It was Herenmodeweek in Paris and the archivist shop was just as busy as Gare du Nord. That is, if the train depot was only visited by people who could only tell a northern facial jacket of a North Face Purple label.
Inside was a boutique owner from New York at the counter and bought a stack of Dog-eared songs from ID Magazine from the 1990s. A stylist, also from New York, came out of the dressing room to tell his friend that he just had to Leave this pair of faded black pants. A few visitors from Japan came by, of whom a pop-up had with the archivist for her own vintage store last year. It was a success. She greeted the owner of the store, Sami Taider.
“Fashion Week is the busiest time of the year,” said Mr. Taider, taking a break for an interview at A Corner Bistro. “But if you have such a company, it is important to let people come every day.”
Since the opening of its doors in December 2022, the archivist shop, with its well -arranged, white -walled interior, has become the Mecca of Paris. If you ask a certain shop of shopper – someone who collects Issey Miyake sweaters from the 90s or who can tell the age of a Stussy T -shirt through his label – it is the best vintage store in the city, if not the world. (It is probably the only vintage store that STUSY resell that the withdrawn founder of the label, Shawn Stussy, actually visited and posted on Instagram.)
But why? It’s all in the mix. Vintage stores tend to have a parochial focus on a period or class of clothing Americana Levis specialists, your hole-tastery metal t-piece or those aesthetes that only sell Christian Lacroix dresses from the late 1980s.
The archivist store is a Catholicer in his taste. The only litmus test for the absorption of an item on the sales floor is that Mr. Taider must appreciate the garment.
“Sometimes people are too narrow,” he said. “It is important for us to be able to have items for everyone – every budget, but also every type of people, every gender.”
The north side of the store has a cache of outdated designer energy of French, Italian and Japanese labels. During my last visit I brought a ribbed Hermès Full-Zip cardigan, various sober Yohji Yamamoto pleated pants and a Dolce & Gabbana bomber with an absurd surplus of bags.
Opposite this rack is the stock rangier: Clusters of Vintage Supreme T-shirts alongside Vintage Levi’s and Carhartt Work Pants, Mountaineering-ready Montbell Puffers with brick thick American made Camber Hoodies and faded stone island jackets with four-figure price cables. (Prices are higher than those of goodwill, but much less than new at Bergdorf Goodman: $ 300 or so for that Yohji Yamamoto -Broek, about $ 650 for a Comme des Garçons Overjas from the 90s, $ 200 for a hoodie and about half of it for a t -shirt.)
“I don’t really concentrate on the brand,” said Mr. Taider, 36, a resident of Toulouse who moved to Paris as a child. “It’s more about having good products in every category.”
Shopping at the archivist makes it clear that traditional boutiques do not record how people, even people in fashion, actually dress. They may have the designer prices, but they miss those familiar North Face Windbreakers or Salomon Beanies. At the same time, Outdoory Outfitters are not interested in selling a dissolute, Rainbow Brite Issey Miyake sweater or even vintage military fatigue. The archivist store affects it all and reflects the high-bear, haute-paired-with ———- We dress today.
“We don’t want to talk to only hard-core designer people,” said Mr. Taider, dressed in a deep Marine Agnès B. sweater. He wants the Margiela collector, but also the neighborhood wage who buy a Scottish Beanie because they saw it in the window while they walked their dog.
If the archivist shop brings something novel to Paris, Mr. Taider will tell you that it is an idea that, at least partly, was imported from Japan.
During a visit to Tokyo, he fell for the labyrinth of that country of resale stores that adhere to the idea that a designer item is not passing only because it is a few seasons old. It can even become more desirable.
“It’s really great to have all those items that have been selected, all in good condition and all well organized,” said Mr. Taider. In 2018 he moved to Japan to immerse himself in those markets, studying tags, investigating brand names and purchases for what the archivist store would become.
A web store first came, then a pop-up in the Paul Bert Flea market and then, three years ago, a physical store in what was once in an art gallery, on picturesque Rue Taylor in the tenth district.
Today Mr. Taider has a staff of three: André, the store manager; Damien, an intern; And Mehdi Chabane, who helped him start the store and handles visuals and marketing. Almost all items are only available in the store, some sales before Mr. Chabane she can even photograph.
The task to stock up on the store is only Mr Taider. He does not use a network of purchasing contacts such as some vintage sellers. Instead, he trolls eBay, Mercari, Yahoo auctions and Japanese resale sites to find deals. He sharpened these digital excavation skills as a streetwear-loving teenager, negotiating supreme T-shirts and Alife equipment on clothing forums before they were distributed in France.
Yet piercing so many pages with pants and shoes is time -consuming, visible work. “I don’t sleep much,” he said, adding that he is considering hiring someone to help him with purchasing.
Yet the goal of connecting someone to a piece that they didn’t even know they needed it. Not to mention, he often falls in love with his finds. A good example: on my last visit I bought a jacket in Comme des Garçons Barn-style-it was only the second model in this style that Mr. Taider once came across. Selling was as if I had liberated a cherished pet.
“I’m never going to see it again,” he said. “If it’s gone, it’s gone.”
