Geist - A Brand Manifesto
Bagging For Business #6
I set out with clear, pragmatic intentions: I wanted to make bags that are beautiful, functional, and made for life. Everything a great bag should be.
But as noble as that goal sounded, it felt ordinary.
As many times before, when I get stuck, I turn to music—especially the ritual of putting on a record. I carefully slide it out of its anti-static sleeve, place it on the turntable, turn on the amplifier, watch the vinyl rotate in silence while I brush it for dust, and then sense the tiny resistance in my finger when the needle catches a groove.
I could also just press play on my smartphone.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t solely chasing function. I was chasing feeling.
I found it through my own hands—learning to sew, working with materials, looking for the most elegant solutions I could think of. And when I handed my prototypes to someone, their first reaction wasn’t about the shape or the practicality. It was: “Oh… this feels cozy.”
If I had handed my initial ideas off to someone else back then, my brand would have been just another manufacturer of products. Something practical, yes, but detached from who I am.
A subtle shift that makes all the difference.
The Warmth of the Unknown
What makes an object matter? Not just in terms of utility, but in the way it quietly takes root in your day-to-day life. Why do some things stay with us, while others fade and end up being replaced?
People don’t just buy products. They buy how those products make them feel—the identity they take on by owning them, the values they signal by choosing them.
My brand is for those who refuse to settle for the disposable, the uninspired, the soulless. It’s for those who believe that luxury isn’t about excess, but about depth. Where every stitch, every curve, every considered detail whispers of time spent, of care, of soul poured into matter.
That’s why I named it Geist.
I wanted it to capture something deeper—a longing, a nostalgia for complex emotions. The kind of warmth that sneaks up on you, like stepping into a dimly lit café on a cold day, or the first touch of somebody else’s skin that erases everything you assumed.
It reminds me of one of my favorite moments in cinema:
An unexpected, gentle yet firm hand by the enigmatic Mr. Darcy—his actual presence felt before it is understood.
Subtlety Over Minimalism
A friend of mine recently said: “Minimalism is a lack of culture.”
I had to think about that for a long time. There’s truth in it. But I’d rephrase: it’s not minimalism itself that’s the problem—it’s the lack of depth that kills it. When brands strip things down just to cut costs, to make something soulless and cheap, that’s when it becomes hollow.
Subtlety, on the other hand, is about intention. It’s about leaving space for intrigue, for curiosity, for something unspoken.
The designer Martin Margiela mastered this. He understood that what you leave unsaid can resonate louder than what you proclaim. That mystery—restraint—can be a form of power.
The fashion industry thrives on the idea that you are not enough. That every season, you need to become someone new.
None of my bags should give people the urge to change. They are there to make people feel understood.
In a world obsessed with more—more noise, more consumption, more distraction, more recognition, more trends—Geist chooses less.
Same with our most beloved buzz word; sustainability isn’t about the latest greenwashing trend. For me, it’s about making something people actually want to keep. Not just because it lasts—but because they can’t imagine replacing it.
Geist seduces,
And never begs.
It just packs.
Haha, trash. Cue the world’s shabbiest drum kit: BA-DUM-TSSS!
That’s Geist
A connection. A reminder that you don’t need more—you just need something that feels right.
Something that, in a world of disposable noise, quietly belongs to you.
Like warmth, where you least expected it.
