One of Chris Black’s first jobs was working the floor at a shoe store in Atlanta, Georgia, where he sold brands like Vans and Converse to moms and local crust punks. “I made a fortune,” he told me at an East Village coffee shop this week. Well, a fortune for a 19-year-old high school dropout living in Atlanta, Georgia, in the early 2000s. But a fortune, nonetheless. “My rent was like $500, I spent the rest on drugs and alcohol, and I always had new shoes,” he said. “It was a dream situation for me.”
Chris, now 43, has always been drawn to clothes and shoes, and, thankfully, has always been good at talking about them. After a stint in the music business, he started his own creative agency, Done to Death Projects, in 2006, and is now the guy you turn to for a definitive opinion on fashion and style, specifically, menswear. He consults for mall brands like J.Crew and luxury brands like Thom Browne. In 2019, he began writing a shopping advice column for NYMag’s The Strategist called “Ask Chris Black.” Plus, he writes a monthly culture column for GQ. (Last month’s was titled: “What I Meant When I Said Substack Isn’t Cool.”) Of course, like any man with strong opinions, he also co-hosts a “bi-coastal elite” podcast called How Long Gone.
On Friday, Chris and his co-host, Jason, asked their guest, Olivia Nuzzi, about her Instagram algorithm. The day prior, Chris happened to launch his own brand, Hanover. Named after the street he grew up on in the Atlanta suburbs, he’s spent the last two years developing it with a creative team including Sam Jayne, who did the How Long Gone merch.
Why launch a brand now? For starters, “things have just gotten too expensive,” said Chris. Everything in the line is currently priced under $300. (This will likely change when he expands to categories like outerwear.) It’s also made in America. “I’m trying to make stuff that’s cool and very affordable,” he said. “I also think men… What do we really need? Everybody needs to calm down.”
The first release is a tightly edited collection of jeans, polos, oxfords, t-shirts, sweatshirts, and accessories. It’s a little bit J.Crew. A little bit Entireworld (RIP), if you ask me. “I’m not trying to be a designer,” Chris clarified. “I have too much respect for the art form and people who really do it.” But he can get all the quote-unquote right people in a room together to execute his vision. “All I have to offer is a point of view and being able to make very clear decisions very quickly.”
Naturally, this makes Chris not only good at his job but also good at shopping. (Which is also kind of his job.) “Anytime I go anywhere, the first thing I do is go to stores,” he said. “That’s what I want to do.” On Wednesday, we met at Mast Books in the East Village and then walked over to Abraco to chat for an hour about the state of retail. Below is an edited version of our conversation. You can shop Hanover in-person today (Saturday, December 6) from 12 to 6 pm at 86 Walker Street in New York.
Emilia: What have your shopping columns taught you about what men want?
Chris: What I like, and what I think a lot of men like, is the stuff that I consider to be the foundation of American clothes. So, polos, oxfords, jeans, sweatshirts, etc. The stuff that people actually wear. I don’t know if it can be improved upon, but it can be made well and priced well. And then hopefully we get [customers] in the door with [the Hanover] brand world. I want to appeal to a pretty wide audience. This isn’t necessarily for my peers in New York and London. I want the guy in Austin, the guy in Nashville, the guy in Atlanta… We have to reach those people.
As you were describing Hanover’s mission, specifically wanting it to be affordable and made in America, I have to say, I was reminded of Scott Sternberg and Entireworld (RIP).
I mean, Scott and I have talked the whole time. He’s given me some cautionary tales, of course. I think that Scott is a genius, especially at marketing and how things are presented. Without having physical retail, the hardest part is bringing people into your world, for lack of a better phrase. With Entireworld, when that website came out, people were just like, What the fuuuck. [Complimentary.] But he also already had such a big following. I think it’s smart when you come from something like Band of Outsiders, which was very expensive, for your next thing to be affordable. That’s a nice hook. But, yeah, it’s funny… I talked to Scott a lot, but I think of [Hanover] as different. I’ve never had employees. There’s no crazy headcount or office space and all that shit. We kind of just did it. And that feels good to me. We’re not trying to do things before we need to.
One of your first jobs was in retail. What did you do?
My first job was at a shoe store called Abbadabba’s in Atlanta. It’s a small chain that sells Converse, Vans, Clarks, Birkenstocks… So it’s rich moms, but also crust punks who want Vans or Converse.
Were you good at it?
I made a fortune because it was commission. So, I was 19, and making a lot of money. My rent was like $500, I spent the rest on drugs and alcohol, and I always had new shoes. It was a dream situation for me. After that, I worked in another store, then another store. That’s what I did until I managed a band and started a quote-unquote ‘real’ career. But I love retail. I would love to work somewhere, like, one day a week.
What do you love about retail?
The people. I don’t want to work in restaurants because they smell bad, they're dirty, and you gotta stay up late. But I love being there from 10 am to 6 pm. Your coworkers are usually relatively cool. And you learn what shopping really is about.
What is shopping really about?
I think it’s different now because of Instagram, but back then, it was about how it made you feel and about dealing with people’s insecurities. You get some of that in restaurants and bars, but people are fucked up, so it’s different.
The last job I had before I left to manage a band was at a store called Standard. This was the beginning of the boutique thing. Y-3 was popping. So was Fred Perry, Nike QuickStrike… Our customers were Usher and Elton John. I learned to deal with those people in a way that felt good for me. I treated them like everybody else. And they are, in a lot of ways, especially when they’re shopping. Obviously, they’re buying more, but the same rules apply.
My boss at Standard taught me about luxury. He gave me the first Terry Richardson book and bought me a Chrome Hearts t-shirt in 2004. He put me on to that shit. Like, here’s a Prada wallet for Christmas. I didn’t know what that was. My parents don’t give a fuck about stuff like that. I’d never been to Neiman Marcus before. It was cool.
If you could work one day a week somewhere, where would you work?
Probably a bookstore. Maybe a place like Mast Books. I don’t know, I feel like multi-brand is a more holistic experience, but that’s much harder to find these days. I couldn’t work at Ven.Space because the customers are real heads; they love clothes so much. I want to work in a more corporate setting. Like, the women’s shoes section at Bergdorf Goodman. Are you kidding? On a Saturday? [My wife and I] went recently, and it was just like, fuck. Anytime you think people aren’t shopping, go to Bergdorf. These women are buying eight pairs of Chanel shoes at once.
Of course, I would have loved to work at Barney’s in its heyday. I do miss [retail] in some ways. I think people should be forced to [work in retail] or in the service industry. I dropped out of high school; I didn’t go to college. It was truly an education in many, many ways.
I never worked a retail job. But I was a counsellor at a day camp in Tribeca, which, you know, can teach a person a lot…
That’s shit I don’t want to learn. But they are lessons, nonetheless.
You said the purpose of shopping has changed. What is it about now?
Oh, straight capitalism. I’ve said this before, and it really depresses me, but I live in Soho and have been going every day for 16 years. When I was a kid, and it was my birthday, I would be like, I want you to take me to the record store or the skate shop. Those are the two places I wanted to spend my $100, or $200, or whatever. Now, you see these kids tugging on their mom’s jacket to take them to get a Bottega bag or a fucking Gucci sweatshirt. There’s no culture attached to it. It’s just: I want to buy this because my friends like it, and I like it, and I’ve seen A$AP Rocky wearing it. And that is what scares me.
Don’t you think kids have always dressed like their friends and looked up to celebrities, though?
Well, I think now you can get the stuff that celebrities wear, or whoever is influential to you, at every price point. So, you can buy the sweater Jennifer Lawrence is wearing from The Row, or you can get it at COS or Uniqlo. It opens the door for literally everyone, which is good and bad. Generally, people look better, I would say.
But they also all look the same. Would you ever open a store?
Yeah, for sure. If I can make it work at Très Bien, The Broken Arm, Nitty Gritty, and Dover Street Market, I will. A 500-square-foot store is the only place you can really bring people into your world. On the internet, you’re distracted. On Instagram, you’re distracted. Climax Books, which you mentioned earlier, is a good example. That place feels like something. Same with the Bode stores. Same with Noah. I don’t buy anything at Dover because it’s all too weird, but I love going in there. In London, that’s the first place I want to go. Speaking of London, Selfridges is my favorite place in the world. I would go to Selfridges every day of the week. It smells like duty-free, and people are fucking shopping. Like, people have bags, and it feels good. There’s not really a place like that here. There’s Bon Marché in Paris. But Selfridges feels like the tip-top of that whole experience. Here, I got this amazing Webster Hall t-shirt from Chad Senzel. I love 194 and Varsity. I buy most of that stuff on Instagram, but I love going into the stores and finding something, because it’s pretty rare.
And you get to know the people who work there.
For sure, and they’re actually cool. They actually have a point of view.
Your obsession with stores reminds me a little bit of Steven Alan.
That guy loves stores... But those guys are different. It’s funny you bring that up, though, because I lived in Tribeca for a little while, and I wore so much Steven Alan from that multi-brand store.
That Steven Alan raised me. I went to a prep school where you had to wear a collared shirt, and it was a flex among my friend group to wear Steven Alan. They called us the “downtown kids,” or DTK. There were also the UES kids and the Staten Island Kids (SIKs)...
Wow, very clear distinctions. I remember when I first made a little bit of money, and I came to New York, I would go to Steven Alan, agnès b., and Barney’s.
What were you buying from agnès b.?
The button-ups. I was also going to A.P.C. I recently found my first pair of A.P.C. jeans and gave them to my wife. I think they were like, $120, which felt so expensive at the time. I also have a core memory of buying a Paul Smith suit at Barney’s for $1,200 or $1,500 and feeling like I’d spent a fortune. It’s funny, I have such a soft spot for Paul Smith. I feel like he’s having a comeback a little bit. He’s such a compelling figure—guys like that don’t exist anymore. And those stores were insane. That store on Fifth Avenue was so cool. He invented that shit. It was very British, design-wise, but I’d never seen anything like it.
What grinds your gears when you walk into a store?
Bad service. People are assholes now. It’s shitty. Like, you go into a Prada store, and they follow you around. I like shopping at The Row. They’re nice to me there.
They are?
I don’t give you a chance to be a dick to me. That’s my method.
How do you do that?
I’m just friendly. In those places, the customers are either tourists or assholes. Even if you’re only spending $1,000, it’s like, well, that was more of a pleasant experience. I really hate it when people don’t look up from their phones. This was a while ago, but I remember going to a store post-COVID with my friend. She was trying to get some Gucci shoes. They didn’t have them, but they were like, We can get them for you. And they brought over an iPad. Halfway through, she’s like, Wait, I’m just ordering this on your website; I can do this at home. We left.
People want to shop in real life. You just have to make it fun. I talked about A’maree’s in that New York Times article that came out this week about the best stores. I don’t even want to buy anything there; I just love being in there, because it’s these drunk, rich, Republican women in Orange County trying to get me to buy an Alaia. It’s great. You can pull your boat up. It’s psycho. But places like that are fun.
I do think The Row is having fun with their “longevity” sweet potato chips, and such.
It feels like a human is behind it, and like people are making decisions. Do you remember Trademark?
God, I loved Trademark.
That store was amazing. I loved everything about it. It was beautiful. And to come out of the gate like that? I was just like, Oh shit, this is real. Like, you guys are doing it. I have these green Trademark men’s jeans. I gotta find those... But it’s the same thing with Hanover: once you have a store, it’s real.
You know where I like shopping? Fucking Sid Mashburn. Sid and his employees taught Southern guys how to dress. It’s the place you go, and it raises the bar for everyone. I just got a tuxedo from them at the last minute. I went up on a Saturday morning, they delivered it to my apartment, and it arrived just in time. It fit perfectly. I had everything I needed. Those guys are pros. They bring you a Coke in a glass bottle, and the tailor’s on site. It just feels good.
Have you had a recent luxury shopping experience that felt good?
This is embarrassing, but I shop Phoebe Philo with a personal shopper. She’s one of my oldest friend’s wives. It’s so awesome. I text her what I want, they ship it, and then they send you an invoice, because they know you’re good for it. I love that experience.
What about luxury stores? They’re following me around at Prada, and I have to wait outside to get in. What are we doing here? Will it ever change?
I think that the line culture has gotten so bad that they don’t need to change. They will make you wait outside the Chanel store. I think they like it when people see that.
Someone told me recently that brands are now folding their store budgets into their marketing budgets. They don’t even see it as retail anymore; it’s an ad.
I believe that. The people actually buying don’t have to go to the store. They bring it to them, or they text them pictures.
The good news is that it opens up space for smaller stores to thrive.
Yeah, like a Colbo size. I think that’s why people put these coffee shops in their stores and all that shit. ‘Culture’ is a strong word, but you have to make it a place people want to be. As I said, that’s why I liked working retail. I hung out in stores for my entire fucking 20s. And I feel comfortable doing that now.
Would you ever wait in line to get into a store today?
Hell no.
This conversation has been edited and condensed.