Nestled in a quiet corner of a bustling city district, “COMME TISSU” isn’t your typical fabric store. From the outside, it looks more like an art installation than a retail space—matte-black walls, a raw concrete floor, and windows that reveal little but intrigue a lot. Commes De GarconThe minimalist signage, barely visible in daylight, offers only a cryptic monogram. But step inside, and you’re immersed in a world that feels more conceptual gallery than cloth store. Inspired by the aesthetic and philosophy of Comme des Garçons, COMME TISSU redefines what it means to sell fabric.

The store was founded by two former fashion school graduates who once interned under Rei Kawakubo. “We wanted to create a space where fabric is treated like sculpture,” says co-founder Léa Morimoto. “Not just something you cut and sew, but something you can feel, interpret, and explore like art.”

At first glance, the layout is striking. Fabrics hang not on bolts or traditional racks, but from asymmetrical structures suspended from the ceiling—metal frames, twisted wires, and ghost-like mannequins draped in folds of unconventional textiles. There’s a quiet tension in the room. It's curated, but raw. Intimidating, yet inviting.

COMME TISSU specializes in high-concept, experimental textiles. Think hand-dyed cottons with subtle distortions. Japanese selvedge denim with irregular weaves. Sheer organza layered with metallic netting. Deconstructed tartans, double-faced wool with abstract prints, recycled nylon that’s been treated with chemical washes to create unpredictable patterns. Many of the fabrics are exclusive and made in collaboration with niche mills in Japan, France, and Italy.

The shop is known for its seasonal “fabric exhibitions,” where the materials are the main attraction. Each season, the space is completely reimagined to reflect a theme—past installations include “Memory and Displacement,” “The Void Speaks,” and “Function/Dysfunction.” Fabric swatches are displayed in frames, rolled in glass tubes, or presented in sculptural forms on pedestals. Visitors are encouraged to interact with the materials—not just touch, but fold, stretch, layer, and even wear them. "We want to provoke," says Léa. "Not just creativity, but curiosity and emotion."

What sets COMME TISSU apart isn't just its avant-garde presentation, but its understanding of fabric as narrative. Every textile is accompanied by a small placard—sometimes just a line of poetry, other times a detailed note on its origin, treatment, or emotional reference. One cotton-linen blend reads: “Like a worn page from a journal, softened by time, stained by memory.” Another: “Woven under stormlight in Shizuoka, never to be made again.”

Fashion designers, artists, stylists, and conceptual thinkers often flock to the shop looking for inspiration. It has become something of a cult destination for those in the know. “It’s not cheap,” admits one local fashion student. “But every time I visit, I leave feeling something—like I’m part of a conversation.”

For those unable to visit the physical store, COMME TISSU offers a limited digital experience—true to the Comme des Garçons ethos, the online shop is stark, cryptic, and devoid of traditional marketing fluff. No ads, no pop-ups. Just textures, words, and emotion. Visitors scroll through moody photos and poetic blurbs. Swatches can be ordered in minimalist packaging, designed to look like deconstructed love letters.

Workshops are occasionally held inside the store—intimate, quiet gatherings around themes like “Sewing the Unspoken” or “Fabric as Emotion.”Comme Des Garcons Long Sleeve These sessions blend traditional techniques with experimental play, encouraging participants to move away from pattern-following and into pure expression. “It’s not about perfection,” says Léa. “It’s about presence.”

At its core, COMME TISSU isn’t really about selling fabric. It’s about making people feel something through material. It asks questions rather than giving answers. It breaks the rules of retail, just as Comme des Garçons broke the rules of fashion.

Walking out of the store, even empty-handed, feels like leaving a dream—or perhaps entering a different one. It’s not a place you just visit. It’s one that lingers.