Stutterheim – Embracing the Rainy Weather

Depression lurks on the somber side of melancholy. Spending too much time on the darker side may result in a need for medical treatment; the other side, however, offers merely sweet sorrow. No hectic activity, no running, no mindless consumerism. The absence of high pace and frenzy opens space for deep thought and creativity.

Aristotle stated that all the greats in art and philosophy are of a melancholic nature. Though in all probability no one anywhere would seriously disagree with this, the Scandinavians are consummate masters at celebrating the creative potential of melancholy.

A case in point is Scandinavian crime fiction, also known as Nordic noir, that has become a genre in its own right. Another example is given by the intense, bestselling novels by the Norwegian Karl Ove Knausgard. Or Borgen, the Danish TV series; the numerous fashion labels; the myriad music bands – creative energy abounds in Scandinavia. After all, what else can you do during the dark winter months? "You can try to fight the darkness, but at some point you will give up in despair. Or you fling the door wide open, when it comes knocking,"

Alexander Stutterheim tells us, his black garb lending his comments a nonverbal echo. "Ideally you want to start with small steps. A first step could be embracing the rainy weather." Wearing an oversize coarsely knit woolen sweater with a collar that looks more like a large ruff than anything else, he settles his 6-and-a-half-foot frame in a diminutive chair in the diminutive office. The room is located in a tiny house that, along with several other little houses, bears the vestiges of a Sweden of by-gone days. Three little red houses stand together in a fenced-off garden huddled at the base of a monumental church tower. The little windows with either white or dark green frames have little window boxes. Any moment now you almost expect a little figure with a bonnet to poke an inquisitive glance through the windows. However, this is the 21st century and we are at Stutterheim’s headquarters, the office of ten extremely busy people. Inside a Tracy Chapman song follows an Elton John ballad. The soft tones lazily dance up and down the walls, creating a cozy atmosphere, even wrapping themselves around the sound of busy typing coming from Johan, the man seated opposite Alexander. Alexander nods toward the loudspeaker and says with a smile: "Life is not just about having fun all the time." He may have a valid point here. In a world where jokes are posted online only seconds after a catastrophe has occurred, this celebration of melancholy has a refreshing appeal to it. Furthermore, the brand slogan also reveals a glimpse of underlying humor. "From the start, I had a clear vision of what I wanted to create with Stutterheim Raincoats," Alexander tells us. "I wanted to highlight the topic of melancholy, yet include a splash of irony in the slogan." In truth, his associates and employees don't make a very gloomy impression. Johan Loman, who Alexander knew from when he worked for Saab as a copywriter, joined Stutterheim in 2011. Typing non-stop, Johan contributes an occasional chuckle to our interview. Along with the tapping of the keyboard, the overall effect is that of a short, dry cough. Now and then he looks up and adds a short comment. Alexander continues, "Just as I find this place inspiring, I find working with Johan inspiring." Johan smiles, obviously flattered, and continues to type. "We act like a sounding board for each other. If we're not able to talk, we text our ideas to one another. It's great," Alexander says.

In 2010, Alexander came up with the concept for the raincoats, and a year later he asked Johan whether he would be willing to take a risk and come on board the budding venture.

One rainy day in Stockholm, Alexander Stutterheim spotted the market niche that led him to what he and his name represent today. On his way to a meeting, he stopped for coffee. Idly gazing through the window at the passersby wearing functional rain jackets, brandishing worse-for-wear umbrellas, or holding a newspaper as a makeshift cover for their heads,” Alexander recalls.

"Nobody even came close to being well-dressed, not one single person." “Me either, for that matter," he hastens to add. "I was wearing a business suit. And over the suit a bulky pink-and-white Gore-Tex jacket covered with reflecting strips and Velcro." Suddenly he realized, "There is actually nothing nice to wear in bad weather." A short while later, when Alexander's grandfather died, Alexander found his grandfather's old raincoat while helping to clear out the apartment. It proved to be the catalyst. "Whenever we went fishing on the Swedish archipelago, my Granddad wore this raincoat, a plain and heavy garment, that was absolutely perfect for the occasion. When I think of my Granddad, I always see this image of him wearing that raincoat and a fisherman's cap." The following winter, Alexander got together all the materials and things he needed to tailor a new version of his grandfather's raincoat at home.

"It started out as a kind of anti-depression winter project. You need something like that here because the winters are so long and so dark." The first attempt was followed by about 99 further prototypes, all modeled on his grandfather's coat.

All the while, he oscillated between a sense of total confidence driving him forward and a voice at the back of his mind trying to talk him out of it. "One voice in my head was saying: That looks pretty good, you can fill a market niche with that. Then another voice would chime in: Who do you think you are? You don't have a clue!" "And it was true," he admits. "At that point, I really did not have a clue about the fashion business." Johan looks up and adds: "Or taxes!" Both of them laugh. "Absolutely," Alexander admits. "From a financial viewpoint, the whole thing's been a nightmare.

People read about us and see Jay-Z or Kanye West wearing one of our coats and conclude we must be millionaires." Johan comments drily: "Not quite." They chuckle wryly. And Alexander starts explaining what happened: "We worked ourselves into a fever pitch because we wanted to deliver all the things we thought were missing in other businesses. We bought an old typewriter to type the instruction leaflets for the coats, we spent incredible amounts of money on accessories, we hand-embroidered cloths which we glued to the packages. The story about melancholy required its singular imagery, its own flair. We wanted to be sustainable; contemplative; respectful of resources; support local seamstresses – in short: implement our vision to the very last detail. But we neglected to take into account our financial situation sufficiently. It's been a learning curve." Lost in thought, he turns the ring on his little finger and swings his foot. From the sole's appearance, the wearer walks a lot. Or hasn't bought new shoes recently.

"Now that we've stopped making a loss, we invest incoming funds in growth. We're extending the collection and hiring more people, which means we still won't be raking in money any time soon."

Telling their story certainly worked for them. "People seem to like us, they want to be a part of Stutterheim," Alexander says with obvious pride.

All over the world, people are recording their purchases and using hashtag Stutterheim to upload the images to Instagram. They take pictures of themselves on walks, shopping sprees, their wet feet in the rain, their faces peering out from underneath waxed hoods.

"It's like a free advertising campaign," Johan says. "The whole story sounds a bit constructed," Alexander admits, and adds with a grin: "I'm well aware of that. With my background as a copywriter, nobody believes it anyway." But it's true!" he smiles. "If a brand has a true story to tell, it should. That's what makes people want to share in it, to participate in it. People keep sending us melancholy poems or Spotify replay lists with sad songs all the time. Our own story line about melancholy is being fed by all these thousands of little rainy-weather contributions – and that makes us very happy."