🏔️ Patagonia Fleece: The Billion Dollar Toilet Seat Cover | 19

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Nick, remember that time a few years ago when you were asking me for advice about your first trip to Yosemite?

Oh, yeah, I wanted to know if I should bring like three liters or 15 liters for an eight-mile or 80-mile hike.

I didn't know which it was.

Well, first of all, I'm pretty sure you were glamping that weekend.

I think the glamping yurt that you stayed in had heated comforters.

We called the front desk because we said we were freezing and they came down and said, they're not broken.

You're just extremely sensitive.

So that was the context when Nick asked me the question to do half dome.

Yeah.

One of the biggest, most grueling hikes in America's national parks.

Yeah.

It's a 14 mile hike.

It is, it is.

Have you ever done a seven mile hike?

Oh, no way.

Nick, anyway, I'm glad you didn't take that full half half-dome hike.

I'm here.

I survived Jack.

Is there any particular gear that you brought besides the heated comforter?

It was a day hike, but I still decided to bring a swan feather duvet because, you know, you never know where you're going to land or what's going to happen.

I always pack a first aid kit and one of those nature filter straws so that you can take a drink out of the stream.

Well, before you whip out the river filtering straw bear grills, there is one classic item of outdoor apparel that a whole lot of people can't live without.

It's worn by hikers in Yosemite, finance analysts at Goldman, and across every college town where the temperature dips below 60 degrees.

You may be camping or you may be glamping, but you are bringing the Patagonia Fleece.

The Patagonia Fleece is a light, rugged piece of no-nonsense outerwear, originally made for outdoor adventurers and extreme sport junkies.

Side note, when we say fleece, we're talking about the synthetic kind, not the natural type that you get from sheer and a sheep.

In fact, the Patagonia Fleece was invented as an alternative to using real wool.

Patagonia's iconic fleece, plus its other staples from hardware and pants to insulating underwear, helped launch the entire outdoor apparel market.

It's also the unofficial uniform of Silicon Valley tech workers.

Match that fleece with chinos and a pair of Alberts and boom, you are dressed to pitch your AI startup at the next TechCrunch Disrupt.

As many as 90% of Harvard business school students own a Patagonia fleece and the 10% who don't drop out.

And this strange mismatch between the target customer and the actual customer of Patagonia, that's what's made the Patagonia fleece the most iconic piece of outerwear of all time, fueling $1 billion of annual sales.

Hey boss, grab the corporate card.

The whole sales team is getting Patagouchi.

It's a write-off.

So how did Patagonia go from niche mountainware company to preppy status symbol?

To find out, we're going to go all the way back to the 1950s to meet a dropout climber and surfer named Yvonne Chinard, a self-described existential dirtbag.

He literally started out with a hammer and an anvil to forge Patagonia into a multi-billion dollar business.

We'll learn how Patagonia's fleece came from Yvonne's obsession to find an alternative to scratchy wool sweaters.

And we'll hear why Yvonne is the most unlikely and reluctant founder that you'll ever meet.

Jack, this is an executive who takes off to the wilderness for months on end.

He doesn't own a computer.

He doesn't even carry a smartphone.

Good luck scheduling that important Q4 sales review meeting because the CEO is paddleboarding in the Galapagos.

This is a guy who is so anti-business that when he made it on the Forbes rich person list with a fortune of $1.2 billion, he described it as a personal failure.

Take that, Forbes.

Our epic road trip through Patagonia's history will take us from the granite peaks of Yosemite to the southern tip of South America, to the surfs of SoCap.

And along the way, we'll be dropping in on a Grateful Dead gig at a turning point for the company.

We'll hear about dumpster diving for empty bottles.

Got a fundraise somehow.

Scottish rugby shirts.

Inspiration is everywhere.

And even toilet bowls.

More on that in a bit.

And we'll learn why you should wear your values on your sleeve, no matter how unfashionable.

So Jack, zip yourself up, dress in layers, and slide something into that random arm pocket that every Patagonia has.

Here's why the Patagonia fleece is the best idea yet.

From Wonder and T-Boy, I'm Nick Martel.

And I'm Jack Kravici-Kramer.

And this is the best idea yet.

The untold origin stories of the products you're obsessed with and the bold risk-takers who brought them to life.

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The clouds above Yosemite National Park break for a a moment, bathing the 3,000-foot vertical rock face known as El Capitan in a soft pink glow before the rain returns.

Yvonne Shinard shivers at the base of the most intimidating rock face on planet Earth.

This is not the best way to start a challenging ascent.

His heavy wool sweater clings to him like a soaked sponge.

When the weather is dry or the rain is light, wool is cozy, but after a downpour, wool is a drag.

It's slow to dry, it's bulky, and it's a pain to clean.

Yvonne Shinnard, outdoorsman, climber, kayaker, surfer.

His list of hobbies, it reads like a kid from New England taking a gap year before enrolling at Wesley.

He is strong and he is lean with a face weathered by countless hours outdoors in the California sun.

If Yvonne were a Boy Scout, he'd have all the badges.

As a kid, Yvonne dreamed of being a fur trapper, just like his French-Canadian ancestors.

And by his teens, he was into diving, surfing, and falconry.

You were playing youth soccer?

He was hand-rearing birds of prey, Nick.

And then at age 16, he did a solo climb of Gannett Peak, Wyoming's highest mountain.

After Yvonne graduates from high school, he lives at his family's home in Burg Bank, California.

And you know what?

He's hardly ever there because he's too busy living out of his car, chasing the surf, roaming the country for tougher and tougher climbs.

In fact, he's getting his gas money by redeeming soda cans that he fishes out of the trash.

He needs that money for one reason, to fund his climbing obsession.

He survives off discounted cans of damaged cat food and char-grilled critters that he catches and cooks himself.

I'm going to guess he's single at this point in his life, Jack.

Well, it's not just Yvonne's choice in barbecue that is strange.

Because in the late 1950s and early 1960s, climbing wasn't really a sport yet.

Back then, it's an oddball obsession.

It's something only a few thrill seekers would do on the fringes.

There's something else that makes Yvonne exceptional for the time.

He's a member of the Sierra Club, one of the country's earliest conservation groups.

Back then, Sierra Club was pretty much it.

Like going green was something Bruce Banner did when he got angry.

Well, Jack, it's through Sierra Club that Yvonne finds his tribe, including his future business partner, Tom Frost.

They go on some epic, death-defying climbs together, including the very first ascent of El Capitan's North America wall in Yosemite.

Yvonne, Tom, and their buddies are risking their lives for the thrill of being the first up the most challenging ascents.

One mistake could easily mean death.

No mistakes makes you a legend.

That's a key point, Jack, because that is why climbers are so focused on their equipment.

Even something as innocent and soft as a wool sweater can be fatal when it's soaked and you're in some hypothermia territory.

It's not just the soggy wool sweaters that bothers Yvonne, though.

There's a vital piece of climbing gear that Yvonne is not happy with.

They're called pitons, small metal spikes that climbers hammer into the cracks in the rock wall to make anchor points.

If the climber falls, the piton holds the rope in place, leaving the climber swinging in midair.

You're gonna bump into a granite wall if you fall and definitely scuff your knees while you're swinging from that rope.

But thanks to the piton, you're not free-falling all the way to the ground.

Now, for the uninitiated, like myself, these pitons are essential safety equipment.

The problem for Yvonne is that all these spikes are almost impossible to pull out of the rock face.

Like once they are in, they are in.

So if you do try pulling them out, they snap, leaving an ugly shard of metal jammed in the mountainside.

This goes against Yvonne's climbing mantra.

one that he shares with environmentally minded outdoorsy types all across the world and one that will guide his eventual billion dollar business.

And that mantra is leave no trace.

So Yvonne puts his issue with his wool sweater to one side.

His new focus is finding a better alternative to these pitons.

He goes to a junkyard, finds an old anvil and a forge, and teaches himself how to blacksmith in his parents' backyard in Burbank.

I bet the neighbors love that.

Is that a leaf blower over there?

No, it's my son.

He's hammering a hot iron.

Yvonne hammers away literally until he hits upon a new piton design.

It's smaller, it's stronger, and way easier to yank out of the rock without breaking.

They mean that Yvonne can scale the sheerest climbing walls without leaving a trace.

Word gets out in the close-knit climbing community about these new pitons.

And pretty soon, Yvonne is selling them for $1.50 each.

Now, he has a way to support himself that doesn't involve dumpster diving.

So Yvonne and his climbing buddy Tom Frost come up with more improved bits of climbing gear, like a new kind of axe for ice climbing.

And they start selling those along with the pitons too.

Before they know it, these two self-described dirtbag climbers who only want to be in the open air have founded a business together.

It's impressive, it's unlikely, and it is very, very niche.

These guys know exactly what their core customer wants because they are the core customer.

But what's the market size for environmentalist hardcore rock climbers in the early 1960s?

It's not as big as the market for jeans like we discussed in our Levi's 501 episode.

It's also not as big as the McDonald's happy meal market.

What we're saying is, this is a really small market that they're going after here.

It's like them and a bunch of buddies.

But the tiny market size of their climbing equipment isn't necessarily a disadvantage because when you're building a product line, less is more.

The best performing firms actually tend to make a narrow range of products, but they make them very well.

They often use up to 50% fewer parts than those made by less successful firms.

So fewer parts mean a faster, simpler, and usually cheaper manufacturing process.

And despite their focused product and their very niche market, Yvonne and Tom have Yosemite-sized ambition.

So in 1965, they found a company, Chinard Equipment, and their aim is to redesign more climbing tools to make them stronger, lighter, and easier to use.

And because their products are stronger, they last longer, which means people don't need to buy so many replacements.

It's good for climbers, it's good for the environment, and it's also good for the bottom line.

Although for Yvonne, this business stuff, it takes a backseat to his climbing obsession.

Yvonne and his partner Tom spend the winter months making and selling equipment by mail order.

But then in the summer, they disappear off to Mount Shasta, the Alps, and Canada while sneaking in surf trips up and down the California coast and down in Mexico.

How is inventory?

No idea.

But even with all of that time off, their business keeps growing.

For the first few years, it's mainly mail order.

But then Yvonne meets another adventure junkie who's looking for just this kind of gear for his new store over in San Francisco, a store called the North Face.

The last few notes of a groovy, Grateful Dead jam session ring out at the opening party for a small outdoor equipment store, The North Face.

Come for the sleeping bags.

Stay for the 20-minute psychedelic guitar freakout.

It sounds fun.

It's not just Jerry and the gang providing tunes for this grand opening store event.

Folk singing superstar Joan Baez is there too, entertaining the dirtbag climbers, the hippies, and the beatniks who are present.

This is the opening of the very first North Face store in San Francisco in 1966.

Excuse me, does this tent come in tie-dye?

Doug, the owner of North Face, he's a lot like Yvonne.

He's an adventurer first, business guy second.

His store is one of the first of its kind, a space where fellow adventurers can gear up and trade tales.

Doug is also selling Yvonne's pitons and other pieces of Chinard equipment at this North Face store in San Francisco.

We should point out that Doug is just as much of a free spirit as Yvonne is.

And it's not long after this store opening that Yvonne and Doug, they start getting itchy feet.

So they both take their biggest adventure yet.

They embark on an epic six-month, 8,000-mile road trip all the way down to the tip of South America.

And Jack, you know what I love about them doing this?

In the tradition of national lampoon, they actually name this vacation.

They call it the Fun Hog Expedition.

They cram into their beat-up four to counterline band with a couple of other friends and they head south, like really far south.

Yeah, it's far.

And throughout this epic road trip, they make pit stops to climb, ski, and surf.

Their ultimate destination is Mount Fitzroy on the border of Argentina and Chile down in Patagonia.

It is the ultimate aesthetic mountain.

It is mighty and it is majestic.

These friends are about to embark on a grueling 18-hour ascent up this 11,000-foot mountain.

It blows their minds.

The crystal clear sky, the bracing chill, the total exposure to the elements.

Experiencing the untouched landscape, hundreds of miles from civilization, leaves a deep impression on Yvonne as he's soaking in huge hits of clean air from the peak.

It deepens his environmental convictions.

From now on, he vows to live his life and run his business in the most environmentally responsible way possible.

So Yvonne takes a big breath before taking his first step down the mountain because now he's a new man with a new mission and it all begins with this descent.

By 1970, Yvonne's company is the biggest supplier of climbing equipment in the United States.

But there's a contradiction at the heart of Yvonne's success.

Making climbing equipment more easily available means he's helped popularize climbing.

And lots of people use the same routes up the rock, hammering and removing their pitons as they go.

Yvonne has accidentally armed a million sculptors to chip away at our most beloved rock faces like Michelangelo chipped away at a block of marble.

But these climbers aren't making Davids, they're making destruction.

Pretty soon, the popular routes up the rock faces are crumbling.

And awkwardly, all this popularity, it's because of Yvonne's gear.

As this paradox dawns on him, Yvonne is horrified.

So he and his business partner, Tom Frolly, decide they need to stop selling their pitons.

But it's not going to be easy.

Those pitons make up two-thirds of their business.

So if they drop this thing entirely, these guys are going to be back to eating cat food and dumpster divings to survive.

They can't just cancel their one and only profit puppy.

They need to come up with a fix and fast.

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We're back at El Capitan in Yosemite National Park.

It's 1972.

Rock climbing is officially on the rise.

A pair of climbers dangle high on the imposing granite face, hundreds of feet above the ground.

The wind tugs at their gear and the wall of rock looms steeply above, daring them to go higher.

One climber reaches for a small piece of equipment, a hex.

Instead of pounding it into the rock, though, he slots this hexagonal piece of metal into a narrow crack and clips his rope through it.

And then carefully, he inches upward.

Suddenly, his foot slips and he is plunging.

He's dropping fast down the wall, a blur of limbs and rubber.

He jerks to a sudden halt as the hex is pulled tight into that rock above, catching him in midair.

He breathes a sigh of relief, gripping the rope and looking up.

That little device that he just wedged in there, the hex, it just saved his life.

And that life-saving hex?

It's Yvonne's answer to the Piton problem.

They're hexagonal pieces of metal that climbers slot into the cracks in the rock as they make their ascent.

And then they can clip their ropes into these hexes.

So if a climber falls, their weight on the rope pulls the hex tightly in place.

And they don't need to be hammered in either.

This way, the rock doesn't get chipped to bits.

And those hexes are also way easier to yank out and reuse than pitons were.

So Yvonne and his business partner Tom Frost came up with these hexes as an alternative to their pitons.

They introduced them in the 1972 Chenard Equipment Catalog.

Just in case you don't know your climbing catalog history, the 1972 Chenard Equipment Catalog, it is a classic.

It's kind of like the J.Crew catalog and the old Abercrombie catalog had a baby who was raised by wolves.

These things, they go for 300 bucks or more on eBay.

That catalog is a collector's item because of its impact on climbing culture.

In a 14-page essay, his customers are urged to leave no trace when they climb.

That meant putting conservation over convenience.

It was a rallying call for a whole whole new movement, clean climbing.

This early form of brand marketing was a hit for Yvonne.

Climbers ditched their pitons, and orders for the new hexes came in thicker and faster than an alpine blizzard.

Yvonne put his principles above his bottom line, and the payoff was huge.

Hexes weren't the only new item in that catalog.

There's other pieces of climbing gear, too.

And there was also an entire new product category.

Open up to page 12, and for the first first time you'll see clothing.

Clothing!

In fact, the reason Patagonia made the leap from specialist climbing gear maker to billion dollar apparel brand is all down to one of Yvonne's classic climbing trips and a run-in with a very particular type of shirt.

On a climbing trip to Scotland in 1970, as he's strolling down the street, a shirt in a shop window catches Yvonne's eye.

It has a fit like a long-sleeved polo shirt, but with a much higher collar.

He asks the shop owner, what is that shirt?

And the owner replies through a thick Highland accent, it is a rugby shirt.

Interesting.

Yvonne takes the fabric between his fingers.

It's tough enough to stand up against a pack of rugby players trying to tackle you to the ground, but it's also loose and breathable.

But the thing that really appeals to Yvonne is the high collar.

It's thick but loose, just the thing to stop climbing equipment from chafing at his neck.

So Yvonne buys one and heads over to the mountain.

Now, this offhand purchase in a tiny Scottish men shop, it actually would have a huge impact on Yvonne's business because when he gets back home, he keeps wearing that shirt on climbs.

And when his buddies see it as their necks are chafing mid-climb, they want one too.

So Yvonne starts importing these rugby shirts and selling them.

So Yvonne gets the business opportunity, but he doesn't want to make a bunch of cheap threads that create a ton of waste.

So he starts sourcing and selling other pieces of quality, long-lasting clothing like hardware and corduroy pants, gloves, and hats.

This is where Patagonia's distinct marketing really begins.

Yvonne focuses on showing the clothing and the equipment, but he does it in action.

The pictures in his catalogs, they aren't of models in some well-lit Hollywood studio.

They are real and they are gritty.

These are grizzled climbers who are mid-reach on a perilous climb.

There are hikers struggling through rough, windswept terrain.

And the focus, it isn't just on the product, it's on the experiences you'll have when you're wearing the product.

As the clothing line gets bigger, Yvonne and his business partner Tom Frost make a big decision.

They want to sell their clothing under a separate brand.

And they do this for two reasons.

First, they don't want to dilute the image of Chinard equipment as a specialist climbing tool company.

They've already built up a big brand there.

Second, Yvonne sees that this sturdy, practical clothing has an appeal that goes beyond hardcore outdoors adventurers.

Maybe people who like the idea of being outdoorsy, but aren't sure what on belay, off-belay means.

Maybe there's an aspirational element to his clothing that can attract a wider audience.

Mainstream buyers, maybe even urban buyers who want to feel like they're outdoorsy, who want to feel like they're a pro.

He wants a name that resonates with a broader audience, something that conjures up a sense of freedom and a sense of adventure.

So he thinks back to that fun hog road trip he took to South America, the life-changing journey where he decided to go all in on protecting the planet and he names his new clothing brand Patagonia.

But a great name also needs a great logo.

So Yvonne sits down with a freelance designer named Jocelyn Slack and describes his vision to her.

The jagged peaks of Patagonia, starply contrasted against a multi-colored skyline, the endless horizon.

And together, Jocelyn and Yvonne came up with something as iconic as the Nike swoosh.

It's the silhouette of Mount Fitzroy against the sunset sky with Patagonia spelled out in lowercase serif letters.

It's the kind of logo you tattoo on your bicep after scaling K2 for the third time.

I'm looking at it right now on my new Patagonia gear, and it's the same as this original.

The mountain is calling, and I must stare at it.

In 1973, Yvonne opens the first Patagonia store in the sleepy beach town of Ventura, California.

And now that he's in the clothing business, he can finally get back to his mythical quest of creating the perfect wool sweater.

But Jack, Yvonne does have one problem because he needs a miracle fabric to make that miracle sweater.

He needs something that has the warmth and the strength of wool, but that's lighter and easier to clean.

And most importantly, doesn't soak up water in the heavy rain.

If he can make gear to keep a climber from falling to their death, coming up with a cozy sweater, that should be a snap, right?

Since the first Patagonia store opened in 1973, Yvonne has been traveling the world, not only in search of the ultimate climb or the tastiest waves, he's also trawling textile markets and fabric stores, hoping to find his miracle fabric.

It's actually Yvonne's wife, Melinda, who makes a key discovery in the most unlikely of places, the bathroom, because she comes home after a trip to Los Angeles and she's really excited to show her husband what she's found.

Yvonne's puzzled when she opens her shopping bag to reveal a toilet seat cover.

The fabric, Jack, it's light, but it's soft and it's insulating.

And the water just runs off it.

It doesn't soak in.

Could this be the miracle material?

This could be it.

It's actually made of a material called acrylic pile.

It's basically synthetic wool.

And for some reason, it's being used as a toilet seat cover.

In the 70s, people loved soft things.

It was like Valore, everything, velvet, this.

Okay, so Jack, this thing, it is ugly, but it is warm and it insulates even when it's wet and it dries in a flash.

But even more importantly, there's nothing else like it on the market.

This fleece has the potential to revolutionize the entire outdoor wear industry.

But before Yvonne could turn that prototype into something that he can sell, he encounters a problem.

One that could sink Patagonia before it even gets off the ground.

Remember those rugby shirts that launched the Patagonia brand?

Well, those Scottish rugby shirts have become so popular that Yvonne outsourced production to a factory over in Hong Kong.

But the shipments are never on time.

And even worse, the quality of those rugby shirts is just awful.

The stitching's all off, the material is low quality.

There is no way that these things can make it through laundry day, let alone climb a jagged peak.

And now, Yvonne is stuck with a warehouse full of bad shirts that he can't sell.

The financial stress eats into his relationship with his business partner, Tom Frost.

Tom's the one staring at the spreadsheets every day.

By night, those mounting expenses are haunting his dreams.

And Jack, that's not the end of it.

Because things get so bad, they even consider taking a loan at 28% interest from get this, the mafia, like the actual mafia.

This is all too much for Tom's nerves.

So he cashes out of Patagonia stock and moves over to Colorado to continue his climbing career.

Because, you know, it's hard to climb mountains when the mob puts you in concrete boots.

Take the gun, leave the Patagonia.

Yeah.

Now, Yvonne, he's gonna need a new breakout product and the answer may lie in the most unexpected and perhaps unhygienic of places a jacket made out of a toilet seat cover but this toilet jacket it was about to put patagonia clothing on the mat in a big way

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We've come to the year 1975.

Nylon and polyester are all the rage, and more and more synthetic materials are coming to market.

Among them is a soft, light, warm, and water-repellent material that Yvonne's wife recently discovered when in the bathroom aisle.

It's ideal and like nothing else on the market.

But before Yvonne can start cranking out those fleeces, he's got to save Patagonia's reputation from the gutter.

His business partner has left.

The company's costs are only going up.

and he's got piles of unsellable poorly made rugby shirts to deal with.

What Yvonne would love to do more than anything else is just take off from the mountains.

But Patagonia, it's about more than just him.

It's now a company that employs 16 people.

This is something that Yvonne really takes to heart.

It's famously an incredible place to work with on-site child care centers and paid time off to engage in activism.

The employees love it.

So Yvonne?

Yeah, there is no way that he's ditching these problems to go and leave his people high and dry.

Could the new prototype fleece be the answer?

Now, Jack, Yvonne already has proven instincts here.

Like, remember those pitons that he hand-forged?

He made those pitons to fill his own need first.

The climbers, they love them second.

And he's convinced that the same course of events will happen with fleece.

So he tracks down the supplier of that toilet seat fabric that his wife showed him.

And it turns out it's a company called Malden Mills, which is based just outside Boston.

Cash is still tight after that rugby shirt fiasco, and Yvonne can't afford to put in a custom order for the fabric.

So he has to go with the only colors Malden Mills has in stock already.

Toilet seat tan and urinal cake blue.

But Jack, we are in luck here, you know, because Climbers, they're a unique customer base.

They don't care about color.

In fact, they don't care about any aesthetic elements of this product at all.

What they care about is performance.

So in 1977, struggling Patagonia takes its biggest risk yet and launches its first fleece, the pile fleece jacket.

This is a huge moment for pullovers.

It's a huge moment for chilly days.

It's a huge moment for the entire fashion industry, honestly, because this Patagonia fleece is the first version of the fleece that we all know and love today.

This is what Yvonne has been chasing all of these years.

It's his white whale.

Actually, it's his beige whale.

A soft plush water-resistant beige whale.

So how does this fleece do?

Well, it's a hit.

And it's not only climbers that love these warm, lightweight, water-repellent fleeces.

Everyday folks are snatching them up too.

The orders start pouring in.

By 1979, Patagonia's sales have jumped 50%.

The new fleece is a huge step in the right direction, but Yvonne wants to take it even further.

The fleece is selling well, so he has a proven market.

And Patagonia is now in a much better financial position with sales up 50% thanks to this one product.

So Yvonne gets together with Malden Mills, maker of that original fleecy toilet seat cover, to make a better version of that material.

After a few years of testing and tinkering, they've nailed it.

And in 1985, Patagonia unveils Cinchilla.

It's warm, it's soft, it holds up to repeated washes.

And guess what?

This fleece, it is the fabric that all synthetic fleece clothes and textiles are based on today.

Patagonia called it Cinchilla, but Malden Mills also sold it to other companies calling it Polar Fleece.

The CEO of Malden Mills thought his new material was so revolutionary that he decided not to patent it, meaning anyone could make this material.

What we are saying, Yetis, is that the fleece was open sourced.

But Patagonia still had the first mover advantage.

Patagonia went to town with Sinchilla and other synthetic materials to make a whole range of clothing, including the classic Patagonia Sinchilla Snap T.

tee.

That's the fleece pullover with the snap button collar that goes halfway down to the sternum.

Perfect for those chilly Austin spring evenings at South by Southwest.

And thanks to Sinchilla, Patagonia sales skyrocket, hitting $100 million by 1990.

I mean, Jack, by this point, Yvonne's also putting his money where his mouth is when it comes to protecting the environment because he's also donating 1% of all Patagonia sales to environmental causes.

Every entrepreneurial journey is like a mountain range filled with peaks and troughs because the huge success of the fleece means huge environmental impact.

Those synthetic fibers that go into Sinchilla, they're made using petroleum.

What an epic bummer for Yvonne.

Yeah.

The more you make, the more you pollute.

And not only that, every time you put your Cinchilla through the wash, it sheds microplastics into the water.

So Jack, these fleeces, they are literally a walking environmental disaster.

Just like those pitons, Yvonne has made a revolutionary new product product that saves his company, but then trashes his green credentials.

So all those fleeces aren't just keeping hikers toasty, they're also warming the planet.

But once again, Yvonne turns a crisis into an opportunity and invents another new revolutionary product.

He gets in touch with his friends at Malden Mills.

The first time they worked together, they invented synthetic fleece.

Now they're going to reinvent it.

But here's the problem.

They need to shrink the huge carbon footprint of each and every fleece.

Their solution is plastic bottles.

So in 1993, Patagonia becomes the world's first apparel maker to create fleece from recycled plastic bottles, almost two decades before Adidas did the same thing with shoes.

And now you could wear your Cinchilla totally guilt-free.

And switching to the recycled plastic fleece wasn't just good for the planet.

It was good for Patagonia's marketing.

In fact, the move won Patagonia an estimated $5 million worth worth of free press coverage.

Just the word of mouth about the environmental benefits of these new fleeces, it got the Eco Curious customers flocking into Patagonia's stores.

Patagonia also engineered a better fleece that sheds fewer microplastics.

They started adding reclaimed wool into the mix, and they launched campaigns asking people to wash their fleeces less.

In like the early 90s, this stuff was way ahead of the curve, decades ahead of its time.

Very few clothing companies were paying any attention to their environmental impact.

But all that work isn't enough for Yvonne.

he doesn't have buyer's remorse he has sellers remorse even though he's doing all he can to bring his company's eco impact down he can't stop people from buying patagonia stuff whenever he looks at his supply chain the production the logistics the sales all he is seeing is carbon footprints here there everywhere treading all over his beloved environment and this is what motivates yvonne to attempt one of the wildest ad campaigns in marketing history.

It's the kind of move that, if botched, could sink his company.

This is when Yvonne tells the public, literally, stop buying Patagonia stuff.

Sit down, stand up, and don't ever come to our stores again.

It's the first company we know of that told people to not buy their products.

Like, don't think of gifts, Black Friday, don't show up.

The ad went on to describe the environmental cost of making each fleece, like 135 liters of water per fleece.

That's enough to meet the daily water needs of 45 people.

Here's the wildest part of this wild ad.

This campaign, it actually boosted sales by 30%.

Everyone's like, oh my God, I love Patagonia.

This is so awesome that they don't want people to buy their clothing because it's bad for the environment.

I'm going to buy Patagonia now.

I'll take three of them.

Honey, Patagonia fleeces for the whole family.

This wild ad campaign cemented Patagonia's brand image as a company that cared more about the environment than it did about making money, which in turn made it a whole lot of money.

People are willing to spend more on brands that have a mission that they support.

And Patagonia continues to follow this exact playbook.

You know, Nick, we haven't talked about the Patagonia vest yet.

How did it become so popular in Silicon Valley and across all of corporate America?

Are you asking how it jumped from Sequoia Trees to Sequoia Capital?

No, I'm asking how it jumped from the Amazon to Amazon.com.

It actually is a profit puppy jack because you know it's cheaper to make than the regular regular fleece.

I mean, they save a lot of costs when you lose the sleeves.

If you joined an investment bank or a tech company, it was part of your induction.

Monday, you got your secure logins.

Tuesday, you set up your dual widescreen monitors for maximum Excel visibility.

Wednesday, you collect your co-branded Patagonia Fleece vest from PeopleOffice.

No paychecks till fleeces.

Yetis, seeing that garish branding of the latest crypto exchange nestled next to your Patagonia Peaks logo, it really stuck in Yvonne's craw.

So in 2019, he put his foot down and walked over to that distribution department and said, The B2B game, it's over.

Only companies that put planet over profits are going to be allowed to put their branding on Patagonia clothing.

Yvonne worked too hard for too long to make sure that Patagonia's green credentials were genuine.

He didn't want to throw that away by putting vests on the back of banks that invested in fossil fuels or the tech firms powered by energy-hungry server farms.

So Yvonne says, No more Patagonia swag or swag.

But again, they get more free press from all the news articles generated on that decision.

Once again, it backfired and it feeds into Patagonia's own brand image as an activist company that wouldn't sell out on its principles, which led to more sales.

But now, Nick, we have time for one more unprecedented move from Yvonne Chenard, and it's a big one.

In 2022, he puts the whole company, all $3 billion of Patagonia, into a trust to ensure that its profits go towards environmental causes from here on out.

Let that sink in for a second.

An entire profit-driven company has now been put into a trust entirely focused on supporting the environment.

This ensures Patagonia's profits will be put towards combating climate change forever.

When your great-great-great-great-great-grandkids are buying Patagonia fleeces, the profits will go towards saving the planet.

So Jack, now that you've successfully convinced me a 14-mile Yosemite hike may be a tad too much, and you have heard the story of the Patagonia Fleece, what's your takeaway?

If you're looking to change career paths, weigh these three factors, impact, income, and quality of life.

People on the cusp of a career change often ask us if they should take the opportunity or not.

Here's what we said.

If your new gig checks at least two of those three boxes we just mentioned, income, impact, and quality of life, then it's a career move worth making.

If a move improves your income and your impact, it could be worth it, even if your quality of life doesn't improve.

Yeah, like Yvonne launched his equipment company for impact and quality of life.

That's two of the variables right there.

He got to help protect the environment he loved with his products, and he got to continue living, working, and playing outdoors.

Yeah, this fits perfectly because interestingly, Yvonne ignored the income checkbox, but he ended up getting it because he focused on the other two.

So remember, when you're choosing between income, impact, and quality of life, having two is usually enough and it often leads to the third.

Nick, what's your takeaway on the story of Patagonia?

All right, Jack, my takeaway is that the most successful mission-oriented companies don't focus on preaching, they focus on products.

Interesting.

I got some examples for you, Jack.

Tesla, Ben ⁇ Jerry's, Patagonia, Warby Parker, Allberts.

Yvonne has even said that Patagonia's financial philosophy lies in being a product-driven company, not preaching product.

He focuses first on making something great, and then he believes that the mission will follow.

To be successful as a mission-oriented company like Patagonia, you must first focus on the product.

The philosophy comes second, and then the profits follow.

As his end master would probably say, profits happen when you do everything else right.

I like what you did there.

Okay, before we go, it's time for our absolute favorite part of the show, The Best Facts Yet.

These are the hero stats, facts, and surprises we discovered in our research, but we just couldn't fit into the story.

Nick, kick us off.

All right, I got you, Jack.

Malden Mills, the guys who developed Polar Fleece.

It's actually known as Polar Tech.

It is still the sole supplier of Fleece to the United States military, the North Face, Patagonia, and many other outdoor brands.

Yvonne Chenard's fateful trip to Patagonia with Northface founder Doug Tompkins in 1968 was documented in a film called Mountain of Storms.

The film became a cult classic, although it was not widely seen.

A later expedition retraced their journey for the 2010 documentary 180 Degrees South, Conquerors of the Useless.

Now, Jack, Patagonia was actually one of the first major fashion labels to launch their own second-hand site, encouraging customers not to throw away their barely used Pataguchis.

It's the same reason why the tags in their kids wear have a place for the child to write their name and then another line for the next child to write their name.

It encourages hand-me-downs.

Subtle, but clever.

And Jack, in 1993, Patagonia unveiled their first ever recycled bottled fleece.

And guess what color the fleece came in?

Soda bottle green.

Yeah, that's the one.

Isn't that classic?

Also, we should point out it takes 25 one-liter plastic bottles to make a Cinchilla Patagonia fleece jacket.

And not a scintilla of a single chinchilla is harmed in the entire making process.

There's so many other crazy stories about Yvonne's adventures we couldn't fit in.

Like the time he tried to raise his blood pressure by drinking bottles of soy sauce, his goal was to fail the U.S.

Army medical exam to avoid being drafted.

Now, unfortunately for Yvonne and his dry cleaner, that soy sauce came straight back up and he was shipped out to South Korea.

Although it was such a low-stress posting that he spent most of his time climbing in the mountains near Seoul.

Even when he was enlisted in the military in one of the most heavily militarized borders in the world, Yvonne is more chill than the dude.

And that, my friends, is why the Patagonia fleece is the best idea yet.

Coming up on the next episode of The Best Idea Yet, Jack, can you tell me how to get how to get to Sesame Street?

Elmo, we'll see you there.

Follow the best idea yet on the Wondery app, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts.

You can listen to every episode of The Best Idea Yet early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts.

Before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.

The best idea yet is a production of Wondery, hosted by me, Nick Martel, and me, Jack Krovici-Kramer.

And hey, if you have a product you're obsessed with, but you wish you knew the backstory, drop us a comment.

We'll look into it for you.

Oh, and don't forget to rate and review the podcast.

Five stars, that helps grow the show.

Our senior producers are Matt Beagle and Chris Gautier.

Peter Arcuni is our additional senior producer.

Our senior managing producer is Nick Ryan, and Taylor Sniffin is our managing producer.

Our associate producer and researcher is H.

Conley.

This episode was written and produced by Adam Skeuse.

We use many sources in our research, including Patagonia's Philosopher King by Nick Palmgarden in The New Yorker, The Existential Dirtbag Who Founded The Gifted Patagonia by Rupert Neat in The Guardian, and Let My People Go Surfing, The Education of a Reluctant Businessman by Yvonne Chinnard.

Sound design and mixing by Kelly Kromerick.

Fact-checking by Molly Artwick.

Music supervision by Scott Velazquez and Jolena Garcia for Freeson Sync.

Our theme song is Got That Feelin' Again by Black-A-Lack.

Executive producers for Nick and Jack Studios are me, Nick Martell, and me, Jack Ravici-Kramer.

Executive producers for Wondery are Dave Easton, Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Aaron O'Flaherty, and Marsha Louie.