The underwear that wouldn’t quit

Some people measure a decade in wrinkles, promotions, or how many times they’ve moved house. I’m starting to measure it in underwear.

Last week, I spoke with the founder of the other danish guy as the company turned ten. He told me about customers who write in with the tone of someone about to confess to arson — only to reveal they’re still wearing the first pairs they bought. Nearly ten years ago. Not tucked away for safekeeping. On their bodies. In daily rotation.

If that makes you shiver, it shouldn’t. They’ve been washed. This isn’t disgusting. 

It’s proof.

Those vintage pairs still look and feel like new. Some of the customers, too, seem to have aged rather well. Depending on your view of capitalism, that’s either a financial disaster or the whole point.

This was never a company built to sell as much as possible, as fast as possible, to as many as possible. It was built for the opposite — the kind of thinking that leads people to keep decade-old underwear because it still works better than anything else. They call it bonds beyond transactions. I call them a species on the verge of extinction.

And yet, this one intends to survive. They do plenty else differently too. In a fashion industry powered by smoke and mirrors, it’s a bit like walking into a dinner party where everyone’s on their third spouse — and you’re still with your first. And heads still turn.

Ten years is a long time for anything to hold its shape. Relationships sag. Knees buckle. But apparently, not these.