The rhythm of the city meets the rhythm of Hashim’s mind.
Style that speaks in basslines, not words.
A harmony between motion, silence, and soul.
Love Layers of Copenhagen by Hashim Musa.
LOVE LAYERS OF COPENHAGEN HASHIM
Hashim moves through Copenhagen with the composure of someone entirely at ease in his own rhythm. The city suits him — compact, dynamic, fluid. “I’m in love with how close everything is to each other in Copenhagen,” he says. “It’s the easiest city to get around and I bike everywhere, so it’s perfect.” His world unfolds to the pace of his rides — music in his ears, light shifting across the canals, thoughts aligning with motion. Copenhagen becomes a soundscape, and Hashim, its calm, deliberate beat.
In Love Layers of Copenhagen, Hashim embodies an energy that feels composed, magnetic, and deeply his own. His presence is rhythm made visible — every gesture unfolding with the calm certainty of someone who knows who he is and what he’s creating.
Dressed in Maison Margiela, Junya Watanabe, and Our Legacy, he carries a quiet authority — an elegance that doesn’t follow trends, it defines them. Each brand becomes an extension of his state of mind: the intellectual rebellion of Margiela, dissecting what fashion means; the architectural curiosity of Watanabe, precise yet instinctive; and the poetic restraint of Our Legacy, where Scandinavian design meets human warmth.
The fabrics move like music — wool that thinks, denim that remembers, leather that carries rhythm. The construction is sharp, but never rigid; everything breathes, everything connects. In Hashim, these pieces don’t compete — they converse. His look doesn’t demand attention; it commands it, through balance, control, and emotion.
It feels like his sound — layered, sensual, and alive with intelligence. He doesn’t wear fashion as expression; he plays it as composition. Every outfit, a verse. Every movement, a note. And together, they become the rhythm of Copenhagen seen through his pulse.
“If Copenhagen were a song,” Hashim says,
“It would be any Sade song! More specifically ‘Siempre Hay Esperanza’ on the bike rides. There’s something about the beat with the saxophone that feels so sexy and flowy. That’s the energy I need on a ride through the city.”
And you can see it — or almost hear it. The soft hum of the tires against the pavement, the breath of cold air filling his lungs, the city unfolding like a rhythm in slow motion. His jacket moves with the wind, not against it. The world around him becomes a symphony of muted colours — brick, fog, chrome, and water — each beat falling into place like a verse in a song he’s lived a hundred times before.
Copenhagen, for Hashim, is not just a place to inhabit. It’s a tempo — a living, breathing rhythm that merges with his own. He doesn’t simply move through the city; the city moves with him, keeping time with each rotation of the pedals, each pause at the red light, each glance that lingers a little too long.
Music shapes him the way light shapes a room. “Love Jones (1997),” he continues, “The poetry, the music, the scenery, the chemistry — it’s beyond vibrations. The aesthetic of the 90s just hits different.” In that film, Hashim sees his own reflection — not in the storyline itself, but in the tone: the heat of a conversation that stretches into night, the ache of words unsaid, the intimacy of a glance that feels like a verse.
There’s something eternal in that kind of love — not for a person, but for a moment, for the emotion that passes through like a song you never want to end. That’s the kind of love Copenhagen gives him: quiet, soulful, cinematic. A romance with rhythm itself.
In the end, Love Layers of Copenhagen through Hashim becomes more than an editorial — it’s a pulse, a philosophy. A way of existing where emotion, rhythm, and craft move as one — like jazz in motion, like a city breathing in sync with a man who’s turned style into sound.
As night falls, the city slows, but Hashim doesn’t. He rides through Copenhagen as if tracing a melody — each street a verse, each light a note. The rhythm softens; the air turns cinematic. Reflections ripple on the water like fragments of a song still playing somewhere inside him.
There’s no grand ending, no final frame — just a feeling that lingers, the way music stays in your body after it ends. For Hashim, Love Layers of Copenhagen isn’t about arrival, but continuity — the art of moving, feeling, and creating without pause.
In the city’s heartbeat, he finds his own: steady, soulful, and infinite. The music never stops — it just changes form.
