club nights in college. Being a club promoter and having a music blog and telling people what music to listen to meant I had to dress the part. The aesthetic is sonic but also sartorial. Back then, it was North Face puffy coats, East Coast hip-hop style, and rave clothing all mixed together. That was my early iteration of streetwear. Design didn’t really come to mind with regards to my aesthetic sensibility until the last 10 years or so—the second half of my time in LA. During those early years, I wasn’t making enough money to afford nice things in my apartment, and I didn’t know anyone when I first moved here.

I started at the bottom: internships, mailroom, retail, assistant—you name it. I kept moving up in these odd jobs because I never said no to anything. I drove people to the airport, ran errands. I went out every night to network. I wasn’t trying to be conniving or have some ulterior motive. I had to meet people in order to get jobs. I was transparent, and people seemed to like it.

I had no choice but to start that way. I never said no. I’d always answer my phone, seven days a week. I’m still trying to do that 20 years later. I try not to ignore DMs or people asking for a meeting or a job recommendation because so many people helped me along in those early years. I landed my first full-time job as a marketing manager for a magazine, which ended up going out of business during the recession, so I was forced to start my own business. I brought back my old music blog and started throwing parties again, and a promotion business was born out of that. We’d throw invite-only parties downtown. DJs who became famous started out there. That’s how I met people like Virgil [Abloh]—he was DJing back then—and that’s how my network grew. From there, I started producing content, events, and strategy for fashion companies because they wanted to be in front of young crowds at New York Fashion Week, Coachella, SXSW, and Art Basel. Everything started melding together—fashion, design, art, music, youth culture. That was my life during my 20s and 30s.

At a certain point, fashion sort of hit its peak for me, and I felt less interested in buying luxury fashion and slowly started collecting vintage clothes and furniture, learning from other friends and people who had good taste. I probably learnt aesthetics through my parents as a child, but as an adult, LA was the epicentre for vintage. You’ve got the flea markets and the Rose Bowl. So many people I know in LA have really cool vintage furniture collections. It’s not always just about price; it’s knowing what to look for, and having a vision for how pieces from different styles or eras can fit together.

To be honest, I was just getting a little bored of being a creative agency for other clients. And I had this network of amazingly talented creatives—musicians, artists, and designers. I thought, why don’t I create my own platform and let my friends sell whatever they want?

I completely attribute that to my wife. She was an early consumer and seller of luxury vintage fashion when we first met 12 years ago. She was always buying and selling things, and a lot of well-known fashion stylists would buy directly from her. I guess I noticed that what she was doing could be a real career for a lot of other people who aren’t necessarily influencers, celebrities, or early adopters. She was making money selling vintage furs and Escada blazers. I started buying vintage personally, influenced by my wife, and that’s literally all I wear now. People used to think vintage was a trend, but I’d say this is a structural shift. I think younger generations from now on will always buy vintage. Scarcity matters, and people want things no one else has. When I was in Seoul last month, I found this pristine Ralph Lauren polo windbreaker, probably made in the ‘80s. I’d rather have that than any new jacket from a luxury brand off the rack.

Right? And I think furniture is the same thing. But provenance is a bigger issue with furniture because there are so many fakes and dupes. That’s why I only work with certain galleries. Even if it’s a little more expensive, I’d rather have peace of mind that it’s coming from the right provenance.

The premise still remains the same: It’s all about curation. But there have been different iterations. A few months ago, we sold an original Jean Prouvé gas station at an event in LA. It was flown in from France and installed here. A collector from San Francisco bought it for her family house in Palm Springs. We can sell a hat for $45 or a Prouvé for $1.5 million, and everything in between. At the core of all the fashion, design, and art is our careful curation. What connects the curation and discovery aspects of anything worthwhile is authenticity. Not just the authenticity of a product being real, but the authenticity of individual sellers. We trust the tastes of our people. I think design and furniture showcase a person’s style in an understated way. It goes beyond clothing. We’ve gotten used to how we dress as an outward form of expression, but if you go to someone’s home, it’s the subtle things that can make you really understand a person’s taste.

We moved into this house a couple years ago, and it came with this pool house that’s pretty big, so I turned it into my studio and office. I wanted it to look and feel like a beach house in Formentera, an island off the coast of Spain, so I had some of the finishing on the walls bring out these original stone elements when we renovated. It came with the original sauna, which still has that nice, warm cedar smell. As much as I wanted the rest of the space to have a clean aesthetic, it felt a little fake to me. I work here a lot, and my desk is messy. I like the impromptu look of just stacking things on shelves. It’s a mix of maximalist and minimalist. I’m not trying to make things look too pretty. I have a Max Lamb chair that’s made out of cardboard—he’s one of my favorite designers. But then you’ll also see the Prouvé daybed mixed in. I have the Devon Turnbull Ojas speakers that are just on the floor, and books and random things everywhere.

I’d rather those things just be sitting here, where I actually use them. And our interior designer hated this, but I insisted we put a hideous, huge TV up on the wall because I like watching and listening to things while I’m working.

A Jean Prouvé daybed with a [Charlotte] Perriand swivel. It’s something I’ve been eyeing for a couple years, and I finally got it from one of our dealers, François Laffanour of Galerie Downtown. He’s one of the most significant Prouvé and Perriand collectors in the world.

I’ve never been a gatekeeper. We want to be exclusive but inclusionary. We like to say that we’re the cool table, but you can sit with us. It all comes down to whether or not someone wants to learn about design in a genuine way.

During the post-Covid ZIRP era, where everyone was spending money like crazy, I think we felt pressure to grow by doing as many drops as possible. That whole era was the epitome of hype.

That’s right. And we were in the thick of all that, but it didn’t feel right. You could sense that it was all fake, and we got out pretty early. We stopped making and releasing NFTs at the end of 2021, so we avoided all of 2022, fortunately. We’re not going to chase trends and hype. That’s ultimately what led to acquiring Design Miami. We felt like design was still a very nascent industry.

The younger generations maybe don’t have a lot of disposable income right now, but eventually they’re going to grow up and into this market. That’s exactly what happened with me. It went from streetwear to luxury fashion to design—a mix of vintage and collectable design. That’s what I mean by ‘nascent’, and that’s why we’ve taken the long view instead of just trying to create hype.

Even though we launched during Covid, I always knew you can never let go of IRL experiences. The first in-person event we did was with Harmony Korine. We live-streamed Korine and his daughter walking around a gallery, and then a month later, we did a project with Virgil and Vitra. We expanded on this idea of IRL-to-URL where we created a set design at a pop-up in Miami Design District, and we live-streamed the store globally on Basic.Space because we wanted to allow people who couldn’t be there access to that experience. The real thing is equally important to the online convenience of a transaction. Since then, we’ve done over 30 pop-ups in LA, New York, Miami, and Paris. And we’re expanding further into Europe and Asia next year.

That’s the way I shop for anything important, whether it’s art or clothing. I have to go see it, touch it, and think about it. That’s our logic. We want people to be able to touch, feel, see everything, but we want people to be able to go home and buy it on their laptop if they’re still thinking about it. Seeing these things in person is how you learn too, right? Just as I learn something new every time I go to an art fair. I’ve always had an affinity for creating events and experiences. It’s different than just scrolling through your Instagram. A lot of fake communities are built online, but I think you can only form these types of relationships in real life.

In the case of Design Miami, the fair had always gone hand-in-hand with Art Basel. We made a difficult decision to not do Basel Switzerland this past summer. It was a controversial thing, but I just felt like we needed to try something new. Instead, we hosted exploratory events in Aspen and Seoul. Aspen is kind of old money. That hits on the traditional, seasoned collector base and prestige. And Korea—Seoul in particular—is kind of the opposite. It’s a young, fast-paced, and futuristic city. I just got back from Seoul last week. One of my favourite experiences this year is Gentle Monster’s new headquarters. I considerGentle Monster to be one of the best luxury eyewear brands to come up in the last decade. They’re in this brutalist building with multiple floors and multiple shops on each floor. Every detail was thoughtful: the interiors, lighting, scent, bathrooms, and all the art installations. I could just sense the vision of the brand without reading about it. There are a lot of forward-thinking movements in Seoul. There’s a vibrant energy that feels like LA or New York City [did] when I was younger.

There was a huge rush down there a few years ago, mostly with crypto and tech, and then a lot of people just left. It seems like it’s settled now and moving forward with more artists and designers who are bringing back that same energy and youthfulness. We’re trying to connect those dots with Design Miami.

Historically, fashion, art, and design were all sold separately. But younger generations don’t like that separation. They want experiences. Even people who don’t have money are travelling to Europe on summer vacation. That’s why many malls and department stores are struggling. I think there’s a new definition for luxury now. Time is the luxury. There has to be an amazing experience on tap for people to dedicate their time. If these experiences include exposure to art and design, the interest will naturally grow. And we want to help redefine luxury. That’s the vision.