This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
Some things just look better with age and patina: think of how a leather briefcase softens at the edges, or how a well-worn jacket begins to mirror the posture of its owner. These are not signs of decay, but of a life lived with intention. It is a philosophy that rejects the “new for the sake of new” and instead embraces the “better for the sake of forever.”
Francesco di Napoli, the founder of Foulon, has built his brand on this very foundation of longevity and soul. Drawing a direct line from the golden era of mid-century Italian design to the modern wardrobe, Francesco treats leather not just as a material, but as a vessel for memory.
In this Brand Talks interview, he reveals why he prefers the “perfectly human” imperfections of artisan work over industrial precision and invites us into his world. A world where quality is a pact between the maker and the wearer, and where the best investment is one you only have to make once.
Can you take us back to the moment when the idea of building Foulon first took shape?
There wasn’t a single “eureka” moment, but rather a convergence of personal circumstances and a long lasting appreciation for Italian craftsmanship. I am half Italian and half Spanish, but I spent most of my life in Spain; at a certain point however, as my life was increasingly gravitating toward Milan, I felt a strong desire to create something meaningful in Italy. I have always admired the “small classics” of Italian style—that tradition of quality artisan work and a specific approach to fashion that I had long appreciated more as a customer than as a producer.
The spark actually came through a friend who owned a tannery. He had started a small women’s leather collection under the name Foulon, but wasn’t moving forward with it. He offered me the project, including the website and the name. Initially, I was hesitant to start from scratch; I wanted to tell stories and market something with an existing soul. However, I decided to take a chance. I told him I was interested in the name, but everything else had to be entirely mine.
At the beginning, my inspiration came from the world of classic cars, and I started with driving gloves. I had always worn them, often hunting down traditional Neapolitan glovers or scouring vintage markets for old, crumpled pairs that felt superior to new ones made with cheap leather. But to build a real brand, I knew I needed more. I partnered with a specialist in leather outerwear and developed three jackets.
In the beginning, there was no rigid business plan or sales projection; there was simply the desire to start. I was fortunate that I didn’t need Foulon to make a living, which allowed me to treat it as a passion project. This freedom lets me build deep, loyal relationships with my suppliers. I remember spending entire afternoons choosing just a few skins for a tiny order of six pairs of gloves, effectively disrupting a supplier’s production line for very little profit. Yet, they welcomed me like their biggest client. Those personal bonds are now the essential pillars of Foulon.
The transition from a “project” to a “brand” was forced by the market. I presented the pieces to an influential agent in Spain and a prestigious showroom in Germany. After several rejections, I managed to win them over. This was a crucial turning point because, as I often say, a great idea without a distribution channel is just “pure poetry.” You have to sell. I chose wholesale over direct-to-consumer because I value the traditional relationship between a shopkeeper and a client. I wanted my products to be represented by passionate retailers who know their customers personally and can convey the soul of the product.
Today, after three years, I am proud to offer a product that is comparable to the highest Italian luxury labels—using the same suppliers and materials—but positioned at a more accessible price point in the multi-brand channel. Sustainability and ethics are non-negotiable for me. Every piece of leather is fully certified, not just in terms of the tanning process and waste management, but also regarding the European origin of the hides. This traceability gives me a peace of mind that I find essential.
What was the deeper intention behind that decision and what made you feel it was worth turning into something real?
In reality, I didn’t set out to create something that didn’t exist. On the contrary, I wanted to recreate something that has always existed but which people now struggle to find: the highest quality at the appropriate price. Sure, it is still a niche product and a significant investment. However, I’ve realized that the “expensive” investments in my life have actually turned out to be the most economical choices in the long run.
Think of the things you keep over a lifetime. I have a cashmere jacket I bought 15 years ago and the shoes I got married in back in 1997. These objects belong to you; they are part of your journey. I project this same philosophy onto a leather jacket. I imagine the person who buys it wearing it for twenty years, allowing the leather to acquire that unique patina that only comes with time.
As you reach an age where you start thinking about the things that will accompany you for the next two decades, you realize the truth in the old English adage: “If you buy the most expensive thing, you only regret it once. If you buy the cheapest, you regret it every single day you wear it.” A trendy, cheap item won’t be in your wardrobe in twenty years. But a high-quality piece—even if its shape is no longer “in fashion”—remains a part of you. I have a Tincati cashmere sweater from the 1990s that my father-in-law handed to me. It had holes, and I spent a lot of money having it repaired by an artisan. I don’t wear it every day, but when I do, I wear it with a sense of pride.
These objects are anchors to our past; they remind us of when we were young, how much we desired that specific thing, and the moment we finally decided to buy it. I want a Foulon customer to feel that same sense of connection in the future. If a customer has a problem, I want them to call me. Recently, a client called about a stain on his jacket. We had him send it back, and we did everything we could to minimize it. Now he wants to buy another one in a different color. You can’t put a price on that kind of complicity. I feel responsible for my garments, even if the customer was the one who stained it.
These objects are anchors to our past, and I want a Foulon customer to feel that same sense of connection in the future.
What’s the meaning behind the name Foulon?
In French, the term refers to the large drums where hides rotate during the dyeing process. If you have ever visited an old tannery, you might have seen these enormous wooden structures; they look much like the drum of a washing machine, tumbling the leather to ensure the color penetrates deeply. It is a very technical name.
Initially, I kept it because of this direct link to leather; it defines exactly what we do, albeit in a subliminal way that only true connoisseurs or industry insiders would immediately recognize. At the same time, I appreciated that it wasn’t a typically “Italian-sounding” name. I wanted to move away from the habit of using one’s own surname or forcing an obvious Italian aesthetic into the branding. The goal was to show our Italianità through the product itself rather than through a label.
The name creates an interesting contrast: it has a French form and pronunciation, but when paired with “Milano” underneath, it firmly grounds the brand in Italian excellence. It encapsulates a broader concept of “Europeanness.” Furthermore, the graphic identity we designed for the logo makes the name feel familiar. Even if you don’t recall exactly where you’ve seen it, it doesn’t feel strikingly new or jarring; it feels like something that has always been there.
Foulon has a strong connection with the world of classic cars — a passion that also belongs to you personally. Where did this fascination begin, how do you continue to cultivate it, and what does a classic car represent to you?
I grew up with cars. My father loved them, and I belong to that generation where a car was the ultimate aspirational object for a child; from the age of ten, after playing with toy cars, you spent your time waiting to turn eighteen just to get your license. For us, it was the very definition of freedom. To me, a vintage car also represents the context of the second half of the 20th century—a time when the world felt like it was being reimagined for the better year after year. This era, from the post-war 1950s through the 1970s, produced the great icons and the aesthetic language I love, from music to masculine style. It was a period defined by the desire to build a better civilization. I wanted to create a product that acted as a bridge to that world.
And when it comes to classic cars, my fascination is all about aesthetics. I find the beauty of cars from the 1960s, and even the 70s, entirely natural. You see these soft, perfectly balanced forms where harmony is absolute. It was an era where the study of proportions resulted in rolling works of art created by great Italian coachbuilders, paired with the cutting-edge technology of the time. Whether it was high-performance engines or the ingenious small V4s from Lancia, there was a universal drive to build something better and more beautiful for a growing Europe.
My transition into ownership was masked as an “investment.” A friend had put a deposit on a very rare French car, a Facel Vega, but couldn’t complete the purchase. I stepped in to help him, justifying the expense at home as a financial move rather than a whim. Once I “cleared customs” with that first purchase, the rest was easy; soon everyone knew there would always be something interesting in my garage. I eventually traded the Facel Vega for a Porsche 911, and then another.
Beyond the cars themselves, I fell in love with the culture surrounding them. I remember diving into American Porsche forums back in the day; the depth of knowledge was incredible. In fact, I learned English primarily through my passion for classic cars because, at the time, all the most important literature was in English. My curiosity forced me to learn.
Today, as classic cars are increasingly banned from city centers due to environmental regulations and restricted zones, I believe we shouldn’t treat this world like an “Indian reservation” where we hide and dream of a past we might not have even lived. You don’t need a fortune to participate; whether it’s an expensive 911, a budget-friendly Porsche 924, or a 2000s-era Boxster, the entry point is just an excuse to start a journey. It shouldn’t be a “nerdy” obsession with cylinder counts and paint codes. It should be an open culture where architecture, engineering, and the “ritual of the journey” intersect. Think of the 1950s picnic culture—the French and British still do it. There were even Rolls-Royces back then with optional stools that attached to the rear bumper so you could have tea right off the trunk. That is the spirit I want to keep alive.
Much of Foulon’s soul draws from the golden age of motoring. In what ways does the world of classic cars influence what you create — from aesthetic choices to mindset?
In that golden era, things were made to last, crafted from substantial materials. This is precisely why I associate leather with that period. While leather has faced criticism recently, I view it as perhaps the most sustainable material available. True sustainability acknowledges that every human action—from breathing to owning a dog or lighting a fireplace—has an environmental impact. Leather is a byproduct of the food industry; it is the ultimate example of a circular economy because you are turning waste into a resource. When produced according to strict certifications and waste management rules, you create a product of excellence that is far more sustainable than a “vegan” leather jacket, which is often just processed plastic that has traveled the globe in a shipping container.
I want my materials to evoke emotion, and leather does that for me—it connects back to a world of authenticity and durability. When it comes to naming my products, such as the Superleggera or the Targa, I am playing with those historical inspirations. I don’t consider myself a designer—I’m more of an editor. I don’t draw things from scratch; instead, I take inspiration from a film, a photograph, or a specific character. I then reimagine the garment with a contemporary fit, specific finishes, and, most importantly, the exact leather I want. The research into the hide is vital because I want the material to speak for itself, offering a “hand” and a tactile quality you won’t find in a standard store.
The world of classic cars is an endless source of inspiration—from the brands and designers to the drivers and the races. When I watch vintage race footage on YouTube, I find myself focusing on the background details rather than the race itself. I love the simplicity of that era, which is so far removed from today’s over-managed, sponsor-driven events. I’m drawn to the sight of mechanics in stained, worn-out overalls chatting with drivers, or those famous 1970s photos of Ferrari mechanics eating spaghetti and drinking wine right on the side of the car.
That lightness, that joie de vivre, and that carefree attitude are what I want to transmit through Foulon. It was a time when people didn’t fear the future. Today, the world feels heavy with responsibility and complexity; through my work, I hope to make things feel a little bit easier and more lighthearted again.
I want my materials to evoke emotion, and leather does that for me—it connects back to a world of authenticity and durability.
You’ve outfitted gentlemen drivers in historic rallies and even recreated Tazio Nuvolari’s gloves. Tell us more about those gloves — what drew you to Nuvolari, and what did you want to capture in that tribute?
Tazio Nuvolari is a driver for whom I have always felt a profound admiration—not just for his extraordinary talent behind the wheel, but for the human tragedy of his life. He was an absolute myth of the 1930s, winning everywhere from Europe to the Vanderbilt Cup in the United States. He was the highest-paid driver of his era, owning a private plane in the 1930s, yet he carried a heavy personal sorrow. It often seemed as though he was seeking death on the track, almost as if the track refused to grant him the final prize he was looking for.
There is a distinct difference between a legend and a myth. While motorsport has many legends, I believe that the status of a true myth wasn’t reached again until Ayrton Senna. Nuvolari held that status. If you look closely at photos from 1936 onwards, specifically from the Vanderbilt Cup or his victory at Donington, he wore a very distinctive glove. It was extremely short, made of peccary leather, with a button closure and a specific cut that formed a perfect circle on the back of the hand. In every photo where he is waving, you can see this unique shape.
I eventually met an actor named Graeme Hardy, who frequently portrays Nuvolari at events like Goodwood. He has that same lean, “wiry” look, so I told him, “You cannot portray Nuvolari with ordinary gloves; I will make the replica for you.” We became friends, and I created them specifically for him. I never commercialized that glove; it was simply a small tribute to Nuvolari and a gesture of friendship toward Graham, who shares that same passion.
Beyond that specific tribute, I enjoy collaborating with collectors and participants in events like the Mille Miglia or the Concorso d’Eleganza Villa d’Este. If a collector wants a glove that is historically accurate to the period of their car, we create it together. For me, this is also a subtle marketing strategy—it’s often more meaningful and effective than a traditional photo shoot, and all it costs is the dedication to getting a single pair of gloves exactly right.
Could you walk us through your design process — from the initial concept to a finished product? What part excites you the most, and why?
My approach is quite similar to that of the historic furniture makers in Brianza; they act as editors who select a design, purchase the production rights, and pay royalties to the designer. This is the same philosophy I apply to clothing. I don’t invent anything, and I don’t pretend to be a designer who will revolutionize the industry. My goal is simply to produce high-level craftsmanship in Italy using the same hands and the same quality of leather that were used in the past.
In my process, a “design” doesn’t exist in the traditional sense. Instead, there is an editorial approach: I identify an inspiration and rework it through my own lens. Because these are interpretations of timeless pieces, I am convinced that in 20, 30, or even 50 years, these garments will still be perfectly wearable. Even if a specific fit becomes dated, a high-quality garment retains a unique charm that transcends the fashion of the moment.
What excites me most is playing with the materials—discovering what the tanning industry can achieve and declining those new textures into familiar silhouettes. In the world of leather outerwear, almost everything was invented for aviation from the 1920s onwards. For example, our Leggera is a model that dates back to the 1920s; Charles Lindbergh wore a similar A-1 style jacket when he crossed the Atlantic. I find joy in these small re-proposals of things already seen, crafted in a way that is nearly impossible to find in standard commercial offerings today.
You often speak about reviving “the pleasure of natural materials,” and leather is the starting point for every Foulon piece. Where did your connection with this material begin? What draws you to it — and in your eyes, what makes it truly unique?
The core of my philosophy is that the material must speak for itself; as I like to say, we aren’t just a brand: we are a product that happens to have a brand. This connection begins when I visit tanneries and fairs. When I find a leather that moves me, I immediately begin to imagine the specific garment it could become. I look for a certain “hand,” a specific weight, or a particular stiffness, because the same model crafted from two different leathers will result in two completely different jackets.
I enjoy playing with these variations. For example, I treat stiffer materials like calfskin—which some might consider a more “entry-level” leather—as if they were denim, utilizing that natural rigidity to give the piece structure. Conversely, I take lambskin, which is much softer, and have it thinned down to a mere 0.4 mm to achieve a fit that feels more like a sweater than a heavy jacket.
We also work with exceptional materials like plongée lambskin and full-grain leathers. I particularly love using full-grain leather in its most natural state, preserving the original texture and even the natural “imperfections” of the hide. These details make each garment unique; it’s not about being “perfect,” but about being different.
Ultimately, I want the customer to fall in love with the materiality of the piece as much as its aesthetic or fit. While I don’t claim to be a pioneer in fashion modeling, I believe Foulon is doing something truly special in the selection and treatment of these natural materials.
Foulon pieces are made to last, and caring for them properly helps them last even longer. What are two simple, essential pieces of advice you’d give to someone looking to take good care of their leather jacket?
The beauty of leather is that you shouldn’t try to keep it looking brand new. You have to let it evolve, age, and take on its own character. Because it is handmade, there are always those small imperfections that actually make the garment perfect. As they say in Naples about tailoring, a garment cannot be truly perfect if it doesn’t have an imperfection, because that is what makes it “perfectly” human.
So the first and most important piece of advice is to let it age. Do not be afraid of the garment showing its years. Often, when people buy clothing, they are obsessed with keeping it looking brand new forever, but with leather, the approach must be the exact opposite. You have to let the leather age, acquire its patina, and even get a little “ruined” over time. You must live in the leather and allow it to have a life of its own.
The second piece of advice is more practical: keep some baby powder at home. If you happen to get a small stain—a drop of cream, a bit of grease, or something similar—act immediately by applying the powder. It absorbs the grease and minimizes the damage before it sets. It is the classic “grandmother’s remedy,” but it works. Before rushing to a dry cleaner, which might actually cause more harm, apply some talcum powder, let it sit, and then give it a good brushing.
What does sustainability in luxury truly mean to you — and what specific choices have you made to ensure that Foulon remains rooted in integrity?
I believe sustainability is fundamentally about our attitude of respect toward nature and the world around us. We cannot be flawless; the pursuit of absolute perfection is contrary to human nature. Every human action has an environmental impact, so rather than chasing an impossible ideal, we should strive for a conscious and deliberate approach to our choices.
Sometimes, “perfect” is the enemy of “good.” I prefer the simple, consistent awareness of someone who chooses glass over plastic because they understand the value of recycling, even if it costs a bit more. The same principle applies to clothing. We have all realized that fast fashion is costly—not just for our wallets, but for the planet—primarily because of the waste it creates. If you invest in quality pieces, the need to discard and replace them diminishes significantly.
True integrity lies in that awareness of purchase and action. We should contribute what we can without feeling paralyzed by guilt for the state of the world. Being human comes with its costs, but it also comes with virtues and the capacity for growth. Awareness, rather than perfection, is what truly makes us better.
We have all realized that fast fashion is costly, primarily because of the waste it creates. If you invest in quality pieces, the need to discard and replace them diminishes significantly.
Imagine a customer opening their Foulon jacket after twenty years of careful use. What do you hope they feel first?
I simply hope that, for a moment, they stop and think: “I bought this jacket back in 2026 during a trip to that city,” or even at the local shop they’ve always shopped at. I want them to realize that even after twenty years of ownership and twenty years of wear, they still have the desire to put it on.
Naturally, the jacket won’t be the same as the day they bought it, it couldn’t be. But my hope is that they continue to wear it with genuine pleasure and that, when they do, they feel like themselves, not like they are wearing someone else’s identity. That sense of belonging to one’s own clothes is what I hope for, and I truly believe it will happen.
Gents Cafe often speaks of “the art of intentional living.” In your own life, beyond fashion, what intentional habits or passions do you nurture that reflect the spirit of Foulon?
I believe intentional living is deeply connected to the same values we’ve discussed regarding sustainability and building a brand. It is a process of personal growth where, as you transition from adolescence into adulthood, you strive to be a step ahead—not in competition with others, but in competition with who you were yesterday.
In my view, the right approach to a conscious life is rooted in natural values and certainties. If you simply try to imitate the behaviors or the “ten-step guides” suggested by others, you miss the point. We are each responsible for our own intentional living; I am the only one who can decide what truly makes me feel well. While social media is full of advice like “make your bed every morning to start your day with a win,” I think the first step toward well-being is often giving less importance to what others say you should do and focusing on what actually works for you.
For a long time, I practiced a very rigid productivity—waking up at 5:00 AM to get ahead. Lately, I’ve learned to be kinder to myself and forgive my small weaknesses. If I need to sleep in, I sleep. If I break my diet for a day, I forgive myself and move on. It’s about being guided by values rather than a script. When your values are correctly oriented, the right actions follow naturally through awareness rather than imitation. This, to me, is the true mark of maturity.
Everything in life is a process of growth. We aren’t born elegant or wise; those qualities come through curiosity, self-investigation, and the empathy we feel for others. This growth eventually reflects in how you dress, how you communicate, and how you behave toward the world. It’s not a one-dimensional path; it’s a constant effort to be a slightly better version of yourself without trying to be someone you aren’t. Intentionality must be natural, not constructed.
