The Making of SUHO

Rent started in July, and while the shop's name and concept were being decided, I thought things would move along quickly, but instead, we hit a stalemate and progress stalled.
I decided to start by settling on a logo, so I consulted my friend Chalkboy.
Ever since I commissioned him for the opening of DAY&NIGHT, I have entrusted him with almost all of my shop's design and essential logo work.
His presence is huge; not only is his graphic work beautiful, but his witty ideas and humor add a comfortable sense of ease to the interior, bringing the shop to life and creating a one-of-a-kind display you won't find anywhere else.
I was introduced to him by Atsushi-kun from Onibus Coffee about eight years ago.
He and Atsushi-kun are both roughly my age (Atsushi-kun is actually a year older, and Chalkboy is a year younger), and we are the kind of friends who get together occasionally to eat, talk about passionate topics, or just chat about our lives until late at night.
Seeing Chalkboy publish books and Atsushi-kun open new shops has been a great inspiration, and we have pushed each other to grow.
A memorable experience was our trip to New York together, a training session we nicknamed the 'Fukuda Juku,' where we walked until we reached our limits to visit the coolest shops, buildings, and hotels.
Having survived a super-hard schedule of three breakfasts, three lunches, and three dinners, we formed a bond as tight as colleagues who had endured a grueling corporate training program, and we have been in even closer contact since returning home.

I asked for the SUHO logo to be based on a horse motif.
I talk about the image and concept, send over a few Instagram posts or images that have the right vibe, and from there, I pretty much leave it to him.
Most of our meetings are verbal, often while eating or taking a bath, so things get forgotten quite often.
Getting impatient won't produce good results, so while I do check on the progress occasionally, I think it's best to wait patiently.
Since the interior is going to be white and tiled, giving the shop a clean look,
I asked for an 'earthy' feel, and suggested that the 'S' font might look good like this—
We communicated vaguely, both thinking about it in the back of our minds, and when the time was right, we finally sat down to work on the logo.
The name SUHO comes from the story 'Suho and the White Horse,' so we redrew the lines many times to ensure we weren't overly influenced by the impactful illustrations in that book, and to make sure it didn't look too polished, aligning our visions as we went.
Thinking about how to convey a handcrafted feel for the font,
we wondered, 'What if we had a child draw it?'
But there were fine difficulties with balance, so we had their design team cut out letters with scissors to create the SUHO lettering, resulting in a special font that you won't find anywhere else in the world.

The interior starts with me laying out the floor plan to a certain extent.
To do that, I have to decide what the shop will offer and how much of it will sell.
This is difficult...
(By the way, the reason I've decided never to open a shop in a commercial facility is that it's hard to change construction plans once they've been set months in advance, and there are too many rules regarding unnecessary equipment or the facility's own convenience, which I don't think suits me.)
With an existing shop, the menu is already set, I can imagine how much will sell, and the path is already laid out, so it's relatively easy to assemble by just adjusting, removing, or adding equipment based on the property. However, because a new shop is a blank slate, building the operations, listing the necessary equipment based on the menu, staffing for sales targets, and setting up the flow of movement are all truly difficult.
As you go along, you always find things you want to change even after you've decided on them, so in that sense, I've realized once again while building this shop that having a flexible designer and construction company is truly important.

Regarding furniture and lighting, while I have the designer's advice, they let me do almost whatever I want, which is both fun and difficult.
I want to fill the space with antiques or classic pieces, but budget constraints often make that difficult.
I come up with compromises, but since I don't want to compromise, I end up searching for the best possible option even within those constraints.
I spend hours scouring antique shop websites to find a single bench, and I look at lighting until I feel sick.
Because I think about the meaning behind each item I find this way, I grow attached to them,
and since they weren't chosen by someone else, my own feelings are poured into them.
I think of the shop as my alter ego. This is also thanks to the fact that while the designer handles the final fine-tuning, they let me make the choices as long as I don't stray too far from the vision.

Although there are constraints depending on the size and shape of the property, being able to decide everything freely and build it as I like is difficult, but the pleasure of seeing the menu and operations I thought of fall into place, or being complimented on the space, is irreplaceable.
Seeing the sparkle in a customer's eyes as they look around the moment they walk in, the smile on their face the moment they take a bite, the casual, truly small reactions from customers, providing good things at the right time, and watching the staff work happily—perhaps the joy of shop-making has become an addiction.
Every time, the staff tells me the kitchen is too small, and of course, I'm building it that way again this time, but imagining the staff providing great things within those constraints and seeing the customers' happy faces makes me want to open as soon as possible, though I'm still underprepared.
It's a daily routine of taking one step forward and two steps back toward opening by the end of the year.
The shop will be closer to completion by next week, so I'll leave it here for this week.

To be continued