Eternally hip at 67, Shaheen Sadeghi, founder and CEO of LAB Holding LLC, still dresses like a fashion designer, even while relaxing at home. Except for butterscotch-colored shoes, sans socks, today’s look is monochromatic: dark royal blue twill slacks, ending in a discreet cuff with matching shirt. Half an inch of a multicolored pocket square peeks out. Is it Gucci? Pucci? Could it be his own design?
Sadeghi can likely get any garment he wants. In a previous career, he was head of product and design for Jantzen, then executive vice president for Gotcha Sportswear Inc.
Eventually he joined Quiksilver as its president. But after traveling the world as a fashion executive and reaching the pinnacle in action sportswear, he grew restless. Ever a trendwatcher, he could feel traditional malls beginning to alienate young audiences.
“They didn’t want teenagers hanging out. And I’m like, ‘Whoa, I just sold a couple billion dollars of this product to them,’” he said. “These teens, they’re into clean oceans, they’re into politics, they’re into the environment and music. I thought, ‘Okay, there is a cultural dichotomy that’s happening here.’”
He floated the idea of building a new shopping environment to friends with means. Nobody jumped at it. So, with no previous experience as a real estate developer, he felt compelled to create one himself.
He found a spot in Costa Mesa, a former night-vision goggles plant, and opened a retail center with a cluster of restaurants in 1993: The LAB Anti-Mall. In his indoor/outdoor collection of shops offering alterna merchandise, a traditional food court wasn’t a fit. Instead, he carved out spaces for each eatery to exude its own vibe.
There were snack stands, of course, but the standalone restaurants became destinations. The Gypsy Den had a bohemian ambience reminiscent of San Francisco coffee houses of the ’60s. Habana celebrated Cuba — an exotic locale during the Clinton administration — where mojitos and sangria flowed. The patio glowed with votive candles, and a dragon tree centerpiece surrounded by flowers and lush landscaping concealed the parking lot just outside its perimeter.
It took a couple years for The LAB to catch on, but Sadeghi never lost faith. “I just knew in my heart — again, I compare everything to music — the notes just felt right to me. And I used my own money.”
Soon, everyone was singing his song. The LAB became a hot property, the place to catch up-and-coming bands Sugar Ray, Sublime and No Doubt.
Sadeghi’s vision had caught fire, but he wasn’t done. In 2002, he followed up with The Camp, right across the street. It was another eclectic center with SEED Peoples Market (Sadeghi was founder and owner of that shop), a plant store housed in an Airstream trailer, lots more artisanal retail and another intriguing group of restaurants.
Tim Goodell, then one of Southern California’s trendiest chefs, opened The Lodge, and although the tenant mix has changed over the years, Sadeghi is still pulling in top chefs such as 2019 “Chopped” winner Rachel Klemek.
Feasts come in many forms at The Camp. Among the choices? Breakfast or dessert at Klemek’s Blackmarket Bakery, dinner with topflight wine pairings at Old Vine Kitchen & Bar or a quick banh mi and Vietnamese iced coffee at East Borough.
Today, Orange County is home to all manner of food halls: Collage at Bloomingdale’s South Coast Plaza, SoCo in Costa Mesa, SteelCraft Garden Grove, Mess Hall Market in Tustin and Rodeo 39 Public Market in Stanton, to name a handful. But it’s still astounding that The LAB and The Camp were established before San Francisco’s trendsetting Ferry Building burst onto the scene.
Sadeghi isn’t done. The Anaheim Packing House celebrated its grand opening in 2014. Today’s tenants include The Blind Rabbit, a dark speakeasy; Georgia’s Restaurant, a soul food kitchen; and Adya, an Indian eatery by another “Chopped” winner, Shachi Mehra.
Most recently, Michael Reed was lured away from Los Angeles for his second restaurant, drawn to a jewel of a glass building constructed in 2018 by Sadeghi. Designed by Seattle firm Olson Kundig and set into Farmers Park in the Anaheim Packing District, it resembles a greenhouse. “So you will have the wonderful option to open up all the side doors and have that indoor/outdoor feel,” Reed told the Register shortly before opening Poppy & Seed in 2021.
With Sadeghi, the hits keep coming. His roster of projects include:
- Center Street Anaheim: three city blocks purchased in 2010 and revamped with outdoor cafes, boutiques, a local farmers market and seasonal art shows.
- San Clemente Casino: an event space with a ballroom, garden and patio. Purchased in 2006, it’s a fully restored historic building.
- Leisuretown: a 33,000-square-foot Anaheim playland, opened in 2020 with a brewery by Modern Times, a restaurant, beer garden, mini market, event space and swimming pool.
- The Beat: 14 townhomes with facilities for artists called The ARTery in North Long Beach will be breaking ground this year; construction has already begun on another 84 residential units called Rhythm. There also will be three blocks of retail and restaurants, including a jazz museum.
- The Marcos: artisan shops, restaurants and breweries coming to Grand and Linda Vista in San Marcos will break ground in a year.
But few of his fans know that the dude who stays one step ahead of us all wasn’t always the coolest kid on the block.
Unraveled
Shaheen Sadeghi’s grandfather built a retail and real estate empire and his father, Ali Sadeghi, was a successful businessman. The family enjoyed a comfortable life in Tehran where Shaheen was born in 1954. He had an older brother, and a sister came along 11 years later.
His mother, Dee Hamidi Sadeghi, was selected as one of the top women in education by Farah Pahlavi, Iran’s queen at the time. Dee was given a scholarship as part of a program to promote women in education in her native country, and she chose to study at Michigan State University. Suddenly, 11-year-old Shaheen was dropped into the American Midwest.
School was right across the street from his new home, but worlds away from everything he had known. No more jetting off to Europe, domestic servants or a driver to motor the family around the city.
Worse, Sadeghi faced the challenge of making friends at an age when it’s all about being cool. It went beyond culture shock, he recalled. “Back then they called us aliens.”
The neighborhood was “100 percent African American. It was where Magic Johnson grew up,” Sadeghi said. “I was the only brown kid in an all-Black school, and I barely spoke English.” The academic environment was strikingly different from his home country. “In Iran it was very strict. They literally paddle-spanked you … they were almost like military schools.”
Welcome to America in 1965. “These kids had their feet up on the desk and they were chewing gum and sitting with their legs open and I’m like, ‘Oh my God! You would get murdered if you did that at schools in Iran.’”
Young Shaheen couldn’t break the ice. Not even with sports. Back home, he played soccer; in the U.S., baseball, football and basketball ruled. “I had embarrassing moments that I’m very clear on,” he admits.
One day he was finally invited to shoot hoops with the guys and hit a perfect three pointer. “I had no rhythm, no idea what I was doing and I just thought, ‘This is it! I’m gonna seal some friendships right here!’ But as soon as that ball went in, I turned around and my teammates were ready to kill me.”
He had sunk it in his own team’s basket. So, he gave up. “Swear to God,” he said. “I never even showed up on a field after that.”
His tight-knit family remained committed to supporting his mother’s goal of pursuing her doctorate. His father had at first planned to stay in Iran but decided to keep everyone together. He came to the U.S. and also earned a degree at Michigan State.
But while his parents were leading a heady intellectual life at the university, making friends with grad students who also spoke Farsi, their son struggled. These were the days before ESL programs were common. Public schools dropped foreign students into mainstream classes and expected them to sink or swim. Eventually, Sadeghi lunged for a lifeline.
“There was a white teacher, Joyce Smith. She kind of took us in. She was just an amazing woman. You know how they say one teacher can change your life?” he said, stopping for a moment to gather himself as tears began to well in his eyes. “We loved her.”
Mrs. Smith invited the family to her home for Thanksgiving. They attended her church. She visited his family and cooked with his mother. The two women taught each other recipes, some from Iran and others from Texas, homestyle dishes Mrs. Smith brought with her from the Lone Star State.
As Shaheen gained a little confidence socially and improved his English, he was finally finding his way. More friendships formed when he picked up guitar.
Living so close to Detroit, he was influenced by Motown and the blues. He idolized Jimi Hendrix and started playing in bands. He had begun to dabble in fashion, designing clothes for himself and his bandmates.
“I was really into fashion back then,” he said. “And in 1970, when I was 16 years old, my mother had the summer off. She came to me and said, ‘We’re going to Iran.’’”
By then, American culture had embraced her son. He was planning to spend his summer vacation gigging, going to the lake and hanging out with friends. A multi-culti kid, he still respected the ways of his traditional family and couldn’t refuse the trip. But he wasn’t sorry; his act of obedience proved life-changing.
Prêt-à-porter
First stop: London. Teenage Shaheen got off the flight wearing his fastest bell bottoms and fell face over teakettle for Carnaby Street and Savile Row. “I was just blown away. Mary Quant. Jimi Hendrix. The Rolling Stones. Double-decker buses, miniskirts, groovy fashion. Everybody’s dressed freaking amazing! Oh my God! Here’s a kid from East Lansing, Michigan, middle of America. There are these clear paths where I know that my life changed. That’s definitely one of them.”
Dad wasn’t so sure. “He literally asked me if I was gay because I wanted to go to art school — that’s how conservative he was. Because their background is (that) you had to be a doctor or an engineer to support your family.”
Sadgeghi took art classes at Michigan State University, applied to New York’s Pratt Institute and, miraculously in his eyes, was accepted in the School of Design.
He found an apartment in Brooklyn with friends. Met Linda Harvey, who later became his wife and business partner in LAB Holding. Eventually, they had three sons who all work in real estate finance: Sebastian, 26 (Pimco in Newport Beach); Nikolai, 24 (Fortress Investment Group in Beverly Hills) and Dominic, 21 (LaSalle Investment Management in Beverly Hills).
While Sadgeghi studied at Pratt, he began to find jobs in the fashion industry, apprenticing for high-end couturier Charles James. He worked out of the Chelsea Hotel where James lived for 15 years. “He was a freaky guy,” Sadeghi says. “He worked from seven or eight o’clock at night until two to three in the morning.”
James introduced him to classical music and taught him “the architecture of clothes.” “His theory was, it’s not just about the fabric, but the air in between you and the fabric, just the way he even formed his stuff at the mannequin. I was classically trained,” Sadeghi says proudly.
Flipping through a coffee-table book from the era, Sadeghi sounds like a name-dropper. But he’s simply describing his early career, working in Manhattan and attending school in Brooklyn during that golden age when American fashion design was gaining an equal footing with European couture.
“Dylan was hanging out at the hotel.
“Halston ripped off half of Charles James’ stuff, he was a nasty guy.
“Bianca Jagger would come in and order three $4,000 dresses. He (James) would take a deposit and it took three freaking years to deliver a dress; he had a reputation for being very slow, so I worked with him just trying to get stuff out the door.
“At the time, I also worked for John Anthony. We were in the 550 building (on Seventh Avenue). It was the toniest address in the fashion industry. Anthony was on the seventh floor, Oscar de la Renta was on the eighth floor. Geoffrey Bean was on the ninth floor. Ralph Lauren, Bill Blass, Halston. … It was phenomenal. Every time you walked in that building you ran into all these guys in the elevator. And Calvin Klein was around the corner.”
In 1975, Sadeghi won the Costume Design Award from Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios for his work on the futuristic hit film “Logan’s Run.” By 1977, he had graduated from Pratt and won the New York Designers Award. But life accelerated much too fast as young Sadeghi burned the candle at both ends. He was making furniture, taking fashion and French classes, working late and sleeping about two hours a night. He wasn’t into drugs or partying at Studio 54 — he was just caught up in the tidal wave of American haute couture, driven to do more and more until one day it was all too much.
“I had an anxiety attack and I thought I was losing my mind.”
His parents, who finished their degrees, had moved back to Iran. Sadeghi was 23.
En vogue
His gray polished concrete two-story home has floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto a Zenlike garden with soft grasses and a saltwater pool. Furniture in neutral colors — some of it self-designed — include live-edge wooden tables that bring to mind a quiet forest. Sadeghi’s Laguna Beach home seems to invite visitors to meditate.
He serves tea in a ceramic mug that coordinates with the green and gray color palette. Ambient music plays as he describes the album he’s working on. If you ask, he will gently take an octave mandolin into his hands and play so you can hear how much more laid back it is than the typical tinny mandolin; tuned an octave lower, it soothes with an enchanting sound, like a viola and a 12-string guitar had a beautiful baby.
In 2015, The Wall Street Journal immortalized this 6,800-square-foot house, which once belonged to Massimo Giannulli, calling it, “A California couple’s oasis.” That’s what Sadeghi and his then-wife — they’ve been apart for about five years, he says — intended. With three sons and an overly busy work life, planning multimillion-dollar projects and occasionally taking risks on properties that others didn’t see value in, this is exactly what they needed.
Sadeghi had learned the hard way that work-life balance is essential. In 1977, after his panic episode in Manhattan, a counselor at school recommended he see a psychiatrist who explained what an anxiety attack was and why he had to chill. Today he stays active, mountain biking and snowboarding with his kids. Back then, he didn’t get it.
“He (the psychiatrist) said, ‘You’re pushing yourself too hard.’ I had zero understanding of my body because I was so driven. I started playing tennis. I became a running fanatic, I would go for miles and miles. It was just a way of getting back in tune, getting my Zen. I didn’t understand yoga or anything like that back then.”
So, it’s understandable that he creates restful and social spaces. The Camp subtly mimics a kids’ summer vacation. Inviting picnic tables and benches fill common areas. Adirondack chairs sit in cozy vignettes.
A small cabana defined by logs frames a green wall. It’s hidden at the back of The Camp and it’s irresistible. One late afternoon, there’s a burst of laughter and an inimitable voice spills out of the cabana’s sitting area. It’s Disney legend Kurt Russell giving someone a hearty handshake and accepting what looks like a CD or DVD. Is it a business deal? Just friends hanging out? Could be both. And that’s Sadeghi’s intention. He wants the world to slow down for visitors at his anti-malls, whether they’re mega movie stars or parents with small children.
Sadeghi came West seeking peace and an escape from New York City. “It was loud and dirty and there was always somebody screaming at you. It was just an intense place. Hectic, hectic. Between that and my work, I think I just maxed out.”
The dining experience should be social and rejuvenating, he says. “Obviously, the food has to be good and deliver value, but I think the main instrument is the opportunity to bring people together to connect and have a bonfire. Food is just a tool to do that.”
Americans eat too mindlessly and too fast, says Sadeghi, who has a TED talk on the subject. Ordering at McDonald’s took too long so they started serving combo meals, he says. Then came the drive-thru. “So now you’re talking to the stupid speaker… you go up to the window and they chuck a burger at you and you’re eating it in a car on the way to or from work. And that’s a meal? It’s insane!
“Fast food in this country? Not only is it horrendous for you, it’s culturally depriving. Compare that with the experience of being in Italy on Sunday. Grandma’s making pasta, so you sit around, you have wine. … It isn’t about eating, it’s about social connection. We forgot about all of that. But I think it’s back in America. Food became the new canvas, it became the new art. And it’s been really exciting, what’s happened over the last 10 years.”
Even the pandemic didn’t slow Sadeghi down. While restaurateurs shifted from panic to pivot, he took it in stride because all his projects had ample outdoor dining areas. “We live in California because of the weather,” he says. “Why do we have to go to Paris to eat outside at a café?”
It’s a new culture of eating, shopping and socializing that begins in the parking lot at The Camp, where each space has a positive message painted between the lines: “Show up for life. Remain calm. Listen. Follow new trails. Unplug. Pause.”
Sure, Sadeghi talks like a guru, but he’s no pushover. He’s a hardcore businessman, a lion in the cutthroat worlds of fashion and multimillion-dollar California real estate.
Yes, he’s had his share of disagreements with tenants, ventures that couldn’t be launched, run-ins with city halls. He ended up suing San Clemente over Playa del Norte. (The city initially approved the project, but a group of anti-development advocates initiated a referendum.) He partnered with Invesco on The Press, a project to transform the former offices of the Los Angeles Times’ Orange County edition into a social hall and park with 400,000 square feet of office space. But it was leased by Palmer Luckey, founder of Oculus VR, for Anduril Industries. It will become a private campus for Luckey’s company, and due to the nature of its government defense work it can’t be open to the public.
The dust-ups aren’t always about money. Sometimes they’re about creative differences. An artist at heart, Sadeghi holds fast to his principles. He firmly believes he’s changing business culture to reach today’s consumer. The pandemic only made it more relevant, he said, and business analysts and journos are beginning to agree.
They’re writing about remote working and the Great Resignation in lifestyle terms. To survive, some companies will have to make the office experience much more appealing to entice employees.
“Successful new offices will be like vertical yachts,” Mitchell Moss, a professor of urban policy and planning at New York University, told The Atlantic in a recent feature. Offices will be “an experience that people seek out, with terraces, and outdoor areas, and fancy gyms and places to eat.”
Sounds a lot like a Sadeghi enterprise, and as each new one comes online it makes him seem like a seer gazing into a crystal ball.
“He’s not afraid to be bold,” said Klemek. “I think the culture has caught up with him in terms of having a new emphasis on local and sustainable and small business and women-owned and minority-owned. I would say all that’s come in the last five to eight years. Shaheen was ahead of the curve. So, now he’s surfing.”
“I opened the Packing House on a Monday. On Tuesday, 5,000 people showed up and they never left,” Sadeghi says with delight. “That project was like instant success, which was freaky because it was risky.”
So, let Sadeghi continue to offer us tasty food halls with alterna retail. We might never be able to catch up to this prophet among real estate developers, but it’s delicious dining as we take up forks and follow closely behind.
