PSYCHE:

REDIFINING THE OLIVE OIL INDUSTRY

AND THE MAN BEHIND IT ALL, THEOPHILOS CONSTANTINOU

I got a message from Yoshi, hustling in New York, saying, “I found this really cool olive oil.” “Olive oil?” I thought skeptically. But what he introduced me to was Psyche. The moment I opened their website, I was struck by the logo, the typography, and the overall unified art direction. And get this — the bottle wasn’t glass. It was a plastic pouch. I thought “cool… but wait a second.” I started to get suspicious: isn’t this just another one of those trendy, design-focused food brands that keep popping up these days? Still unconvinced that they were not, I decided to dig deeper. I found that on social media they were collaborating with fashion brands, posting content that was both stylish and humorous — even organizing live shows for Riki Hidaka, a guitarist I personally admire.

The thing is, olive oil has a history that dates all the way back to 4000 BCE. It appears in ancient myths and religious rituals — an ancient lifeline woven deeply into human culture. But today, swept up in the waves of mass production and mass consumption, the olive oil industry faces numerous problems: misleading labeling, opaque supply chains, and more. Just by looking at a bottle, it’s nearly impossible to judge the true quality of what’s inside. Amid this, Psyche is attempting something bold: fusing authentic olive oil with culture in a truly elegant way. What they’re doing is not just selling a product, but having a conversation — using olive oil as a medium to engage with culture. Food as an expression, existing side-by-side with art and music.

“The food is medicine.”

That’s what Theo says about his olive oil — a creation filled with philosophy, aesthetics, and the reality of shared experiences with friends.

MCNAI: First off, I’d love to hear about the origins of Psyche. I heard you originally worked in publishing — can you tell us in detail how you went from that to launching an olive oil brand?

Theo: It was fate. Back in 2020, the publishing house I was running — PARADIGM — was at its peak. But then COVID-19 hit, and the entire publishing industry started shrinking fast. I was struggling mentally and I returned to my homeland of Greece. There, I had the chance to grow fruits and vegetables. The person I farmed with was Panayiotis Manikis, a farmer who once apprenticed under Masanobu Fukuoka back in the ’70s. Meeting Panayiotis — and being exposed to Fukuoka’s philosophy around food — was the start of everything. Originally, I thought I would live my life publishing books and working in the art world. But that experience made me want to create something in the world of food instead.

That’s when you became interested in the food space. I read a past interview where you said something that really stuck with me: “Food is medicine.” Can you explain what that means?

Actually, that’s not originally my phrase — it comes from Hippocrates, the ancient Greek physician often called the father of medicine. He said, “Let food be thy medicine.” It’s such a simple yet deeply true idea. What we eat becomes the foundation of our health. When we eat natural, high-quality food, we feel better. That’s something everyone can relate to.

Yesterday, for example, I ate a bunch of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups while watching a movie — and this morning, my stomach hurt so bad. That stuff is basically just processed sugar, not real food. In contrast, when I’m in Japan, I feel great. You get so many opportunities to eat fresh food, and there’s less processed stuff. Every time I visit, I’m reminded of how different the food culture is. In the U.S., I feel like the food system is set up in a way that harms people’s health. Hospitals and pharmaceutical companies profit from treating illness — not preventing it. So low-quality food keeps being sold, people get sick, and then they’re absorbed into the healthcare system. Most of what you see in grocery stores is genetically modified or chemically processed. It barely qualifies as “food” in the true sense. That’s why “food is medicine.” Olive oil, too — it’s packed with antioxidants and polyphenols, and it has anti-inflammatory properties. And it tastes great. It really is a natural form of medicine.

That reminds me of a similar idea in Japan. For example, miso — people treat it almost like medicine, eating it every day for its health benefits. Natto too.

Exactly. Traditional foods hold the wisdom of each culture’s approach to health.

Listening to you, it feels like Psyche isn’t just a brand for olive oil — it has a kind of medicinal role, something more than just food. Also, in a previous interview, you mentioned wanting to “avoid competition” in the marketplace. That stuck with me, because selling olive oil usually means you’ll be compared to other brands. What exactly do you mean by avoiding competition?

Great question. I think the easiest way to explain it is with an analogy: sports. Yesterday, I was watching NBA highlights from the ’90s. And it struck me again — Michael Jordan wasn’t really competing with other people. Yes, there were opponents, and the ’90s NBA was incredibly competitive. But Jordan’s true battle was always against himself. His goal wasn’t to beat someone else — it was to be better than he was yesterday. That’s how I see things too. I’m not trying to compete with other olive oil brands. I’m not thinking about Graza or Brightland or Frankies. Because I am me. That’s it. The design, the brand world — all of it comes from my own individuality. No one else could create the same thing. Just look at the shelf.

Other olive oils come in glass bottles. But Psyche? It comes in a bag. That’s partly because olive oil oxidizes when exposed to light, so an opaque bag actually protects it — but it’s also visibly different from anything else. Marketing too. Did you see the video I posted on Instagram yesterday? (Two women playing rock-paper-scissors, and the winner gets Psyche Olive Oil; a parody of the AKB48 election.) You laughed, right? Have you ever seen another olive oil brand do that? That’s why competition doesn’t matter to me. I’m just doing what I find interesting. And as a result, people think, “Psyche is different.” In the end, it’s all about taste. No matter how clever your marketing is, the taste will tell the truth. If someone tries it and feels, “Ah, this is something else” — that’s the proof it’s real.

That kind of thinking is really similar to Japanese craftsmanship. Like Sabae eyeglasses.

Exactly! The glasses made by Sabae artisans are world-class. Sure, Italian and French glasses are great too. But Sabae has that unique quality that sets it apart. That’s what I want my olive oil to be.

So being one-of-a-kind is your way of avoiding competition?

Exactly. If what you make is so original that no one else can copy it, then the concept of “competition” disappears altogether.

I’d also like to talk about marketing. Yoshi told me about your pop-up with Porter. And scrolling through Instagram, it seems like the people drawn to Psyche aren’t just into food — they’re really plugged into fashion and art. That’s rare. Did that happen organically, or was it a community you intentionally cultivated?

It wasn’t intentional. It just happened naturally because that’s the world I come from. Through PARADIGM, I worked in publishing and photography. I’ve earned some recognition in that space. Lately, I’ve released ZINEs in Tokyo with Blankmag and Teamclub. My photos have been printed on tees and sweatshirts at Urban Research. I also write a recurring column for Grind Magazine. So creatives — fashion people, graffiti artists, skaters — naturally gather around me. Psyche was born within that same current. When Yoshi came to the Porter pop-up, it wasn’t because I targeted that audience. I was just there, and that presence created a space. And people naturally showed up. That’s it.

So it wasn’t something you aimed for, it just formed around you?

Exactly. But even so, there’s intention at the root of it. I try to be conscious about how I live. And I believe that if you decide to live with much more consciousness, you naturally build strong communities. It’s not forced — it forms organically. Take this interview, for example. I chose to do this because I felt there was value in talking to you. Some people might say, “I’m too tired to meet today.” But I wanted to have this dialogue, so here I am.

That attitude really carries over into Psyche. It doesn’t feel like a “food brand” — it feels more like a fashion label or a cultural project. A lot of brands today try to connect food and culture, but many of them come off as strategic or unnatural. Psyche, on the other hand, feels effortlessly tied to culture. Is there anything specific you’re conscious of when it comes to that?

If I had to name something, it’s aesthetic and taste. Even the typography in Psyche’s branding reflects my obsession with detail. Asger Behncke Jacobsen, who is the designer that I work with graduated from a top design school in Amsterdam and studied with Johannes Breyer, founder of ABC Dinamo. Together, we made the logo, and we used ABC Arizona as our main typeface. Most food brands don’t even think about stuff like that. But to me, it’s the bare minimum. Because I see making olive oil itself as an art form. It’s no different from when I was publishing books. The books we made are still sitting on people’s shelves, and some go for high prices on the secondhand market. That’s because we were obsessed over quality. With Psyche, I apply that same standard — not just to the oil, but to the design and the overall experience. 

And “taste” is hugely important too. It’s not just about making a good product with good aesthetics. Every cultural detail has to be reflected in it. Think about architecture or interiors — money doesn’t buy taste. You can spend a fortune, but if you don’t have good taste, it’ll still come out bad.

How did you develop that sense of aesthetics and taste?

Well, aside from when I’m traveling like today, I almost always wear a suit. That habit comes from my father. He grew up in a small, poor village in Cyprus, but even then, he always went to work in a tailored suit. He dressed sharply and paid attention to every detail. Seeing that growing up made me believe that you should care about how you dress. My parents also took me to art museums all over the world. I used to go to the Cleveland Museum of Art as a kid. I saw a lot of exhibitions abroad too. Those experiences really shaped my aesthetic.

Listening to you, it feels like your openness to diverse cultures and communities is what’s allowed you to naturally accumulate all this knowledge and experience. People want to share things with you — they say, “Hey, check this out,” because you’re open minded.

Exactly. That’s the most important thing. Being open is the best way to discover new things.

Oh, speaking of, I noticed you did an event with the Japanese guitarist Riki Hidaka on Psyche’s Instagram. Funny enough, I’ve worked on experimental music events in Japan and invited him to one before.

No way! Riki’s a dear friend. He just sent me his new album Spine on CD.

I love his music. How did you two meet?

Through Shinpei, Koki, and Toya. I’ve stayed connected with their crew for a while, and through them I naturally became close to Riki.

 Koki? You mean that Koki?

Yeah—Koki Sato.

Wow! Have you hosted solo performances for Riki?

I have. Back when I ran a café in Copenhagen, I invited him to perform there.

That’s amazing. A food brand organizing experimental music events is pretty rare. But now that I think about it, there’s a similar strength in both Riki’s music and Psyche. Different forms of expression, but the same spirit.

That means a lot to hear. In the end, it’s all about respect. I deeply respect Riki’s music and artistic sensibility. That’s why his expression and Psyche naturally connect.

Final question. Many young people in our community want to communicate traditional foods in a new way, such as sons of soy sauce brewers or heirs to sake makers that have been in business for generations. They’re trying to figure out how to share traditional food from a fresh perspective. Any advice?

The answer is simple: be yourself. Take soy sauce — there are well-established brands like Yamasa, right? But if you’re part of that world, you have to figure out how to bring your own voice into it. Ask yourself: How can I make this my own? I’m dealing with something traditional too — olive oil. But by bringing in my style, I’ve made it into something new. There’s no need to copy anyone else. Just focus on shaping what you believe in — what excites you. For me, I wanted to make something sustainable. That decision — combined with other factors — led to the pouch packaging. But I didn’t set out from the beginning thinking, “It has to be a pouch.” One thing I really want to say, though: this path is not easy. You’d better be prepared. Running a business means fighting every day. There will be days you feel like crying. It’s a seriously tough world. But if you’re truly committed, you can create something special.

Thank you so much for this interview.

Likewise. That was an amazing conversation. Thank you.