Esteban: Let's dive in. For people discovering you for the first time, give us a quick intro. Who are you, what is AKME, and what's the story behind it?
Riko: AKME really started from a very organic place. Jesus and I met while working for someone else—I was an art director, and he was a designer. We were constantly having conversations about creative freedom and the limitations we saw in traditional creative roles. We both deeply valued self-expression and were searching for ways to work without constraints. But no matter where we worked, it never felt like that opportunity truly existed.
Jesus: Exactly. We both knew we wanted to work at the highest level creatively, but without compromising the integrity of our ideas. During COVID, with more time and fewer distractions, we started discussing the idea of launching a footwear brand. I had a background in footwear, and Riko had this rich background from Central Saint Martins, bringing a Japanese creative and cultural lens. Our skill sets were different but complementary. When we merged them, it created something unique—something that didn’t follow a conventional path.
Riko: There was this freedom in the process. We were able to explore, experiment, and build something without any expectations. That led to the birth of AKME. It wasn’t just about footwear—it was about creating from a place of truth.
Esteban: That’s rare. Footwear is notoriously difficult to break into, especially the production side. And that contrast between the ideation and the materialization—the creativity and the execution—that's where most people fall short. A lot of people have ideas, but few know how to bring them to life with that kind of integrity. What stood out immediately in your process was the fusion: Riko holding the vision, the narrative, the aesthetic; and Jesus grounding it, building it, stitching it together in the real world. That combination is powerful.
Jesus: Yeah, creative ideas are one thing. But translating those ideas into tangible products—especially shoes—is a whole different challenge. I had worked in multiple footwear manufacturing facilities in LA and had a solid understanding of how shoes were made. During lockdown, we used our apartment as a lab. I was literally making prototypes by hand, stitching them myself. It wasn’t glamorous. It was survival. But it worked. The product was real, and it resonated.
Riko: Everything was locally sourced. Materials, artisans—we worked with people after hours from factories or independent craftspeople. We didn’t use traditional production. We were designing with what we had access to, which made us more resourceful and creative. Our first outsole came from a local shoe repair shop. It was a Vibram sole people use for repairs. But we designed with it—and when Vibram saw how we used it, they were surprised. We were using something completely utilitarian and transforming it into something refined.
Jesus: That was a big moment. Realizing we could create with limitations instead of waiting for perfect conditions. The lack of money or traditional infrastructure forced us to innovate. And honestly, that authenticity came through in the product.
Esteban: There’s something about that kind of resourcefulness that’s deeply cultural, too. I always joke that this is the Mexican side coming through—stretching materials, finding workarounds, street smarts. Paired with your Japanese discipline and systems-thinking, Riko, it creates this really dynamic creative process. But I want to go deeper into the early days. Now that you’ve gone through it, what’s the biggest lesson—and the biggest challenge—you faced back then?
Jesus: The biggest lesson was that we didn’t need the typical path. We didn’t need to follow traditional footwear development—tech packs, factories, large molds. I was sketching on lasts, working with local pattern makers, and figuring things out day by day. The traditional method is expensive and inflexible. We had to reverse-engineer the whole process to make it work.
Riko: And the biggest challenge? Money. We had none. We didn’t come from financial security. We barely had savings. But we kept making. We kept pushing. And we started sharing our process online—every prototype, every idea, every sample. That transparency built a following. We weren’t hiding anything. People saw us learning in real-time.
Esteban: And that created something that a lot of brands can’t fake—community. You weren’t trying to be polished. You were just showing the work. And people connected with it. The rawness was the strategy.
Jesus: That’s what built our community. People weren’t just buying a product. They were buying into the story. They saw how much love and pain went into every sample. They saw the creative struggle. And they connected with it.
Esteban: Which is why I think your early traction wasn’t marketing—it was narrative. You weren’t just launching product drops. You were live-streaming your process.
Jesus: Exactly. No strategy. Just pure documentation. We shared every sketch, every sample. And people responded to that. That realness created momentum.
Riko: We treated every release like an album drop. Every campaign had visuals, storytelling, emotion. That came from my background in fashion communications. I studied at Central Saint Martins and worked under Christopher Simmonds on campaigns for Alessandro Michele’s Gucci. I saw how storytelling and emotional connection can redefine a brand.
Esteban: So your cycle is: conversation > chaos > creation > storytelling > community. That’s how AKME runs?
Jesus: Yes. And because we made everything ourselves, we could move fast. We didn’t need to wait for anyone. From idea to prototype—it could happen in a day. That agility gave us an edge.
Riko: That pace helped us explore and grow. We didn’t wait for permission. We didn’t wait for perfection. We just made.
Jesus: And we made mistakes. A lot of them. But those mistakes helped us refine our vision. And the community stuck with us because they saw that. They saw the effort.
Esteban: And they saw that you weren’t trying to be a brand in the traditional sense. You were just trying to survive as creatives. And the result of that process was the brand. That’s why it felt different. But now that the brand is growing, the question is: how do you sustain that without burning out?
Riko: Eventually, we hit a wall. Our logistics couldn’t keep up. We had issues with shipping, returns, structure. So we decided to pause and build a stronger foundation. This past year has been about getting that backend right.
Esteban: That’s the paradox. Creativity opens the door, but structure keeps it open. You need both. But if structure is too rigid, it kills the very thing that made you successful.
Jesus: Right. And our challenge now is explaining our model—this “controlled chaos”—to people in traditional business roles. Investors, partners, banks. They want structure. They want forecasts. But what we do is the opposite.
Esteban: And maybe it’s not about changing what you do—but how you frame it. Maybe it’s not chaos. Maybe it’s frequency. Maybe your model is built on constant iteration. And that can be structured, in its own way.
Jesus: That’s where we’re headed. We found a new manufacturing partner and we’re planning physical activations—pop-ups, IRL moments. People always tell us, "These look crazy, but they’re so comfortable." We want more of that experience.
Esteban: You’ve built creative credibility. Now you’re building the system to sustain it. That’s the real game. And if you figure that out, you’re not just building a brand—you’re building a new blueprint.
Jesus: And if there’s one takeaway: learn everything. Know how to make your own product. Shoot your own visuals. Don’t just outsource—master the process. That knowledge gives you freedom.
Riko: AKME isn’t just a brand—it’s a way of working. And now we’re scaling it without compromising the essence.
Esteban: Beautiful. You started with chaos, built a community, and now you’re creating structure to protect the vision. This is what fashion needs more of. Thank you both—this was incredible.
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