When a Passion Project Turns Into an Obsession (And Why I’m Finally Letting Go)

This company didn’t start as a business plan.

It started as a passion project.

Like a lot of people who love design, I grew up obsessing over iconic furniture pieces — the ultra-rare, museum-level designs that defined entire eras. The kind of pieces you see in books, galleries, or $30,000 showrooms. Pieces I admired deeply… but could never afford.

So I did the only thing that made sense to me:

I tried to make them myself.

What started as an experiment — reproducing rare, high-end designs at a level I’d actually want to live with — slowly turned into something much bigger. I was lucky enough to find incredible suppliers, people who cared about craftsmanship as much as I did, and suddenly these once-unreachable designs became possible. Not cheap. Not disposable. But attainable.

That’s when things got dangerous.

Over the past seven years, I’ve designed, reproduced, refined, and collected more pieces than I ever imagined. Each new chair, sofa, table, or lamp felt like a small victory. Not just because it sold — but because it existed. Because it meant someone like me could experience great design without needing generational wealth.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped just selling furniture… and started hoarding it.

I told myself I needed one of everything “for the showroom.”

Then one for reference.

Then one because this version turned out perfectly.

Then one because I might never make it again.

Now the showroom is overflowing.

The warehouse is full — literally full — of boxed, untouched pieces.

And I’m sitting in a space that looks less like a business and more like a personal design archive.

Here’s the strange part:

I know I’m supposed to sell these pieces. That’s the whole point of the business. Selling furniture keeps the lights on, pays suppliers, and allows new designs to exist.

But letting them go is hard.

Not because they’re inventory — but because they represent years of learning, risk, mistakes, and obsession. Each piece tells a story. Each one reminds me why I started this in the first place.

What I’ve realized is that the real joy for me isn’t just selling furniture.

It’s making it.

And even more than that — it’s knowing these designs are available to people who truly appreciate them.

There’s something special about this quiet community of design lovers who understand the value of reproductions. Not as knockoffs — but as respectful, thoughtful interpretations that keep great design alive and accessible.

I’ve even dreamed about keeping everything and opening a lounge, a café, or a shared workspace — a place where people could sit in the pieces, live with them, enjoy them — without me ever having to sell them.

But dreams cost money too.

And here’s the honest truth:

I’ve spent too much money building this collection. The market has slowed. Orders are slower than they used to be. If I were flooded with new orders, I could justify keeping more of the archive. But right now, the reality is simple:

I need to start selling.

And surprisingly… I’m okay with that.

Because I don’t want these pieces to disappear into storage.

I want them in homes.

I want people to live with them, appreciate them, argue over them, design around them.

So this is me asking — honestly — for help.

If you’ve followed this brand, supported it, admired the designs, or ever thought “one day”, this might be that moment. Come by. See the collection. Take something home. Help me clear the space so I can start again — lighter, smarter, and a little less obsessed.

This brand has always been about accessibility, transparency, and love for design. That hasn’t changed. I’m just finally learning that sometimes the hardest part of creating something beautiful…

…is letting it go.