The next twenty months could be defined as one endless nightmare: visiting factories from north to south, receiving hundreds of ‘impossibles’, getting terrible samples from every factory, experiencing others’ belittling my idea of perfection.
Everything about producing this bag was not possible.
A pure design? Not possible because it left no place to hide imperfections. My treasured craftsmanship? Not possible because no one knew how to assemble rigid-core bags flawlessly. Supple leather in colours I loved? Not possible because it had not been available for rigid objects. An elegantly sculpted handle? Not possible because it required great attention to details and was too complex. Petite accessories? Not possible because they were not practical to apply to wood. Precise lines? Not possible because wood is ever-changing and imprecise. Wooden frame? Not possible because it required in-depth expertise that none of the fashion factories had.
How could everything about my bag be impossible in the world’s best country for bags?