The container studio in Truck City.Winter wind struck the steel walls irregularly.The heating was kept to a minimum,and a single work light illuminated the space.
Yoo Hajin sat in front of the monitor.
The chair creaked with age.Crumpled clothing patterns were scattered across the floor.A pair of oil-stained work boots,leather gloves thrown aside mid-task,and a small steel tray filled with copper parts and boltscaught faint reflections on the desk.
He murmured, almost whispering.
"Fashion… exists here too."
After a pause, he added,
"Even in places that smell like oil."
Hajin spent the entire day walking through Truck City.There was no direction.No requests.He simply followed people as they lived.
A young technician tightening a loosened glove with one handin front of flying welding sparks.Soot stained his face,yet his eyes were strangely clear.
A coffee truck owner unloading freshly roasted bean sacksfrom the back of his truck.Old burn scars lined his arms,his shirt worn thin in places.
He smiled and said,"These clothes? They're just the most comfortable."
A young female welder squatting on a steel plate,shaping bent scraps of metal like art.Her hair was loosely tied,her workwear oversized, as if handed down.
But when the sparks flew,there was no hesitation in her movements.
Hajin photographed every scene.He never asked them to pose.
He wasn't interested in the moment people dressed up.He wanted the moment they endured.
The images lined up one by one on the monitor.Angles that would never appear in a fashion editorial—yet somehow,impossible to look away from.
He opened the final pageand typed a single sentence.
"Fashion is armor that helps you live."
Not something worn to be dazzling,but something worn to endure.To avoid injury.To stand up again.
As he saved the file,he hesitated briefly.
Then named it:
TruckCity_LifeIsFashion_GUCCI_Project_0.93.pdf
3:27 a.m.
Hajin knewthe probability of this email being readwas close to zero.
GUCCI Global Headquarters.A world different from his—different language, different pace, different rules.
Still, his fingers didn't stop.
To: GUCCI Global Creative OfficeI know this is reckless.But this story must be seen.
The moment he pressed send,a short animation flashed across the screen.
—shaaak—
Hajin leaned back in his chair and laughed.
"I've lost it…"
Then quietly added,
"But I don't regret it."
—Florence, Italy. 48 hours later.GUCCI Headquarters, Design Building.
As designers prepared for their morning meeting,an unfamiliar file began circulating.
TruckCity_LifeIsFashion_GUCCI_Project_0.93
Someone had accidentally attached itto the entire mailing list.
One designer clicked it absentmindedly.
And the atmosphere in the room shifted.
"What is this…?"
"Korea?"
"They're truck workers—why do they look this incredible?"
As the images progressed,the room grew quieter.
Someone stopped scrolling.Someone else went back to the beginning.
The disturbance eventually reachedthe ears of GUCCI's Global Creative Director,Alessandro Makino.
Passing by, he glanced at a monitor—then stopped.
Sparks on steel.Oil stains.A small city of trucks stitched together.
And at the center of the screen:
"Fashion is armor that helps you live."
Alessandro's expression hardened.
"Who sent this proposal?"
"A project from Korea called 'Truck City.'"
"I was told it's a temporary settlement."
He fell silent for a moment.
Then said quietly,
"This isn't a temporary city…"
"It's the human story we've lost."
—That night, 2:00 a.m. Korean time.
Yoo Hajin's phone vibrated.
From: Alessandro MakinoSubject: We need to talk. Privately.
His hand trembled as he opened the email.
I read your project.It is raw, dangerous, and breathtaking.Meet me in your city.No press. No announcement.Within 72 hours.
Hajin stared at the screen, frozen.
Then finally said softly,
"Doyoon hyung…"
"GUCCI is… actually coming."