“It started with my father,” Jeff recalls. “He had me when he was older, so instead of tossing a ball around, we’d visit museums—natural history museums, art museums. That planted the seed early on.” From there, his sister Joan took the baton, introducing him to flea markets where he developed a love for old things and forgotten treasures. By high school, he was already hunting down vintage surf clothes in thrift shops. It was less about fashion, more about finding soul in the worn and the weathered.

That early curiosity deepened when Jeff moved to Santa Barbara. “The thrift store scene was incredible,” he says. “You could just walk down State Street and stumble upon amazing finds.” It was also where his eye for design sharpened, especially under the influence of his artist roommate, Jim Hunter, whose mid-century modern furnishings turned their home into a living gallery.

But a pivotal moment came not in a showroom, but in a Quonset hut behind a row of artist studios near the Paradise Café, where Jeff bartended. “I saw an Eames rocking chair and a little LTR table set up perfectly in a beam of light,” he says. “I didn’t even know what they were at the time—I just knew they were special.” That moment marked the beginning of furniture becoming more than functional—it became art.

Growing up in Santa Barbara also left a lasting impression. “The light there—it’s why Brooks Institute was based in town. It makes you see everything differently,” Jeff explains. Coupled with the city’s distinctive Spanish mission-style architecture and the dynamic shifts in surf culture, his aesthetic was pulled in both rustic and modern directions. It was a juxtaposition that came to define his taste: traditional craftsmanship married to bold modernist forms.

Though Jeff originally studied photography, the volatility of freelance work eventually nudged him toward design full-time. “I was getting paid for jobs, running to payphones—it was unpredictable,” he says. In contrast, design offered both passion and the potential for stability. The real turning point came when he wandered into X21, a shop on Valencia Street in San Francisco. The eccentric owner, Dave Shaw, turned out to be a design savant with a house full of treasures. “That was my introduction to the business side of things,” Jeff says. “From that moment on, I was hooked.”

Opening his own shop on that same street became more than just a business—it was a cultural node, a gathering space for artists, designers, and curious minds. “There was this sense of community,” he says. “People who really appreciated aesthetics and integrated design into their lives.”

But the landscape has shifted over the years. “People used to be more engaged,” Jeff notes. “Now, there’s less curiosity. A chair is just a chair to a lot of people.” Skyrocketing costs in cities like San Francisco haven’t helped. Where once restaurant workers could afford a $200 design piece, now even the casually interested are priced out.

Still, Jeff doesn’t see himself strictly as a dealer or merchant. “I’ve always lived through the lens of appreciation,” he says. “You have to let go of things if you want to do this full-time, but the joy is in turning people onto good design.” In many ways, he’s become an inadvertent historian and preservationist. “I’ve turned a lot of people onto things they didn’t even know existed—pieces with incredible histories,” he says.

Outside the shop, Jeff’s life is no less intentional. He finds balance in surfing and travel—pursuits that ground him and remind him not everything needs to be monetized. “It’s important to have something that feeds your soul,” he says.

And yes, he has a thing for tote bags—vintage lineman’s bags, to be specific. “I started picking them up when they were ten bucks a pop,” he laughs. “Now I’ve got a pile. No regrets.”

Jeff Farnsworth’s world is one of quiet obsession—the kind that turns an eye for detail into a way of life. Whether through a well-worn Eames chair or a simple canvas tote, Jeff doesn’t just collect objects—he collects stories. And in doing so, he continues to share that rare gift: helping others see the beauty in the things we too often overlook.