1
Eleven years ago, a friend walked into LOCK CHUCK. Her name is Echo. She worked for a renowned French company, which regularly sent her to Paris. Every time she came back, she’d greet us the French way – with kisses on both cheeks. And she never returned empty-handed, sometimes it’s chocolate from neighborhood boutique, sometimes spices from a market that we’d never heard of, and the stories from the City of Light that she had brought along with them.
Her love to the city became contagious. Over the years, Echo filled our imagination with stories of Paris, and the city became a place we knew long before we had ever been. So eventually, we went.
Our first visit to Paris was everything we had hoped for. We still remember the cone-shaped pink blossoms lining the streets, the masterpieces we had only seen in textbooks, and the endless rooftops stretching toward a sky that seemed to hold every dream imaginable.
Perhaps Paris isn’t magical because of its monuments. Perhaps it’s magical because it quietly gives dreamers permission to dream a little bigger. Not long after we returned home, Echo made a decision that surprised everyone. She left a stable job, packed two suitcases and moved to Paris to study French culinary. Just like that, she decided to start over.
So then, we had another reason to go back. Except this time, we weren’t going to “visit” Paris, but instead, it was to see Echo and the Paris she’d built for herself. Echo welcomed us with the same familiar kisses before pulling us into a hug.
“You already look like a Parisian,” I laughed.
She smiled, “You know how much I love this city.”
She had just finished her dessert class. Her instructor was a pastry chef of a three-Michelin-star restaurant. Carefully, she handed us the cake she had made in the class.
“It looks too beautiful to eat,” I said.
“Then let’s eat it the Parisian way.”
She led us to wander through the markets of Montmartre, picked up Champagne, cheese, and ham before laying a blanket beneath a tree in a small neighborhood park.
Just beyond the park, tourists crowded the streets. Inside, there was only birdsong, breeze, and time. Sunshine gracefully jumped though the gaps of leaves, popped into our glasses and gavalnized each rising bubbles with golden crusts.
“Cheers. Welcome to Paris.”
As we talked, I realized something. We barely ticked off any famous attractions this time in Paris. Thanks to Echo, we got to wander without a plan (and pretty much like this for our entire trip). We lingered outside cafés watching strangers pass by; chatted with bartenders in bars; sat on park benches doing absolutely nothing. For the first time ever, we were totally living in Paris.
The night before, we had dinner at a neighborhood bistro recommended by a bartender. Above the entrance hung a small sign.
We’ll always have Paris.
The city will always be there. But perhaps what lasts even longer is the way it teaches you to live.
Echo looked at me quietly. “You know how difficult it was to leave everything behind.”
She paused.
“But I knew this was my dream, and I followed it. Isn’t that magical?”
2
“Chuck, I’m leaving.” Said Emily. She had been coming to LOCK CHUCK for years.
“What do you mean? Just for now?”
She shook her head. “For good.” After four years in Guangzhou, she was about to set a new voyage.
“This city became my second home. Before I leave, I want to say goodby to you. I know you like printing. I made this photo book with the photos I took. They are my greatest memories.”She handed me a photo book. On the cover it read: Nostalgia Guangzhou. Inside weren’t landmarks. Instead, there were iconic red plastic stools outside tiny noodle shops, shared bicycles scattered through narrow streets, convenience stores where owners listened to the radio or dozed off in the afternoon. The ordinary moments most people never notice.
“I was inspired by your journals,” she said. “I wanted to tell Guangzhou’s story.”
I looked through the photographs.“You didn’t just visit this city. You belonged to it.”
She smiled. “When I first came here, I was scared. Now all I can think about is how much I’ll miss it. It still feels magical.”
Soon she would return to Germany before beginning another chapter in New York.
“On my flight back from Paris, I watched Emily in Paris.” I laughed. “So I guess you’ll become…”
She laughed before I could finish. “Emily in Guangzhou. And next season. Emily in New York.”
3
“Chuck, I have a good news. Next time you come to have your hair cut, you will go to our new shop in Ginza. ” My hair dresser Keizo San announced the exciting news to me. “The constructions will start tomorrow. Let’s bring some drink and celebrate there tonight.”
Twelve years ago, I visited Keizo-san for the first time. His salon—SOZO—was in Harajuku, the heart of Tokyo’s fashion culture. Since then, having my hair cut by him has become less of an appointment and more of a ritual.
In Japan, people deeply respect craftsmanship—the quiet, relentless pursuit of mastery. Keizo-san embodies this spirit. While many of his peers chose stability in large companies, he chose the unknown. He went to London to learn, then to New York, where he spent five years sharpening his craft.
I once told him that New York is one of my stars.The first time I visited, I found myself standing in front of Macy’s, staring at the giant neon sign on on the facades which read: BELIEVE. I couldn’t hold back my tears. It felt like a voice—clear and powerful—speaking directly to me. That voice stayed with me. It led me to open LOCK CHUCK.
At that time, I knew nothing about the industry. But Keizo-san’s hospitality — his way of treating people, his way of building connections — became one of my greatest sources of inspiration. I often tell him how much I admire him. I tell him I want to stand on a stage like his, to compete, to shine. And every time, he looks at me with certainty and says: “You can make it. Do you know how many salons there are in Tokyo? Even surviving is not easy—let alone succeeding. But I always believe that I can make it.”
We stood there, in an empty space at the heart of Ginza—a place where champions are welcomed by lights and applause. As he spoke about his vision, his eyes sparkled like a child’s. Suddenly, I was back in New York— staring at that glowing word: BELIEVE.
And at the same time, a word I had just learned surfaced in my mind — そうぞう (SOZO)— imagination. The very name of his salon.
In that moment, everything connected: magic exists for people who dared to imagine.
4
I’ve come to realize something. Magic rarely arrives as a miracle. It begins with curiosity. With believing. With leaving behind what is comfortable. With choosing a city you’ve never lived in. With calling a foreign place home. With building something before anyone else can see it. Perhaps that’s why all my favorite people seem to carry a little magic inside them. Maybe that’s why, after eleven years, LOCK CHUCK has become a place where people don’t simply come for coffee. They come for inspiration and ideas and even now and then, those ideas grow into reality.
We call it Magic House, because magic only happens to people who believe in it.
And I do.