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For five weeks between January and February, our showroom became the Wildfire Relief Free Market—an immediate, on-the-ground effort to distribute new, high-quality essentials to those impacted by Los Angeles’s recent wildfires. From the start, the goal was to create something more—a space that provided normalcy, dignity, and community at a time when so much had been lost.  More than a place of necessity, the market was intentionally designed to feel like a true retail space—thoughtfully merchandised and deliberately familiar. Instead of tables piled with well-intentioned donations of used goods or boxes to sift through, every item was displayed with care, creating an experience where people who had lost everything could walk in and find something they wanted—not just something they needed. 

By the time it closed on February 15, the market had welcomed over 3,000 visitors.

For all of us at Kalon, the market was an experience of profound and unexpected beauty—filled with moments of kindness, humanity, devastation and joy. Some lifted us up, some left us shattered. A few I will never forget: an older woman slipping into a pair of beaded flats and bursting into tears when she realized they fit. A stranger holding my hands and my eyes, telling me she knew who I was, that there were no words for what we had done here. A nurse who had been in her scrubs for nine days, looking at her reflection and whispering, “There she is. There I am.” These moments carried a raw humanity unlike anything we’d experienced before. Above all else, the experience shone a light on the essential ways that we rely upon one another. Against the backdrop of a divided nation, witnessing the raw power of community is something we will carry with us for a long time.

Ultimately, the market became something far greater than Kalon—shaped by the thousands who visited, the 85 brands that stood with us, and the over 110 volunteers who showed up day after day, with willing hands and open hearts. Capturing a full portrait feels impossible. Yet, sharing even a small part of it feels essential—a reminder of what is possible. 

“Markets, now and in the past, have been not just places to acquire goods but also to exchange news and ideas,” Scott Mortmon, one of our volunteers, told me. “The Free Market captured this essence and empowered those who lost their possessions to fire to meet and speak with others similarly situated, to gain information on insurance claims and road reopenings, to commiserate and cry, linger and laugh, and to pick up beautiful replacements for the items they lost. For the time it operated, Kalon became a needed town square for those who were forced to relocate.” 

It’s been a month since the market closed but we’ve found it’s not something easily left behind. “Since the market ended, I still find time to pause and reflect on the whole experience,” my fellow organizer René Petersson texted me late one night after the market closed. “How five weeks can feel like both five  seconds and five years; the people, their stories, the devastation, the insurmountable grief and guilt and frustration; the people. I am still overwhelmed by the generosity shared with our LA community; to facilitate this exchange of new goods is by far one of the greatest honors of my life.”

Even now, I find myself replaying those five weeks—certain moments returning with startling clarity. What stands out isn’t the scale of what we did, but the people who carried it with us. The ones who worked until they were exhausted, then came back to do it again—not because they had to, but because they felt the urgency of the moment, the need to do something in the face of catastrophic loss. In the chaos, the market gave us agency. It gave us belonging. It gave us a way to create and experience real, tangible impact.

Why people are called to service is something I’ve thought about often since the market. It’s never just one thing. It’s complex, layered, and deeply personal. Climate disasters are becoming more frequent—there will be more floods, more fires. And yet, what happened in Los Angeles offers something to hold onto, a glimpse of a way forward. The people who came to the market found something beautiful in the work—in looking visitors in the eye, in holding them, in crying together, in feeling the power of community. These moments lifted them up. And in return, they lifted the market up with them.

A few people and brands deserve special mention: volunteers Rachel and Jonny Craven, Anh Bui, Scott Mortman, Rikki Lethal, Anasuya Engel and Jennifer Fullwood—for showing up day after day, putting themselves out there, and staying far beyond the required hours to ensure the work was done. Misha & Puff—for being the origin. On January 8, the night we evacuated, they called to ask Johann if they could send us goods to distribute, a moment that set everything in motion. Momo Suzuki and Alex Yamaguchi of Black Crane—for showing up that first morning with arms full of goods to donate, then staying to help us set up, loaning racks, sharing their merchandising expertise, and coming back to volunteer and donate more. Baggu, Apiece Apart, Coyuchi, Cultivar, Garrett Leight, Hansel from Basel, Lady White, Akila, Bliss & Mischief, Weleda, and AYR—for giving at scale, time and again, no matter how many market days we hosted. 

And above all others, René Petersson, my true partner in this effort. René matched me hour for hour, minute for minute in this project. We started texting at 5am and stopped at midnight. Without him the market simply would not have been possible.  

To everyone who shopped, donated, volunteered, or simply spread the word—thank you. We are endlessly grateful for every individual, company, and brand who, with no direct benefit to themselves, helped keep the market running and stocked, no matter how many people came through. 

 We will ride or die for LA, our city, our home. LA Forever.

• Words by: Michaele Simmering