Psyche Organic's Changing the Game

March 17, 2023

Theophilos can be described in many ways. What stood out to me when I first met him— five years ago when I was still waitressing at Lucien— was his calm energy and the distinctive way he carries himself. We became friends after countless run-ins on Orchard Street that led to spontaneous coffee dates and in-depth conversations about our respective projects.

From publishing independent art books to curating rap cyphers and hosting Nice Size Sunday events, Theo is always coming up with new and exciting ways to bring people together. He’s not the kind of guy you can put into a box. Free-spirited and intentional, his mission has always been about community and working to support the well-being of others.

It came as no surprise when he told me he was moving to Copenhagen to start an olive oil company and learn more about sustainable farming practices, but I must admit I was a little bummed because I knew Orchard Street would never be the same. I had a chance to catch up with Theo to learn more about what he's doing now.

Text by Olivia Roper-Caldbeck
Photos by Clement Mogensen

Let's start by talking about the olive oil side of things. Can you explain the process and what goes into making a batch of cold pressed olive oil?

Basically, you have your farmer in Greece who is cultivating olive trees. These trees have been planted in the last 50 to 100 years. Some of them, in the last thousand years. The olive tree is extremely resilient and it doesn't need a lot of water. Then, you're making sure it's not getting contaminated with insects or pests that could kill it. Our olive oil is all organic, and that means anything that's happening in the cultivation process is non-chemical. Around November, you remove the olives from the trees by knocking them off with a long rake and they fall onto tarps. We take the bags of olives to the olive oil mill where they are washed and moved through a machine that takes out the pits and then they press the olives and you get the juice.

How involved are you in the process? Are you actually going to Greece and visiting the farm, or was that only a one time thing?

We are there every season for the harvest. I'm not the farmer in the fields all year taking care of the trees, but I'm there for several weeks every year in October and November making sure that the process is going smoothly and actually working with the farmers in the mill. As we start to scale, that will change in terms of my ability to actually just work only exclusively with one farmer, but we are there and we are a deep part of that process.

How did you go from being a book publisher living in New York City to owning an olive oil company in Copenhagen?

This opportunity was presented to me in February of 2020, at a time in my life when I was peaking as a publisher in regard to what I was doing with Paradigm. Then the pandemic happened and I was back in Ohio working on a photo book, taking care of myself and my mental health. I started googling people associated with the Japanese farmer Masanobu Fukuoka and that brought me to this Greek farmer. I bought a one-way ticket to Greece and started farming. He put me in touch with this olive oil farmer. When I finished my apprenticeship, I reached out to this farmer and went and found him and saw his production and what he was doing. I was captivated by his ideology and his mind around farming and production. I brought his oil to Denmark, introduced it to my business partner, and the rest is history. Now, I live in Copenhagen and have an olive oil store. I was open to the transition and was ready to take that next step into a different place of my life. I was publishing for almost 12 years and I was working in the arts and creating different communities and activations around Paradigm, but I saw this opportunity and I had to take it.

How are you creating a community in Copenhagen through this new venture?

There is a strong community in Copenhagen around Psyche. It's a lot smaller of a place than New York and there really isn't anything in the market like what we're doing. Having an olive company that speaks to all kinds of individuals and people, all races, all colors, all genders we are an inclusive company, that promotes health and wellness. It isn't really positioned in anything, but the education and sale of olive oil, getting people in the mind that the olive oil that they buy probably isn't what's being sold to them. We're trying to create a transparency in our supply chain on top of creating a community around what we're doing. It's a unique pocket, especially in a country that kind of needs that edge, if you will.

What is the connection between the olive oil production and distribution and the cafe you're also a partner in?

The physical cafe that we had last year was a temporary residency at the former Relæ, which was a Michelin star restaurant and is two doors down from our flagship store. That venture was brought to me by Mati Pichci, a food curator in Copenhagen who was working at Atelier September and before that, was staging at Noma. He was buying our olive oil and then he asked if I wanted to get involved. I knew it was an incredible play for marketing and for continuing to build the community. We had an amazing time doing it, and it really did activate the community in a much stronger way because it created a more open forum. The reason I'm in Milan now, is to find new ways for the oil and the cafe to reach wider communities through physical activations.

How do you intend to maintain the community if there's not a physical space?

We still have the store— Psyche Organic is an olive oil showroom/office. We actually have our one year anniversary coming up on March 18th. That's where the hub still is. Everything is still functioning out of that space. If you want to come find me or my partner or connect to the brand, you can come there as we still activate events there. Then, on top of that, when Psyche Organic or Psyche Café does an event, that's how the community continues to grow.

What other cities do you plan on expanding into?

New York and Los Angeles are both already a part of our community. I’m selling to Scarr’s Pizza in NYC and to a beautiful store in LA called Homesick Studios. These two places allow the brand to reach into communities in both cities. We plan on expanding into the rest of Scandinavia, Asia and northern Europe.

Besides the farming practices, what else makes Psyche Organic unique?

First off, our eco-friendly bag is totally unique to the olive oil industry. In the current state of the olive oil market, we are the only company selling in this bag. Then, from an aesthetic standpoint, the communities that we associate ourselves with, nobody has really gone into olive oil like a fashion brand would. Taking from my mentors and the people that I came up with and looking at how collabs work and how hype works, because that's where this thing gets really interesting is that I thought I was unique walking into a room saying, "Oh, hey. I'm a book publisher," or, "Hey, I'm a photographer or whatever." But I don't know. There's a lot of that. I walk into a room now and if someone says, "Hey, what do you do?" You say you import and export olive oil, it's a different conversation piece. That being said, just from the history that I have in design, photography, production, and creative direction, I'm applying all of this to olive oil and to scaling olive oil. That's what I would say makes it hyper unique.

What is the vision for the future of the brand? Is this what you see yourself doing for the rest of your life?

Yes and no. The vision for the future is to build a blueprint in one of the most corrupt food segments. Olive oil, from what I understand, is one of the most corrupt food industries in the game. Change the blueprint for the model and show people like, "Yo, you can create a transparent supply chain. You can actually sell people the product that they believe they are buying. You can deliver them taste. You can deliver them quality, and you can deliver them health." Right? It's built off of the principles that I learned from Yvon Chouinard at Patagonia through reading his books and following his company over the last decade. Taking that, changing the blueprint, scaling into larger markets, building an infrastructure that allows me to live my life and give back to the communities in a deeper financial way. Then, in the next ten to fifteen years, retire from the day-to-day business of Psyche Organic and build my own farm, grow food and create an art residency that's a little bit off the grid. That's my life plan, if you will.

In the past couple of years, you have made a lot of major life changes in your personal and professional life. What are some of the greatest challenges you've had to overcome?

For me, it's more about accepting certain reality points. First of all, accepting that now, Paradigm has to stop for me. It was my lifeblood for twelve years, really. I lived the brand. It was a deep part of my identity. To answer your question in the most straightforward way was my ego death from New York and from letting go of this thing that was so much of my personality and my character. I would walk around LES and you would see me out there so much, and your ego is tied up in walking into a restaurant and knowing the waitresses and girls looking at you a certain type of way, and you're walking in the streets and you see a friend of yours who's a rapper or a painter or whatever, and you have this kind of street love and you have this credibility and your ego is tied to this thing in New York City because that's what New York City cultivates. I worked my ass off to bring this ecosystem to life, and I feel very grateful to have been accepted by New York City. Having left it hurt because I was at the top of my game. I literally left right after I dropped the Adidas collab. It was a little bit difficult for me, to be honest, but I also knew that this was the right step because I was leaving something that, for me, had changed. New York City changed after the pandemic. What was happening in that upswing was really beautiful. I also feel very grateful to have been in a position where I was about to breakthrough in 2020. It just wasn't the case. Having made the decisions I made to go farm and get involved in this olive oil practice, the hardest thing for me was just leaving New York City and accepting that reality.

Is there a possibility of Paradigm and Psyche coexisting, or are you completely done with that chapter of your life?

Paradigm just released Adam Zhu's ‘Nice Daze’. We just released a book with my old friend, Sergej Vutuc. The book came out in Paris a few weeks ago. I have one more book coming out in LA with Jakob Hetzer this spring. Then, I have my final collection dropping in Osaka, Japan this fall. That wraps everything up with Paradigm and also allows the space to transition totally into Psyche Organic. Paradigm will always have this cult status thing—I'm not interested in selling it. I'm not interested in passing it on to anybody else. If you got to touch it and you got to see it and you got to be involved in any kind of way, you felt it and you know that it was real. I just feel grateful for that chapter because now I'm embodying this new thing and people are understanding that this is my new lifeblood.

Where is the product currently available for sale? Is it available online or just from specific retailers?

The olive oil is currently available at Scarr's in New York. It's also available at Homesick Studios in LA and then there will be more oil coming to North America in the next, let's say, three to six months. If you're in Denmark, you can buy it from our store. Right now we ship all over Europe so if you’re in any main bracket European country you can buy it online.

Before we wrap up, I want to say that in all the years I have known you, you have always been good at building a community around whatever it is you’re working on— whether it be publishing a book, producing a rap cypher, or designing a pair of sneakers. I'm sure that you'll be able to take this concept and bring it all over the globe.

Thank you. That's what I'm doing. It feels good because look, I don't think I'm going to change the world, but I know that the people who touch the oil are a part of the things we’re building and are deeply affected by it. It's super exciting and I feel very grateful to still have you part of this community. I hope you will come to Copenhagen and become an even bigger part of it.

Culture

Mowalola x Miss Sixty Launch with H. Lorenzo

I swing my legs over the ropes that guard the VIP entrance. Always over (I’m 5’10), never under. I’m late to the H. Lorenzo x Mowalola event, and the line is wrapped around the block. I don’t want to be an asshole, but I hate waiting in lines; it just ruins everything.

“Hey, my friend is DJing right now. My name should be down,” I say.

The youngish security guard looks me up and down. I have made an adventurous choice for this type of crowd. Neon pink hoodie, bright orange vest, my Raimundo jeans, and Jeremy Scott animal print sneakers. I let him take me in and look over his shoulder. Hmmm… I will be swathed in darkness when he lets me in. Dark night, dark clothes, dark makeup, furs, hoods, leather accessories, and sunglasses. I don’t recognize anyone, but it’s hard to tell who anyone is because I can’t see after 8 pm without my glasses. Night blindness. I can still catch a vibe though.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Mr. Guard says, interrupting my squinting.

“Who?,” I ask.

“The woman in charge of the list.”

That’s a drag. I want to dance. Lately, I am going out in the name of music.

“So…can I go in?” I ask.

“Just wait for her to get back.”

That sounded fine. I wait. The outdoor smoking area is packed. I imagine the inside to be a mirror of this, hopefully with people dancing instead of blowing smoke in each other’s eyes.

“You got instagram?” The guard asks me after about ten minutes of flirting.

“Can I go in?” I said.

He laughs. He lets me in the event without a wristband.

Inside, I understand why the other guard was gone for so long. I made a mental note to not drink too much liquid, the bathroom line is almost as long as the line outside. The party is popping, far from a flop.

I push through the crowd solo, following the speakers to the DJ booth. The immersive visuals provided me with enough light to make out Mowalola in a gold bikini and her low rise denim. My pulse races like the horse printed on the front of her coochie. That’s the point of the collection, obviously.

My hips swing around before I head towards the open bar. I smile to myself, noting that it’s a mezcal forward menu. I see a drink that disgusts me so I order it without hesitation. It’s a mezcal coffee concoction. My heart ’s ran through already, why not go all in? I head back to dance when I hear Shigecki’s set start. I’m jumping around, sweating, and when I pause for a beat I let out a yelp. There are strippers working poles opposite and behind the DJ booth. Good. Events should be sexy.

I end the night smoking my friend’s Korean strawberry cigarettes taking in the air of cool- when a man comes up to me wild-eyed exclaiming that we look just like one another. I look at him- no, not at all. I turn slowly, remembering what I should be doing: listening to DJ G2G’s set. Back inside, she is playing reggaeton type beats with lasers beaming out of her headphones (I want these). A rave in it of herself.

Too bad all the events end at 2 am in LA.

Culture

Vans Pipe Masters 2024

On the first night, Steve Van Doren and the Vans team hosted the heat draw for the competitors at a casual backyard barbecue. The son of Vans’ co-founder Paul Van Doren, Steve has worked in the family business for decades, and is now known as the Ambassador of Fun. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a cowboy hat made out of old shoes, he was definitely dressed for the part. The surfers, along with family and friends gathered in a relaxed setting as 40 men’s and 20 women’s names were drawn from a shoebox. The competition would run in 3 rounds, the top 4 men and 4 women with the highest scores moving onto the finals. When asked about their strategies, most gave answers along the lines of “get waves.” Refreshingly simple.

After waiting a few days for favorable conditions, the first day of competition kicked off with Women’s Round 1. It was finally time to see Pipeline in action. Banzai Pipeline is known as one of the most dangerous places to surf due to the powerful waves breaking over shallow and sharp reefs. With the potential to crash into the rocky edges or have leashes caught in caves, it takes a ton of skill–-and even more courage–to surf here. No stranger to these risks, the first heat included favorites Caity Simmers and “Queen of Pipeline” Moana Jones Wong, who showed off exactly why they’d been successful here in the past. Midway through the heats, Mother Nature decided to throw in another element as a light drizzle turned into a proper downpour. Rain or shine, the athletes went out unfazed, focused on getting their first points on the board.

After another short day’s break, the competition continued with the women’s second round and the men’s first. The beach was filled with spectators, locals and tourists alike, as the competition was free for all to attend. While fans rooted equally for the women and men, the most popular were the local Hawaiian athletes, which made up about half the competition. The women started off the day again, hyping up the crowd with incredible rides. One ride by Bettylou Sakura Johnson earned the first Bag of Cash of the day– a cash prize (of undisclosed amount) awarded in a brown paper bag to any surfer that pulls off a wow moment, excites the crowd, and pulls off something spectacular regardless of what the conditions might look like.

Winds picked up as the men’s competition began and two strategies quickly emerged: an aggressive approach, targeting any decent waves to build small scores; and a patient approach, waiting for the perfect wave to chase a high single score. Even the waves that were unrideable were a spectacle in itself. The sheer size, illustrated by the length of surfboards riding up and over, and the following crash of white water spray was hypnotizing. Then imagining having to experience it out on the water, duck diving under or being lifted over, brought a renewed respect for the surfers.

After watching these early rounds, it was time for office to head back to the cold. With the competition officially spanning from December 8-20, it seemed the forecast was gearing up for some massive waves— and it didn’t disappoint. Following from afar through Vans’ Instagram and live updates, we saw the full extent of what it means to surf at Pipeline. After a series of electrifying and daring surfs, the 2024 winners were crowned: Erin Brooks and Nathan Florence.

The thrill of watching top athletes compete at the highest level of their sport, even remotely, never fails to inspire. Few sports surrender so completely to the forces of nature as surfing does. And at its core, surfing is all about having a deep respect for the ocean—its unpredictable whims, its immense power, and its ever-changing moods.

Culture

The Cost of Queendom

December 17, 2024

One summer afternoon in New York, a few days after their New York premiere of the acclaimed documentary Queendom, office met up with documentary filmmaker Agniia Galdanova and producer Igor Myakotin at a tattoo parlor on the west side of Manhattan. While Agniia received a tattoo of the portmanteau “DOCU CUNT” across her fists, she — unfazed by the needle on her knuckles — answered our questions alongside Igor about the making of the stirring story that has traveled around the world.

One of the opening scenes of Queendom depicts a ritual many of us are all too familiar with in the 21st century. Jenna Marvin, the documentary film’s central subject, takes her friend along with her to take photos for Instagram. When she finds a suitable backdrop, she poses, poses, poses, and then reviews the photos. Dissatisfied, she gives her notes, and then returns to pose, pose, pose again.

By Brook Aster
Photos by Liv Solomon

The ritual may be familiar, but nothing else about the scene — from its setting to its stakes — is ordinary. The backdrop behind Jenna is a sweeping expanse of ice and snow in a small Russian port town called Magadan. Jenna is dressed in drag, but not drag of the Rupaul’s Drag Race variety; her drag has been referred to as “creature drag.” Her signature white face paint, platform heels and surrealist costumes, with their exaggerated sculptural proportions and use of duct tape and repurposed items, catches the ire of her neighbors and the love of online admirers alike. Jenna eventually accrued a following on social media for her public and technically illegal drag performances, which often involved little more than her walking or being in public spaces but nevertheless were often met with abuse and threats of imprisonment.

But when Agniia first encountered Jenna, she hadn’t yet reached the level of virality that would eventually come in the years to follow. The filmmaker was researching different drag performers in Russia for her sophomore project, which she thought would be a docuseries, when she heard from a friend about a young drag queen from Magadan. “I was like, this is impossible. I have to meet this person,” Agniia remembers. “And I could not actually go meet her because I was in Moscow and she was in Saint Petersburg, so I sent a friend of mine with whom I’d been studying with in film school, and she went and filmed the sample.” The simple video, showing Jenna and her friend getting dressed up for a party, struck something in Agniia. The drag was an earlier, more prototypical version of the style Jenna is now known for; less duct tape and ornamentation, but still that signature striking makeup. “Something sparked. I knew I just had to stick to this feeling,” Agniia says. She decided to turn the docuseries into a documentary solely focused on Jenna.

Around that time, the entire world came to a grinding halt: the onset of COVID-19 pandemic had just led to lockdowns around the globe. With only a couple thousand followers on social media at that point in time, Jenna had tried to branch out and connect with other drag artists in Moscow and Saint Petersburg, but faced rejection; her drag was extremely unconventional, and not even other drag artists quite understood it. “I think we found each other at the right moment, because nobody knew what to do, how to cope with all this,” Agniia says. “Jenna was saying that she was lost, and she also didn't know how to develop her art next.”

Unlike some of the other artists Agniia had initially researched, Jenna didn’t need much convincing to allow the camera into her life. “[Especially] after COVID came, there wasn't really [any] drag in my life,” Jenna recounts when I speak to her later over Zoom. “I realized that what drag is for me is not just a costume, a dress, something that you leave, that you take off and then in the dead of the night you put back on. Later, I understood that this is who I am, that I am art and I am drag, and that this is way bigger and more important than just clothing or costume.”

[LEFT TO RIGHT: Agniia Galdanova, Jenna Marvin, Igor Myakotin]

When it came time to move into production stages, Agniia sent a clip to Igor, who had been referred to her by a past colleague. When Igor saw the footage, he was similarly struck by Jenna — and even more struck to find out she shared his small hometown of Magadan. “It was just so fateful to know that I also come from this town, and I've never seen it through this cinematic lens, through the vision that Agniia has,” he says. “I was mesmerized by the footage, mesmerized by Jenna. I thought to myself, I have to do everything I can [for us] to work together, whatever the collaboration is gonna be.”

The two followed Jenna for over three years; Agniia first relocated to St. Petersburg, where Jenna had taken up residence after leaving her grandparents’ home in Magadan, and later Jenna moved in with Agniia in her home in Moscow. All the while, Igor and his team worked remotely from the United States to meet Agniia’s production needs. Inevitably, with all their time spent together, Agniia and Jenna became close.

“There is an unspoken rule in documentary filmmaking that you have to keep this line, and you can’t overcome certain boundaries,” Agniia explains. “In my first film, it was not an easy subject [to do this with] as well. I was following a family for seven months, and [we became] close, but I always was trying to keep my distance, and was constantly thinking about it. How much should I say? How much should I give?” But as she got to know Jenna, it became clear that this time, that distance wouldn’t be possible. “With Jenna almost from the very beginning, I was like, fuck it. That’s not going to work with this one. I'm going to break this rule 100%. I never regretted it, because that's actually what built up the trust that is there.”

As Jenna's public performances continued and began to garner more public attention, her online audience multiplied. Among her virtual admirers was French fashion maven Michèle Lamy, who would eventually sign onto Queendom as an executive producer. Lamy's discovery of Jenna led to an invitation to walk in the Rick Owens show in Paris — her first time modeling, and her first time leaving Russia in her life. Of course, Agniia and her camera followed. But most of their excursions were not so glamorous; many of Jenna's performances shown in the documentary were undertaken at a real risk to her physical safety, and by extension, to the safety of Agniia. But neither of them were daunted.

I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.

After all, Jenna was used to both taking risks and documenting them well before she was the subject of a film; she and her friends long filmed the often impassioned, sometimes violent reactions of strangers and policemen to their mere existence in public spaces in drag. And after a protest performance in which she wrapped herself in the Russian flag, Jenna was kicked out of beauty school, her last attempt at a practical route before pursuing her drag as a full time venture.

The only time Agniia tried to dissuade her was on Paratrooper’s Day, a Russian military holiday often characterized by the drunk soldiers roaming the streets. The risk for violence was especially high. “On Paratroopers Day, people say you can't come out in skinny jeans or with nail polish,” Jenna describes. “[I think] you should do the opposite. You should really make a statement and come out wearing what you want to wear. I think that clothes, what we wear, is really at some point beyond our psyche, our mind, our understanding. It is as if it's a certain kind of spice that is enticing you and you follow the scent of that spice and you don't see anything else except that scent and you follow it. That's how I see it.”

“I was like, ‘girl, maybe we should not do that,’” Agniia says. “Igor was stressing out and she told us, ‘well, you don't need to follow me. I'm gonna go and do it. I don't care if you're coming or not.’” In the end, Jenna ventured out for her performance anyway, protesting the then-recent invasion of Ukraine. Agniia followed. Not shown in the film is that the two were arrested, and managed to talk the police out of their arrest.

Not too long after, she would have to leave Russia again, this time moving for Paris for good; the film follows her struggles to get a visa in time to leave the country after the onset of the war. “It's already been three years that I've been in France, and it is important for me to understand and remember who I am, and to remember that pain, those moments when we were back in Russia doing drag, fighting with the police and law enforcement,” Jenna says. “It is important that this resistance continues and that those voices are not being silenced. Yes, here there’s much more freedom, there are pride parades and queer people can get married, but this is an illusion because there are also places where you cannot get married and you cannot enjoy the same freedoms. I cling to who I am, who I was from the very beginning. I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.”

“Meeting Jenna gave me hope for the future of the country, because governments come and go, people in power come and go, but the generations change at the same time,” Igor says. “So it warms my heart to see that someone like her came from somewhere like that. If I saw her back then at a similar age, it would be even more personal. I think I would’ve accepted myself as gay quicker, and I wouldn't be nervous or closed and not open to the world or myself… Working with this project also meant that we were amplifying the voices of many, many people who couldn't speak like Jenna could.”

For Agniia, the honor of telling Jenna's story is only paralleled by the honor of having her in her life. “We found each other,” Agniia says. “And what I learned from Jenna is so precious; about life, about art, about surviving. And I appreciate it a lot. This film grew so much larger than just a documentary, because I have a family now, a working family.”

Queendom is now available to stream on Apple TV.