Kiosk, K Road

Dan has opened Kiosk on Karangahape Road. Brick walls, a pegboard, a red parachute hung like a curtain, and a counter that says kiosk in plain black type. It is worth the walk up the hill.

On the counter is a stack of Popeye, the Tokyo magazine for city boys. It suits the place. Popeye has spent fifty years showing young men how to put things together with care, old and new, useful and beautiful. Kiosk does the same thing in three dimensions.

On the wall, an M-65 field jacket hangs next to a yellow fireman’s coat and an Area 51 tee. Below them sit perpetual calendars in orange and green, a Braun wall clock, and a row of Braun travel alarms that haven’t changed in decades because they never needed to. There are Issey Miyake handkerchiefs folded on a white table, a deck of Herman Miller playing cards on a red tray, and the odd pocket knife and key under glass.

Kiosk splits its edit into From the Past and From the Future. Vintage Vitra, Alessi and Kartell sit beside new pieces from Braun, Sori Yanagi and Fisher. Nothing feels like stock. It feels collected, and that is harder to do than it looks. Anyone can fill a room. Editing it is the skill.

It is good for K Road too. A street is made by independent shops run by people who care, and this city needs more of them.

Go and see Dan. Take your time. Pick up a Popeye. You will leave with something you didn’t know you needed.