"Beautiful handcraft that is made to last."
Aleks Grey, Norwegian Artist & Southlander Owner | @aleksgrey
We knit all our beanies on the Norwegian South Coast, with knitting needles, a skein of yarn, and a whole lot of patience. Just the way it’s been done the last 400 years.
— Jakob Schiller / Outside Magazine
-
Free Worldwide Shipping
No minimum order value
-
60 Days Money Back Guarantee
You only pay for return shipping
-
10 Years Warranty
Patch it rather than discarding it
Just like mom knit it
We wanted the experience to be classic and simple, straight off the knitting needles — just like when my mom knit for me as a child.
This led to a few core elements, present in all our beanies. They’re all knit in one piece, with a uniform pattern, and no tags. This allows you to decide where to fold it, and how many times to fold. Above the ears, or below — or both on the same hike when the weather changes. Or roll it, if that is what you like. It’s your choice
"This traditionally handcrafted knit cap is a true gem!"
Sebastian Cronholm, Denim x Vintage Connoisseur & Southlander Owner | @swe_denim
How we made it happen
So how do we hand make so many beanies, while maintaining a reasonable price for the time and material poured into each one?
My mom has tapped into her network on the Norwegian South Coast, recruiting women who already spend their spare time knitting. They knit while they watch a show, or sit around the table chatting with their family. And then we offer them a price per beanie, teach them the pattern, and provide them with both material and accounting as necessary.
All to make sure they can keep knitting the way they were already doing — and that you get the most authentic Norwegian beanie experience possible.
Each beanie comes with a certificate of authenticity, signed with the knitters’ initials.
-
Over 900 Southlanders sold
About 3600 knitting hours worth of beanie
-
Sold to over 45 countries
And 41 American states
The simpler a design, the more the material matters. We’ve chosen one of Norway’s oldest yarn mills still in production. In fact it’s the yarn my mom has worked nearly exclusively with, as long as I can remember.
Because of her long experience with wool, she knows how to ensure the beanies do not itch — the plague of my wool-clad childhood. We’ve actually (*grief*) forsaken Norwegian raw wool for this very reason, and go with Paraguayan wool, processed in the aforementioned yarn mill on the Norwegian West Coast. The kinder climate of the subtropics makes the wool softer.
The Wonders of Wool
Norwegians have sworn to wool from ancient times — all the way until today.
Wool is praised for
- Its ability to draw moisture away from the skin, into the fabric, leaving you warm and nice despite the conditions
- Nearness to nature — you can’t find a fabric more shaped by the elements
- The way usage doesn’t harm its producer, the sheep
Watch our brand film
Our Story — The Long Version
There are three main threads to the Red Hat Factory story: A wool-indoctrinated Norwegian child, a crew of red hat donning Americans, and finally, a widow in an attic, teaching a five year old girl to knit.
These three threads came together in 2016, and Red Hat Factory was born.
Mr. Chester & the Red Hat Crew
Let’s start in 2012. I had just moved to Stockholm, where I was introduced to a wild bunch of red hat wearing Americans. Some of them would end up as close friends, and one would even marry into my family. But I knew none of that when I first saw them.
What I saw first, was that they wore red hats faithfully — cult-like one might say, though with the tongue firmly planted in the cheek. The red hats were inspired by a bunch of mashed up culture, of course, but towering among the inspirations stood Life Aquatic and Steve Zissou — something I’d soon be introduced to.
I thought it was cool, but it wasn’t my thing. I was a Norwegian child, raised to wear wool, hide out in the mountains and not engage in blatant displays of fashion sense. (I still have no fashion sense ’til this day.)
One morning, though, on my birthday, I belive it was number 24, Billy Chester — my room mate at the time — slapped a red hat on my table as I was sipping my morning coffee. I was faced with a choice. Would I go hard or go home? I did not go home — at least not at once.
Threads Being Knit Together
When I came around, it was a full one-eighty. I adopted the hat with fierceness. I understand everyone who teased me for wearing a beanie under the African midday sun, but I had become too much of a fan to leave it at home. This man of slow changes had fallen in love with a new piece of apparel — and he was not ashamed to proclaim his love from the mountaintops.
Somewhere between the cold winter streets of Stockholm, Sweden, the hills of Mbeya, Tanzania, and the lakes of Nævisdal, Norway, an idea began emerging.
As often happens in your twenties, I began reminiscing about my childhood more often. And somewhere in all of this — much thanks to my American friends’ interest in the wool sweaters I often wore — I began realizing that my mom’s knitting was not just the obvious baseline mother-skill I grew up thinking it was. It was a craft honed by years of practice, interwoven in a cultural pattern that wound its way backwards into Norwegian history.
I talked to my mom, and the chase for a hand knit wool hat to replace the Chester Hat began.
1932 — A Widow in the Attic
Much later, in May 2021, I sat down with my grandma, Kjellfrid, and asked her when she had started knitting. She has an amazingly accurate memory, so, quite unsurprisingly, she had a precise answer. The surprise was rather in the nature of the answer.
It was 1932. She was five years old, and their family was renting a space in a larger household. In the attic of said household, a widow in her fifties, named Bibbi, rented a room. This woman, of course, became a sage to my grandmother, and being that she knit all the time, my grandma got curious. One day, she asked her to teach her to knit. One lady around fifty, the other around five, one taught the other an age old craft — echoing centuries of Norwegian knitting history.
My grandma told me the first thing she knit was a scarf for her doll. And by the time she reached the end of the scarf, the loops were so tight they could barely get the needles out. By the time she was 12 years old, she had knit her first complex piece — a golf jacket.
This is how knitting was introduced to our oldest Red Hat Factory co-founder, and thus when we began knitting. Since then, the skill was passed down, and my mother would take up the needles.
A Basement Full of Yarn
I remember December 2014 as if it was yesterday. We went down into my mother’s basement, where rows upon rows of yarn is stored for reselling, and began looking for two things: The perfect blend of yarn, and the perfect shade of red.
With me trailing her, listening to her expertise, she went through the shelves and explained the pros and cons of different types of yarn. When she held up one particular recommendation, I marked the name. It sounded very near to Zissou — so being the poetic soul that I am, I was quick to make the choice, and a period of developing the perfect beanie model began.
Somewhere in all of this, the idea of not only replacing the Chester Hat, but also making a product we could sell was emerging, but I don’t know quite when it coalesced.
The Grind
Things take time, as we always say in Norway. With no name or brand, my mom began knitting, sending packages to Sweden, and we discussed each model and each feature over the phone. A five pointed star seam att the top became a simple x. The varied patterns on the rim and the body became one single pattern all the way.
The more we designed, the simpler it became. And if there’s one thing we’ve learned from this, it is that simplicity equals longevity.
After months of trying, we decided on the first original model — now called the Southlander, then just “the Rounded” — and I tested it for a year or more through the heat of Burundi (too hot), the cold of the forests of Norway and the streets of Stockholm, Sweden.
A Norwegian Dream
Belive me or not — I don’t really care — but the name Red Hat Factory came to me in a dream. I was so into all these hat-plans that my mind churned non-stop, and I dreamed that we started the business and called it Red Hat Factory, and that we launched a website with some brick-wall design in the background. So I followed my dreams — literally (though I’ve removed the brick image by now).
Some time in 2016, I sketched a little logo — quick and dirty, because I wanted it to look home made — and we launched our first website before the year was over.
Me having a background in graphic design and web development was an integral part of why the Chester Hat replacement became a full blown brand. I simply desired to craft a brand where I could tell stories about Norway, handcraft and adventures. And this was the shape it took.
The Beginning’s End
When my brother-in-law Ben (I told you one of the red hat Americans would marry into the family) said he wanted to sell the hats at MacLaren Barbers, his couple of years old barbershop, I felt backed up and inspired to push this thing further. Have an adventure or die trying.
My brother Ben was a huge inspiration in all of this, having just quit his job and launched his own successful brand. So there we were, in Stockholm city, having a Norwegian hand knit product in our hands, and ready to tell the world the tale.
We had crafted something that felt like our roots. No brand tag, just the wool and the loops — just like I used to receive a mom-made piece right off the needles when I grew up. A simple fold-it-yourself approach, to give people freedom to shape it, and a simple ridged pattern to let the texture of wool speak for itself. The beginning had ended, and the next chapter began.
Now it’s your turn. Get one and go on your own adventure.