There I was, in my new puppy-soft cashmere sweater at the Bijenkorf. Full of doubt, I wondered if it would really work that way in the fashion industry. A month earlier, I had heard about Italic.com, a website offering luxury clothing directly from the same manufacturers where brands like Sandro, Ralph Lauren, and Kenzo source their products. A cashmere sweater that normally sells for $600 – the one I bought cost ‘only’ $80. They claim to make luxury clothing accessible to everyone, but somehow it sounded too good to be true. That curiosity, mixed with skepticism, had brought me here – to the Bijenkorf, to feel and see the difference for myself.

When I reached the section where most of the clothing is secured with chains, I saw a gray sweater hanging. A gray cashmere sweater, adorned with a small lion’s head – about the size of an apple – decorated with green and silver glitter. And yes, it was priced at $750. According to the description, the sweater came from the exact same factory as the one at Italic. Wow, what a markup. And where does that markup go?

As a marketer, I can admire the concept – the clever play of exclusivity and pricing. But something about it bothered me. It felt... off. With Italic, you know you’re paying for the product itself, without unnecessary markup. Here, it’s different. Those extra hundreds of dollars? They just disappear into deep pockets. And on Kenzo’s website? Not a word about where that money goes. It probably just goes to the shareholders. Nothing new, of course. But still, somehow it makes me uneasy.

About a month later, an idea came to me out of nowhere. What if I start a clothing brand where the profits serve a different purpose – not to keep, but to share. So that the people who make it can also earn from their products. But who really needs that?

Shortly after, I read that Aleppo has played an important role on the historic Silk Road from China to Western Europe for some 2000 years. Additionally, the city is emerging from a devastating war, and the rebuilding process is slow. The idea of not only creating fashion but also contributing to a city that is slowly getting back on its feet felt like a mission I couldn’t ignore. What if we combined their centuries-old knowledge and experience with the buying power of Bijenkorf-walking consumers? Then we could not only make money but also make a difference in the lives of families in Aleppo.

Now, 2.5 years later and with many major obstacles overcome, I know that running a business with a kind-hearted purpose is no guarantee of success. It remains a risk. But this brand gives me hope that we can inspire others to pursue dreams like this as well. In the coming years, we will continue to share stories about the progress and the difference we are making for the people in Aleppo. We’re just beginning, yet it already feels like a journey of meaning. More than ever, I believe that entrepreneurship can be about more than just making a profit. It can be a way to bring about real change.

I’m curious to see where we’ll be in five years. This brand is for Aleppo and for everyone who believes in change.