I never set out to start a clothing brand.

But I kept coming back to this idea—this feeling of place, of belonging, of heritage.

I grew up surrounded by the textures of the East Coast.
Crisp oxfords that softened with every wear.
Corduroy pants that carried the marks of every adventure.
Jackets built for labor but worn beyond the workshop.

I watched how clothes shaped the men around me—how a good shirt could be worn to fix a boat, then to dinner; how a faded pair of trousers could last through seasons of work and still look just right in the city.

I wanted to create something that felt like it had always existed. A brand that didn’t chase trends, but instead carried the quiet confidence of a well-made garment.

So I started Quivett.

Not to disrupt the industry.
Not to chase hype.
But to make something true.

Something that feels earned, not bought.
Something that looks just as right on a dock as it does in a library.
Something that tells a story—not just through branding, but through wear, through time, through the lives it becomes a part of.

Quivett isn’t a fashion brand. It’s a reflection of where I come from, what I value, and the kind of legacy I want to leave behind.

This is just the beginning. But it already feels like it’s been here forever.