Summer Reflections. Part 1.

I’m writing to you from the balcony of our bucolic idyll in rural Burgundy. More of that in a moment.

First, it’s now one year on from our very first Gladstone / Hellen photoshoot (and nine months from our launch). This week my mind has been racing with all sorts of thoughts about the business.

So, today I want to dwell on some of this stuff. (Editor’s note. I’ve written too much so I’ll spread it over 2 weeks)

First, back to France. We bought this house as a ruin in 1999 for the price of a few luxury handbags. We couldn’t afford it, but we somehow did, and it has become a nucleus to which our family, with friends, partners, and children, flock each summer. In many ways it is the beating heart of our family life, a place of unimaginable joy; life’s best but most simple pleasures; family, sun, good food, ancient farming techniques, brocantes, books, markets, cheap wine, those tiny bottles of beer.

Today’s photos have been taken by me in France in the last 24 hours; everything (well, I think everything, please don’t try to prove me wrong because there are bound to be anomalies) is made in France or Great Britain.

The reasons for mentioning this house are threefold.

First, we’re here, obvs.

Second, it is a clear reflection of our own style, and I will write about style in a moment.

And third, we filled it with the best quality French goods that we could find and that has paid significant dividends. Our relationship with high quality French-made stuff was a massive influence on our work with Pedlars, and has reached a sort of apex with Gladstone / Hellen.

So, to style. Style, what a great word.

I’ll start with style.

The first thing that we did when launching Gladstone / Hellen was to try to imagine our customer. This of course is critical when starting any business. We didn’t do this in terms of ABC1 women or any of that stuff for measuring demographic groups, both because we didn’t know how to and because we were starting small.

Instead, we imagined a few of our friends and the way that they lived. In all cases they were interested in fashion but only as a way of developing their own style. There is an important distinction here; fashion is fascinating, intoxicating and wonderful; style is all of these things and more, because it’s a way of being.

I am going to write more about style in a couple of weeks. I’ve been mulling it a lot over the last year.

But for now, it’s probably enough to say that the customer we envisaged was a person of style. And what’s so interesting is that no two people of style are ever attracted to the same things; that’s what distinguishes style from fashion.

By extension this allowed us to never worry about the people who didn’t get our sense of style because it is pointless for us to do so. We are not for everyone. But if you get our style, then we want to know you and we hope you’ll buy something from us.

So, as I say, it was these lives that we envisaged; these were people who knew what they liked and because of that, the way that they live works, aesthetically. And I’m not just talking about their clothes, I mean the food on their tables, oil paintings, books, coffee cups, dinner candles, music. Their life is a consciously assembled sum of its parts, uncontrived, real, by definition, unique.

If Gladstone / Hellen was to work, we were going to have to root out these people because they all, I think, understand one key thing:

Value not cost.

Value is in quality, longevity, and provenance. It goes without saying that something must be beautiful to be of value, but the deeper, abstract, qualities are what make it really work.

This brings me to my third reason for writing about France. Alongside British things, we have filled this house with really good quality French stuff. Tolix chairs are a good example, still beautifully made in France to ancient designs, they are expensive. We bought a dozen in 2000 and they cost a small fortune, but they are as immaculate today as they were then, having lived outside for 25 summers. And, by way of contrast -and against my better judgement but due to misplaced financial expediency- I bought 30 fake Tolixes for our farm shop during lockdown. After one year they were rusted, some to a point of no return.

In the picture of our balcony as I write this, you’ll see an ancient set of Tolix chairs, a G/H mug, Duralex, a French table, (a Scottish lab); even that yellow carafe is made in France. I know, I know, the laptop was ‘designed in California’, but well, there you have it.

I don’t want to get too deep here, for fear of boring you, but if you buy shit, you pay the price. So, buy the best and reap the rewards.

Simples!

To be continued.