(There’s the “alarming” part of Gibson’s prescience-uncomfortably resonant given the present state of the world. The plot of The Peripheral unfolds across two timelines: the first in a economically depressed near-future rural United States the second in 22nd century London, decades after a cataclysmic series of events referred to collectively as “the Jackpot” wiped out 80 percent of life on Earth. The latter novel added a new page to Gibson’s playbook: time travel, of a sort. His most recent novel, Agency, released in late January, is the second in a planned trilogy that began with 2014’s The Peripheral. He’s no seer-just an unusually canny observer.

But, as Gibson will tell you, he has never set out to predict the future, only to respond to the present. One of the central themes of 2007’s Spook Country was the idea that our digital and physical worlds were becoming increasingly, inexorably intertwined. 1996’s Idoru, for instance, revolved around a virtual pop star-at roughly the same time the first attempts at such a creation were unveiled, and over a decade before the concept really caught on with Vocaloid idol Hatsune Miku. Since 1984’s Neuromancer-the novel that popularized the term “cyberspace,” which Gibson coined-he has made a habit of easing us into our impending present, introducing it to us just before it arrives at scale. (I have one of these hanging in my closet, and must confess I spent a non-negligible amount of time wondering how corny it would be to wear it to a hypothetical meeting with the author.) Gibson’s interest in fashion has provided no shortage of material for his novels-2010’s Zero History is propelled by trouser-related corporate espionage and the search for a mysterious denim brand-and, I suspect, created a portal into his work for an audience who may otherwise have never made time for it.

Buzz Rickson’s, one of the foremost reproducers of this latter type of gear, has a whole product line named after Gibson, inspired by his inclusion of their MA-1 in his 2002 novel, Pattern Recognition. While Gibson is revered for his eerily-alarmingly-prescient speculative fiction, he is also known for his refined sartorial palate, tuned to select frequencies: the severe tech-wear of Errolson Hugh’s Acronym, or intensely faithful Japanese reproductions of Americana and military garb. I typically try to avoid phone interviews, but in this case, I was happy to sidestep the pressure of deciding what I’d wear to meet the only septuagenarian novelist packing a pair of Acronym-designed Nike Prestos with his tour wardrobe. When I reach William Gibson, he’s in the midst of parallel parking, the brain-busting futurity of his books giving way to the quotidian details of life in Vancouver.

William gibson the agency