We got tired of clothes that didn't deserve to be kept.

Mulberry began with a frustration, not a business plan.

Every closet I owned was full of things bought on impulse and discarded within a year — fast fashion dressed up as streetwear, logos chasing whatever was popular that month. None of it held up. None of it meant anything. And somewhere in there, I realized the problem wasn't taste. It was standards.

The people I respected most — in business, in fitness, in craft — didn't dress for attention. They dressed with intention. Fewer pieces, better made, worn until they earned their wear. That's the wardrobe of someone who's serious about their life. I couldn't find a hoodie that fit that standard, so we built one.

We named the company Mulberry, after the tree that feeds the silkworm — the quiet, unglamorous beginning of the most prized textile in human history. Mulberry silk doesn't announce itself. It simply outperforms everything else, for thousands of years running. That's the standard we hold every piece to, and why we think of what we're building as an empire of silk.