Between Price and Purpose

I remember standing in the Bijenkorf, wearing a cashmere sweater that felt almost unreal in its softness, and wondering if the fashion industry could truly work differently. A month earlier, I’d discovered Italic—a platform claiming to sell luxury garments directly from the same manufacturers used by brands like Sandro, Ralph Lauren, and Kenzo. The sweater I bought, typically priced around $600, cost me just $80. It promised access without the markup. Still, it felt almost too simple, too good. That doubt led me there—to compare, to touch, to see.

Among racks where garments hung secured, I found a grey cashmere sweater. Minimal at first glance, except for a small lion’s head—green and silver, slightly excessive—priced at $750. According to the label, it came from the very same factory. The difference wasn’t in the making. It was in everything around it. And that raised a quieter question: where does that difference go?

As a marketer, I understand the architecture—exclusivity, positioning, margin. But understanding doesn’t resolve the discomfort. With Italic, the transaction feels contained: product, cost, exchange. Here, the excess feels abstract, detached. The destination of those extra hundreds is unclear, unspoken. Likely absorbed upward. Expected, perhaps—but still unsettling.

The idea came later, almost unannounced: what if a brand operated differently—not to accumulate, but to redistribute; not only to sell, but to return value to the people who make the product? The question lingered until it found direction.

Aleppo. A city shaped by trade for over two millennia, once a vital point along the Silk Road, now slowly rebuilding after years of war. The thought of connecting its deep-rooted craftsmanship with a global market—of aligning production with purpose—began to feel less like an idea and more like a responsibility.

Now, 2.5 years in, the reality is clear: purpose does not remove risk. Building something like this is uncertain, often difficult. But it holds. Not as a guarantee, but as a belief—that business can extend beyond profit, that it can participate in repair, in continuity, in change.

This is still a beginning. The work continues, as do the stories—from Aleppo, from the people behind each piece, from what this can become. I don’t know exactly where we’ll be in five years. But I know why it started—and who it’s for.