You expect the latest and greatest in American menswear to emerge from the country's largest cultural hubs. But William McNicol is a prime example that world-building can happen anywhere.
His label, William Frederick, named in homage to his grandfather, has been operating out of Cleveland, Ohio, since 2018. His unisex clothes are defined by organic dyes like coffee and red turnips and produced in small-batches that balance direct-to-consumer access with a modest number of stockists that number close to 20 shops globally.
A smaller scale is crucial for McNicol, who can only craft tiny runs of garments like the Studio Pant, made with a midweight, yarn-dyed cotton woven on vintage shuttle looms by Shinchi Orimono in Japan, and the Airport Jacket, made with washed-down linen from Ireland’s Emblem Weavers.
But the primary thing that McNicol sells isn’t clothing. It’s a feeling of being transported elsewhere. It makes sense when you visit his studio on East 25th, which is open to the public on a limited basis. “I think it just boils down to, selfishly, extending what my world looks like as my own individual self — not even the brand,” he says.
Whether you schedule an appointment or stop by a bi-monthly open studio event, you can buy local coffee from his collaboration with local roaster Duck Rabbit; sample wafting incense from Toronto apothecary Binu Binu; sniff a fine fragrance from London fragrance company Perfumer H; listen to neo-soul UK artist Momoko Gill; or flip through one of his 300 coffee table books. Find a tome you like? McNicol is more than happy to negotiate a pay-what-you-want deal.
The aim of McNicol’s studio, the clothes, the coffee, the music, the books, is to tap into your five senses. “I just hope, on some level, that those things get people as excited as I get over the smallest little scent, hand-feel, or taste.”
From one Midwesterner to another, it felt good chatting with McNicol on the phone ahead of his fall collection debuting in early October about why he still calls Cleveland home, its creative scene, and why he’d rather not be grouped into the “natural fiber” wave.
This interview has been condensed and edited.
What has Cleveland given you that you don't think you'd have found elsewhere?
Cleveland has allowed me to grow and develop at my own pace, to sit with and understand myself, and to become incredibly resourceful.
When I first started the brand, there was an intense, overt focus on “shop local” and “buy small,” which was a mindset I fell victim to in a limiting way. I had the idea that my tags saying “Made in Cleveland” would lead to automatic support here, which should never have been the expectation. I viewed this approach as hopeful at the time, but looking back, it revealed both a sense of entitlement and that I hadn’t created a product or built a world that deserved widespread support here. I was the equivalent of the person who went to a party, stood in the corner the entire time, then complained that no one talked to them.
What I once saw as a lack of support and understanding, I now see as a period of grace and openness, where I was fortunate enough to create and exist somewhere without the pressure of immediately figuring it out.
Has Cleveland’s manufacturing and industrial history shaped the way you think about making clothes?
There’s a natural sense of pride regarding Cleveland’s garment manufacturing history, which was once second in the world only to New York, but I do find myself focusing more on what could be instead of what once was. That history can inform, but it can also be a crutch.
I feel an enormous sense of responsibility to continue pushing the brand forward while being based here, but I want the clothing and brand to speak for itself. My world can exist in Cleveland without my entire world being Cleveland.
I want people to discover and support the work for what it is, then learn that it’s from Cleveland, not vice versa. If my location is the driving force for why people decide to support me, I start to feel like a souvenir. I’ve worked too hard and am too focused on permanence for that to be my reality.
Do you feel like you're contributing to a broader Rust Belt conversation, especially with collaborations like your recent one with [Detroit-based "garment factory"] Soft Goods?
Unintentionally, yes [laughs]. The collaboration with Soft Goods evolved from conversations with Josh, the owner of Soft Goods, and realizing that it was an ideal pairing. He just happened to be based in Detroit, which I am incredibly grateful for, having the ability to be less than a three-hour drive away from their production facility.
When I choose to collaborate with someone, I am looking for people who have a willingness to figure it out and possess the belief that learning is more important than knowing. A sense of figuring-it-out-ness, if you will.
The most attractive thing someone can do is try.
What made you decide to keep the studio open and accessible?
Having a clothing brand in a city like Cleveland can be an act of solitude, and I have found myself, on a personal and creative level, quite energized by visitors.
About a year ago, I began focusing a bit more on world-building than design, and on what I see as the erosion of third places. I want to offer people an opportunity not only to step into my world and spend time in it, but also to leave with something from it beyond clothing. It’s certainly not profound in any way, but I felt that only offering a shopping experience could be intimidating, where visitors felt pressured to purchase an expensive piece of clothing if they came by.
It’s important to me that people know they can coexist in my space without feeling rushed or sold to. I wanted to be some version of a counter to the current era of bullshit retail language, where community, curation, and conversation are leveraged as marketing terms instead of assumed experiences. In my experience, anyone who tells you they’ll offer great conversation is more of a warning than a welcome.
You can come by the studio to flip through books, try on clothes, and drink coffee or tea. We don’t even need to talk. I’m really good at nodding.
Who walks through the door? Are they already customers or do you get people just discovering the brand?
The most common demographic for studio appointments consists of out-of-town visitors who are already familiar with the brand and want to see the space in person.
I am very grateful to have a consistent core of local customers who show up for every collection launch and buy a few pieces. My most loyal customer is Ken, a 72-year-old from Lakewood. He’s generally responsible for paying about three to four months of rent per year [laughs]. Sometimes he’ll call and go, “William, are you at the studio? Can you brew me up a coffee?” and swing by for a pour-over.
What’s come out of having that kind of open-door philosophy?
In a way, it’s been a full-circle moment for me. I grew up in the restaurant and food world because my parents owned a restaurant supply business in Wellsville called Acme Sales Company. Now, most of my collaborations are centered around food, and a good portion of my customers and friendships are from the food and coffee world.
We have collaborated with Duck Rabbit on three coffees, Cent’s Pizza + Goods, James Beard finalist chef Vinnie Cimino of Cordelia on a menu/dinner event, and James Beard finalist Bar Chenin from Detroit during Fashion Week in Paris. Next, we have an ice cream collaboration on the way with Mason’s Creamery.
Do you think Cleveland has an untapped creative network that people outside the city don't know about?
Certainly. There’s a wonderful artistic spirit here.
From a clothing standpoint, we have Time Change Generator, faan, and Found Surface, all doing very unique, original work. There’s also Cool Water Dry Goods, which has one of the most impressive vintage selections in the country.
I believe Cleveland’s creative north star is Vince Morelli, owner of Cent’s Pizza + Goods. We’re so incredibly fortunate to have him. He’s our city’s most honest representation of what it looks like to not build a world, but to build your world.
If someone came to Cleveland for a weekend to understand your world, where would you send them?
Day one: Cent’s Pizza for dinner, followed by a walk to Mason’s Creamery for ice cream.
Day two: Coffee at Duck Rabbit, a second coffee at my studio, lunch at Superior Pho, a walk around the Goodrich-Kirtland Park neighborhood, then the Cleveland Museum of Art, a movie at Cedar Lee, and ending the night at Kensington Pub for dinner and drinks.
What are the other disciplines that have influenced your work outside of fashion? Like, ceramics, furniture, coffee, music, architecture, and apothecary.
You know, I have become a bit hesitant to use the term “multi-disciplinary” because I’ve felt that a lot of the spaces using that term have become counterintuitive. It feels less and less personal and more like they’re trying to offer a little bit of something for everyone. Sometimes, the more you offer, the less you offer.
To answer your question, at the current moment, I am mostly inspired by the following:
Music: Momoko Gill, Aldous Harding, Eric Dolphy, Mike Shabb, and Starker
Clothing: Lea Boberg, SONO
Art/Design: Rudolph Schindler, Richard Diebenkorn, Helen Frankenthaler, Gilbert Watrous
Food/Coffee/Beverage: Ruffian (East Village in NYC), Bar Chenin (Detroit), Rude Mouth (Brooklyn), MOTORS Coffee (Paris)
As natural fibers, natural dyes, and slow production become common across menswear, how do you distinguish your work from the broader slow-made movement? How conscious are you of avoiding a recognizable “natural fiber everything” aesthetic?
To be blunt, being labeled a “natural fiber” brand is a bit off-putting for me. It’s not much more identifiable or descriptive than “unisex” or “independent” at this point. If you walked into some of the stores that carry my brand, you would have a difficult time finding a garment made with synthetic fibers or fabrics.
We are currently spoiled with an overwhelming amount of talented designers offering truly unique and special pieces in their own design language. It’s a disservice to all involved to lump us into one generalized category, especially when the use of natural fibers is the majority approach.
I have direct experience with this, as I am frequently compared to someone with whom I don’t see myself aligned creatively or personally. Initially, the comparison was flattering, as I once viewed their work as singular, consistent, and precise, but I now see it as cold, redundant, and lacking personality. Often, the people consumed with whether or not others are copying them are too busy copying themselves. The irony is kind of bizarre.
