Passenger, Los Angeles

Tucked into an eclectic strip of stores in Echo Park, Passenger‘s front window greets us with a soft white glow and an immediate sense calmness. The building’s original exterior lamps and tiled entrance, deliberately kept and loved, add to Passenger’s essence. After all, it is here that vintage is hero.

Greeted at the door by the one and only Nastassia Clucas with her big warm eyes and irresistible French accent, our first Passenger experience was gaining momentum by the minute. Our senses aroused by the recent burn of Palo Santo, we find the store to be breathy, beautifully curated and unpretentiously luxurious. My eyes are sent darting around the space, pausing on found objects, silhouettes and the dried grasses in the counter pencil pot. It’s the kind of store where you feel the need to touch everything, all the garments are tactile, interesting, and the ceramic and wooden pieces, although simple in form, seem to be laden in American history.

Passenger instantly feels like a friend. She’s got a generous heart, a great music collection, and a fucking good eye for vintage. Sailor pants, striped cotton tee shirts and vintage blouses from the industry’s top fashion houses come tumbling out of the dressing room — which is simply a stunning patchwork curtain held up by solid branches and ties. The denim rack was impressive, as were the selection of vintage shoes, all in tip-top condition. It was then that I decided I would just have to move in. The denim-covered bench in the centre of the space seemed like a perfect place to watch the vintage garments gracefully circulate, passing in and out of Passenger and finding life again on new limbs.