The Sweater I’ll Never Sell

It’s a rainy February morning as I write this.

The windows are open just slightly — enough to hear the rain but not let in too much chill. The house feels quiet in that soft Northern California way, where the sky is silver and everything slows down.

I’m on my second cup of coffee.

And I’m wearing it — a thin cami underneath, the sweater loose and soft over my shoulders.

An old Italian cashmere V-neck from J.Crew. Softer than it was when I bought it. Thinner now. And with a small hole in the elbow.

I don’t repair it.
I don’t resell it.
I sleep in it.

Cool Nights, Open Windows

I like to sleep in a cool room most of the year — windows cracked, fresh air moving through the house.

Some nights it’s the fog rolling in.
Some mornings it’s sunshine greeting me.

Either way, Northern California evenings dip just enough that you want something soft around you. Not heavy. Not bulky. Just warm enough.

A cami underneath.
Cashmere over it.
Bare feet under the covers.

That’s enough.

This sweater has lived through years of that rhythm — rain tapping the windows, fog settling in, bright light cutting through the morning.

It’s the layer I reach for without thinking.

I Wish More People Slept in Their Cashmere

I wish more people would sleep in their old, well-loved cashmere.

Not the perfect one you’re afraid to stretch out.
Not the one folded carefully in a drawer.

The softened one.
The slightly thinned one.
The one that already holds years of mornings and evenings.

There is something quietly luxurious about natural fiber against your skin while you sleep.

It’s comfort.
It’s sustainability.
It’s using what you already own fully — instead of saving it for later.

Luxury doesn’t always mean new.

Sometimes it means familiar.

When Wear Becomes Meaning

We’ve been trained to see wear as a flaw.

A hole means replace.
Thinning means done.

But sometimes wear means something else.

The elbow thinned because I wore it constantly. Because it layered perfectly. Because it was comfortable enough to fall asleep in. Because it moved with my life.

A small hole doesn’t make it disposable.

It makes it honest.

Buy Better. Wear Longer.

I built Marin Cashmere around the idea that beautiful things deserve longer lives.

I resell pieces so they can circulate.

But underneath that is something even simpler:

Buy better.
Wear longer.
Live in what you love.

Some sweaters are meant to circulate.

Some are meant to stay.

On a rainy February morning — with fog rolling in or sunshine greeting me — this one stays.

And that feels like enough.