10 Years of Building a Brand: What I Wish I'd Known From the Start

I started brainstorming ‘Rosenberries’ 10 years ago as a fashion school final project. I had a baby at home, was 28, and thought I had a decent plan for how this would all work.

I was wrong about almost everything.

Not wrong about the core idea; quality over quantity, sustainable materials, honest pricing. Those principles have held. But wrong about the timeline, the challenges, what "success" would actually look like and how hard it would be to build something intentionally slow in an industry designed for speed.

This week marks 10 years since I registered the brand name. It feels like a good moment to reflect honestly on what this journey has actually been; not the Instagram highlight reel, the real version.

What I thought would happen

At 28, fresh out of fashion school, I genuinely believed I could build a sustainable fashion brand in 2-3 years, achieve profitability quickly, maybe even scale to the point where I could hire a small team and step back from day-to-day operations.

I had it all mapped out:

Year 1: Develop collection, find manufacturers, launch small.
Year 2: Build audience, refine offerings, start turning profit.
Year 3: Scale up, maybe wholesale to select retailers, establish brand presence.
Year 4+: Growth trajectory, team building, expansion.

Clean. Linear. Achievable.

Except building a business; especially a sustainable fashion business, is neither clean nor linear.

What actually happened: Year 1-3

The first three years were mostly learning what didn't work.

I launched with a collection I'd designed in school. Produced a small run with a UK manufacturer I'd found through a tutor connection. The quality was decent. The pricing was too high for my non-existent audience and too low to actually be sustainable for the business.

I sold maybe 50 pieces total in Year 1. Most of those to friends, family and fellow students who were supporting me out of kindness, not genuine need for the products.

Year 2, I had my second child. I was 28, had a primary schooler and a small baby and was trying to run a business that wasn't generating enough revenue to justify the time I was putting into it.

I made every classic mistake:

• Produced too much inventory based on optimistic sales projections (spent months selling through stock at a loss just to generate cash flow)

• Said yes to wholesale partnerships that didn't align with brand values because I was desperate for any distribution

• Tried to be everywhere; markets, pop-ups, online, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter (now X) without a coherent strategy

• Compared myself constantly to brands that had launched around the same time and seemed to be growing faster

• Burned out repeatedly trying to do everything myself while also parenting small children

By Year 3, I genuinely considered shutting down. I was exhausted, the business was barely breaking even, and I couldn't see a clear path to making it actually work financially.

The pivot that changed everything

What kept me going, barely was the handful of customers who kept coming back.

Not the one-time buyers. The people who'd purchased a piece, worn it for months, then returned to buy something else because the first piece was still going strong.

One woman emailed me after 18 months saying the backpack she'd bought was the only thing in her selection she hadn't replaced or grown tired of. She wanted to know what else we made.

Another customer sent photos of a jacket they'd been wearing for two years. Still looked good. Still fit properly. Wanted to buy the same jacket in a different color.

These interactions made me realise: I was building for the wrong timeline.

I was trying to grow fast enough to generate quick revenue, which meant I was making decisions based on short-term sales rather than long-term value.

The customers who mattered; the ones who came back, who told friends, who actually believed in what we were doing, they weren't looking for fast fashion alternatives. They were looking for the opposite of fast fashion entirely.

So around Year 4, I pivoted. Stopped trying to grow quickly. Started focusing entirely on making pieces that would last years and building relationships with customers who valued that.

Years 4-7: Building slowly on purpose

This period was less dramatic but more foundational.

I cut the product range dramatically. Instead of trying to offer a full seasonal collection, I focused on maybe 5-8 core pieces that I could produce well and stand behind completely.

I invested in better manufacturing partnerships; found the Portuguese facility I still work with today, built relationships with material suppliers who understood what I was trying to do.

I stopped doing wholesale entirely. It was killing margins and often putting products in stores that didn't represent the brand properly. Focused entirely on direct-to-customer sales, which meant better margins and direct relationships with the people actually wearing the pieces.

I also had my third child (now 5) during this period. Year 5, specifically. Which meant another pause, another adjustment, another recalibration of what was realistically possible.

But by Year 7, something had shifted. I had a small but loyal customer base. The pace was slow but steady.

I stopped comparing myself to other brands. Stopped checking how many Instagram followers they had or what collaborations they were doing. Just focused on the work in front of me.

Years 8-10: What sustainable growth actually looks like

The last four years have been about refinement rather than reinvention.

Better systems for production planning. Deeper relationships with the manufacturing partners. More confidence in design decisions because I finally had enough years of feedback to know what actually worked.

I started this newsletter (you're reading it now) because I wanted a way to connect with customers and potential customers that wasn't just product marketing. A space to talk about the process, the challenges, the why behind the what.

The business isn't huge. We're not in major retailers. I haven't hired a team (still just me, with occasional freelance help for specific projects). Revenue is modest but consistent.

By conventional startup metrics, this is a failure. By my current metrics, financial sustainability, creative fulfillment, work-life balance with three kids, genuine relationships with customers, pieces I'm proud to make; it's working.

The mistakes that taught me the most

Looking back, here are the errors that shaped how I work now:

1. Overproduction based on optimism

Early on, I'd produce 100 units of something based on how many I hoped to sell, not realistic projections. Then I'd spend months discounting to move stock, which destroyed margins and devalued the brand.

Now: I produce conservatively in small batches. Yes, pieces sell out. Yes, there are 4-6 week waits for restocks. But I'm not sitting on dead inventory or discounting to generate cash flow.

Lesson: Selling out is better than overstock. Always.

2. Wrong wholesale partners

I said yes to stockists who wanted high margins, didn't understand sustainable fashion, and treated my pieces like any other fast fashion product. They'd discount without asking, display them poorly and provide zero customer education.

Revenue looked good on paper. Brand reputation suffered. Customer experience was terrible.

Now: Direct-to-customer only. Better margins, complete control over presentation, direct relationships with people who wear the pieces.

Lesson: Distribution that damages your brand isn't worth the revenue.

3. Trying to please everyone

I designed pieces to appeal to the broadest possible audience. Made things I thought would sell rather than things I believed in. The collection had no clear point of view.

Customers could feel the lack of conviction. Nothing sold well because nothing stood for anything specific.

Now: I design for a specific person with specific values. Some people won't connect with it. That's fine. The ones who do connect deeply.

Lesson: A strong point of view alienates some people and attracts others intensely. That's the goal.

4. Comparing timelines

I measured my Year 2 against other brands' Year 2. Felt like a failure because they'd grown faster, raised funding, gotten press coverage, built teams.

What I didn't see: their compromises, their financial stress, how many of them wouldn't exist by Year 5.

Now: I only compare to my own previous year. Am I making better decisions? Are customers happier? Is the work more sustainable for me personally? That's the only metric that matters.

Lesson: Your timeline is your timeline. Fast growth often means fast collapse.

5. Undervaluing my own expertise

I'd defer to "industry experts" even when my instincts said otherwise. I'd second-guess design decisions because someone with more experience thought differently.

Lost a lot of time and money following advice that didn't account for what made Rosenberries different.

Now: I listen to experienced people, but I trust my own judgment on what works for this specific brand. 10 years in, I've earned that confidence.

Lesson: Expertise is valuable. Your specific knowledge of your specific business is more valuable.

What success actually looks like

Here's what I thought success would be at 28:

• Significant revenue

• Press coverage in major publications

• Wholesale partnerships with cool retailers

• Team of employees

• Recognised brand name

• Ability to step back from daily operations

Here's what success actually is at 38:

• Business that pays my bills without requiring venture capital or debt

• Customers who wear pieces for years and come back for more

• Creative control over everything I make

• Work schedule that accommodates three kids' needs

• Relationships with manufacturing partners based on mutual respect

• Sleep at night knowing nothing I make is harming people or planet

• Slow, steady growth that doesn't require constant crisis management

The second version is quieter. Less impressive on paper. But infinitely more sustainable.

What I wish I'd known from the start

If I could talk to 28-year-old me, here's what I'd say:

"You're going to want to grow faster than is realistic. Resist that urge."

Slow growth isn't failure. It's the only way to build something that lasts. Every time you try to accelerate beyond what's sustainable, you'll make compromises you'll regret.

"The customers who matter won't find you immediately."

It takes years to build a reputation for quality. The people who value what you're doing need time to discover you, try your work, see that it lasts, then come back. You can't shortcut trust.

"Most advice won't apply to you."

General business advice is designed for businesses trying to scale quickly and exit profitably. That's not what you're building. Take what's useful, ignore the rest, and stop feeling bad about not following conventional startup playbooks.

"You'll have three kids during this journey."

(I mean, I don't know if I'd actually tell myself this because it might be overwhelming information, but:)

Your life will get more complex. The business will have to adapt. That's fine. Building a business that bends around your life rather than consuming it is possible and worthwhile.

"The work itself is the reward."

You keep waiting for some moment when you've "made it" and can relax. That moment doesn't come. But if you can't find satisfaction in the actual work; the design process, the problem-solving, the customer relationships, you'll never be satisfied regardless of revenue or recognition.

"Trust your taste."

You have good instincts about design and quality. Stop second-guessing yourself because you're young or because someone more experienced disagrees. Your specific point of view is what will make this work.

What I'm still figuring out

I don't have this solved. There are ongoing challenges I'm navigating:

Scaling without compromising

The business could grow faster if I loosened quality standards, used cheaper materials, produced in higher volumes with less oversight. I won't do those things, but it means growth is constrained.

I'm still figuring out: Is there a way to serve more customers without compromising what makes this work? Or is staying small the only way to maintain integrity?

Visibility without selling out

I'd like more people to discover Rosenberries. But most growth tactics in fashion; influencer partnerships, paid advertising, social media algorithms, feel misaligned with our values or require compromises I'm not willing to make.

How do you grow a sustainable fashion brand in an attention economy designed for fast fashion?

Long-term financial sustainability

The business is modestly approaching profitability. Am I building something that can sustain me financially long-term? What happens if my kids' needs change and require more financial resources?

I don't have answers yet. Just questions I'm sitting with.

Personal creative fulfillment vs. commercial viability

Sometimes the designs I'm most excited about aren't the ones that sell best. The pieces customers want aren't always the ones I want to spend time developing.

Finding the overlap; work I'm creatively fulfilled by that also meets genuine customer needs, is an ongoing negotiation.

Why I'm sharing this

I'm not writing this as a "how to build a sustainable fashion brand" guide. I don't think my path is replicable and I'm still figuring things out myself.

I'm sharing because I think there's value in honesty about what building something slowly actually looks like.

Most business content is either:

• Highlight reels of success with no context about the struggles

• Disaster stories about failures with lessons learned in hindsight

• Advice from people who built in completely different circumstances

Rarely do you get the messy middle; someone in the process, uncertain about outcomes, sharing what's actually happening in real time.

If you're building something (a brand, a creative practice, a side project, whatever), maybe it helps to know:

• 10 years in, I'm still figuring things out

• Slow progress is still progress

• Financial success and creative fulfillment don't always align perfectly

• Building something sustainable (in every sense) takes longer than anyone tells you

• Comparing yourself to others will make you miserable

• The work has to be reward enough because external validation is unreliable

What's next for Rosenberries

I'm currently developing what might become a small summer collection. Still in fabric testing. No promises it'll actually launch; depends whether I can get the pieces to a standard I'm happy with.

I'm also thinking about expanding this journal/newsletter into something more structured; maybe a podcast, maybe a series of workshops about sustainable practices in small-scale fashion production.

But I'm moving slowly. Testing ideas. Not committing until I'm sure I can do it well and it serves the community I'm building here.

Year 10 starts next month. I have no idea what it'll bring. But I'm more confident than I've ever been that whatever happens, I can adapt and keep building something I believe in.

That's probably the biggest difference between 28-year-old me and 38-year-old me: confidence that I can figure things out as they come, rather than needing to have everything mapped perfectly in advance.

For anyone else in the messy middle

If you're a few years into building something and feeling like you should be further along—you're probably exactly where you need to be.

If you're looking at others' success and feeling inadequate; remember you're seeing their highlight reel against your behind-the-scenes footage.

If you're exhausted and wondering if it's worth it, take a break. Rest is productive. Burnout helps no one.

If you're questioning whether your slow pace means you're failing; it doesn't. Different timelines for different goals.

And if you're 10 years in and still figuring things out; same. We're in good company.

What I want to hear from you

If you're building something (or have built something, or tried and stopped), I'm genuinely curious:

What surprised you most about the process? What took longer than expected? What advice do you wish you'd ignored?

Reply to our Friday’s newsletter or leave a comment here. I read everything and I learn from your experiences too.

Here's to the messy, slow, uncertain, occasionally beautiful process of building something that matters.