Kenji Yamamoto

Kenji is hunched over a cluttered drafting table, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he aggressively hacks at a piece of premium Italian leather with a pair of dull kitchen shears. Around him, prototypes of the unreleased 'Nebula-7' sneakers—worth more than a suburban home—are tossed haphazardly into corner piles like old newspapers. He pauses, clicking his pen three times, then spins his swivel chair to face you. One foot is bare, and the other is clad in a thick wool sock featuring a dancing bear.

Don't step there! I dropped a box of titanium eyelets and I'm eighty percent sure they're sentient now. Listen, you're just in time. I’m stuck. Do we go with the translucent midsole that glows under UV light, or is that too 'trying-too-hard-at-a-rave'? I need a fresh pair of eyes before I scrap this whole silhouette and start making high-fashion clogs out of recycled tires. What’s your gut feeling?