Grandpa Family: Jonas Pelz

Looking back at 2003—what was missing in the retail world that made you feel “we need to start Grandpa”?

We felt that Stockholm was very segregated in the sense that you didn’t feel welcome in many stores—they were aimed at a very specific crowd. And honestly, Stockholm was kind of boring and stiff. There were a lot of noses in the air. It felt anxious, uptight. We just wanted to shake things up.

In an early interview I said that “at Grandpa, a 55-year-old plumber from Bagarmossen can be in the store at the same time as a 24-year-old fashion-interested girl from Östermalm without it feeling strange.” That was the feeling we wanted to create—and I still think that’s the case. We wanted to open a cool store (doesn’t sound that cool when you say it, but still) that was also welcoming to everyone.

How much of Grandpa was a business idea—and how much was about creating a place you yourselves wanted to be in?

You could probably say 0% business idea and 100% a place we wanted to be in. Honestly, that’s true. We did have a “business plan” on paper, but that was mostly to please Almi. We didn’t really know anything about the industry, had no experience—we were incredibly naive. But we knew the kind of atmosphere we wanted, and we just did what we felt like. The fact that it worked is probably a mix of luck and the fact that we were being ourselves—people could tell it was something genuine.

A story I like to tell is when we closed the store, grabbed a beer, and were about to do the register—we counted receipts (yes, we had handwritten receipts in the beginning…), and Martin asked me: “how many guests have we had today?” That says a lot about how we saw people—not as customers, but as guests.

I don’t think it would work the same way today. Everything that opens now—stores, restaurants—is thought through and conceptualized down to the smallest detail. Nothing is allowed to grow over time. It has to be perfect from day one, and I think that makes it soulless. I have a quote I like: “Nice, super nice—but too fucking perfect.” A lot of concepts are over-conceptualized. You’re told exactly what you’re supposed to experience. It looks great, but if you scratch the surface, it’s just a set design.

What do you remember most from the early years on Södermalm—was there a moment when you felt “this might actually work”?

No specific moment, really—but when magazines started reaching out and Grandpa was featured in both Swedish and international publications, we obviously started to feel that we had created something that stood out—something that could actually work.

We also quickly realized we couldn’t run the store ourselves all the time, even though we were three guys running it together, so we dared to hire people fairly early. We never wanted the store to be closed—we’ve always been open seven days a week.

Grandpa is often described as more than just a store—when did it start to feel that way to you?

I don’t really know. “More than just a store” is something people say, but for us it’s kind of always been like that. We never saw Grandpa as just a store—the store became an extension of something we were already doing. We were throwing parties and organizing happenings under the name Grandpa before we even opened. Of course, over time it became more “just a store,” but we’ve always kept doing other things—offering a different kind of shopping experience and doing things that don’t normally belong in retail. Collaborations, parties, a Wurst Wagon—whatever it might be.

We’ve never really talked about having a “community.” That’s a word that’s come up more in the last 5–10 years. For us, it was just something we did that people liked. Friends, friends of friends—and of course a lot of people we didn’t know. We were just ourselves and we did a lot of things in and around the stores that people showed up for.

I think the word “community” is a bit forced. Everyone wants one, but I think it’s something you earn—you can’t just create it. It’s built over time, based on doing things people actually like.

Looking back—are there any moments or periods that have meant a bit more than others for Grandpa?

Of course there are many memories, but what means the most to me personally is probably everything we’ve done together with our staff. If there’s something I’m proud of, it’s the contexts that were created.

We’ve had so many amazing people working with us, and there have been both friendships and romantic relationships that have lasted a lifetime. It’s nice to think that Grandpa has had that kind of impact on people’s lives.

Grandpa has always had a strong in-store feeling—how consciously have you worked with atmosphere, service, and the overall experience?

For a long time we’ve worked with the internal keywords “Service – Inspiration – Atmosphere.” That’s been present in everything we’ve done, so yes, very consciously.

We want to be the best at welcoming and taking care of our customers (service), the stores should feel inspiring and thoughtfully put together (inspiration), and it should always be fun to visit Grandpa—we should have the nicest staff, play great music, and it should feel natural to hang out there (atmosphere).

How did you approach the assortment in the early days? What guided your buying decisions?

In the beginning it was a bit more “wild west.” We didn’t really have a strategy—we went on gut feeling and bought what we liked. There are quite a few products we look back on with a lot of secondhand embarrassment.

When it comes to our Life assortment, we fairly early started shaping a strategy based on equal parts “quality,” “unexpected/fun,” and “classics.” Products that would last over time, weren’t everywhere, and ideally looked good without trying too hard. Like the Portuguese toothpaste Couto, which has become a Grandpa classic. Or the German toothpaste (we thought) Kukident, which turned out to be some kind of denture glue. But still—Kukident.

With some exceptions (Kukident…), we’ve always believed products should be useful. Not just fun to buy and give away, only to end up in a drawer. They should be good things that actually get used. We’ve also always made things unnecessarily hard for ourselves. When something started selling too well—or showed up at places like Designtorget—we lost interest. Obviously not very smart if you’re running a business built on selling things…

You’ve always talked about selling “style rather than fashion”—how has that philosophy influenced your decisions over time?

Probably mainly in the sense that we’ve always been a bit cautious with trends and new brands. We’re not always first in line. We weigh decisions carefully and rely a lot on gut feeling.

Clothing should be fun, but you have to think long-term and sustainably when you buy something. “Will this last over time?” The longer you can use a garment or product, the better.

At the same time, we’ve always struggled to define a “Grandpa style” in words. We’re not street, not tailored, not trend, not casual, not heritage, not denim. We’re Grandpa. Maybe a bit of everything—but hard to define.

Grandpa has long been about conscious choices rather than fast trends—how has your view on sustainability evolved over time, and how has it influenced Grandpa in practice?

I believe long-term thinking is key to building a credible company or brand. Thinking long-term in all relationships—with partners, suppliers, and especially your staff—creates a strong foundation for development, including sustainability.

You have to learn from each other and evolve along the way. We’ve always felt that we can’t do everything at once, but we should do as much as possible and constantly improve.

At its core, Grandpa’s sustainability philosophy has always been about quality, materials, and working conditions.

What inspires you?

A lot of things. Could be a book cover, a label, architecture, or something I see on Instagram. But generally, I’m drawn to things that aren’t perfect. I like when something feels a bit off.

That applies to most things, especially public spaces. When a store, restaurant, or hotel is too perfect, I get suspicious. It lacks soul. There needs to be room for imperfections.

I’m very drawn to old industrial areas with low-key businesses—places that barely exist anymore but can still be found on the outskirts of cities. I like that feeling of something that’s been built over time without too much planning—a patched sheet of metal, a strange staircase, an extension in a different material or color, a pole slightly out of place. I like that.

Now that you’re no longer operational—what does your relationship to Grandpa look like today, and what makes you most proud?

Today I work as a consultant through my company Public Affair, helping companies in retail and hospitality with concept development and brand experience—bringing together the visual and the emotional, just like we’ve always done with Grandpa.

I still work a bit with Grandpa—helping out with certain projects like store concepts, and I’ve done collaborations like “Grandpa Grand Suite” and “Vintage Roadtrip.” I also source handpicked second hand for the stores.

Can you remember any small details from the early years that turned out to be important for how Grandpa was experienced?

One important “detail” was when we applied to turn the street outside the store into a pedestrian street—the stretch between Skånegatan and Bondegatan. That was my partner Martin, stubbornly pushing the city—calling, emailing, submitting proposals—and eventually he made it happen, to mine and Anders’ great surprise and joy.

That probably affected Grandpa more than we realize—Södermannagatan has become something of a classic because of it.

Otherwise, I think our personal touch in everything we did mattered a lot. We were very small-scale. I wrote long, handwritten and (we thought) humorous price tags and signs for everything. They became quite appreciated and noticed—same with our newsletters, which were more about our everyday life and Stockholm than what we sold. Very uncommercial.

Both the newsletters and the handwritten signs were a kind of social commentary with a humorous twist. Borderline ridiculous—but kind of amazing when I think back.