This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
In an industry where labels and claims often hide outsourced production, documenting the path of a pair of jeans from the cotton field to the weave of the mill and all the way to the final stitch is a revolutionary act showing the trust that only comes from years of shared experience and a fierce dedication to the people behind the machine.
Per Fredriksson, Founder of C.O.F. Studio, did this to build more than a brand: he wanted to create a “Circle of Friends,” placing the name of every supplier directly on the pocket of his garments, to let the customer understand the labor, history, and craftsmanship that makes their clothing possible.
In this Brand Talks interview, Per told us what made him leave behind the world of 5 million-piece production runs to focus on small-batch, artisanal quality, how he cultivated a global network of trusted suppliers, and what’s the best way to care for your denim.
Where does your love for denim come from?
My love for the material began back when I was still in school. I belong to the generation that witnessed the Levi’s 501s arrive in Europe and fell in love with how jeans changed as you wore them. We used to scratch them ourselves with sandpaper just to see what we could create. There were older guys at my school who did it first, and we would look at them and ask, “Where did you buy those?” only to find out they had “customized” the jeans themselves. It was fascinating to see how you could start with a raw piece of fabric and transform it over time.
Can you walk us through your journey in the denim world and how you gained such hands-on experience with washes and production?
After leaving school, I started working in a retail store. That was when different brands began introducing various washes, stone washing, and scraping techniques, and each had a distinct look. I became obsessed with the storytelling behind the different brands in the store, always asking myself what more could be done with the fabric.
At that point, I didn’t have access to manufacturing. That changed in 1982 when I went to work for a Finnish company called Beaver Jeans. The owner, Matti, had his own laundry and garment production, and he sourced fabrics mainly from Italy, including Legler. He was truly forward-thinking with his stone-washing experiments. I remember going to trade shows and seeing representatives from Levi’s, Wrangler, and Lee come over to our booth to ask, “How do you do this?” For a 20-year-old working for a small company, seeing the industry giants pay attention like that made it even more exciting.
Later, I moved to a Swedish company that had its own factory and laundry in Sweden, which gave me the opportunity to work closely with their product developers and continuously raise the bar for what could be done with denim. Then in 1985, I joined a brand called Dobber, whose owner had discovered Japanese fabrics around a decade earlier. Dobber was the second-largest brand in the Scandinavian market after Levi’s, so they had the structure, the factory network, and the scale. That was my real gateway to traveling to Japan to work directly with the mills, and then visiting garment makers in Singapore and Hong Kong.
By the late 1980s, Italy was emerging as the leader in advanced laundry techniques and washes. I became curious because the Italians were doing things at a level above what we were capable of, so I convinced my boss to move a portion of our production to Italy. We partnered with a factory called Zetabi outside Ancona, which handled both sewing and washing under one roof.
In 1989, I left to start my own consulting business and began working with Confezioni Romano in Puglia. I worked on the commercial side while simultaneously focusing on factory development. Instead of waiting for clients to ask if we could achieve a certain look, we aimed to stay one step ahead by developing new washes and presenting them directly. I have always been deeply curious about what can be achieved with denim as a product, and that endless desire to learn and innovate continues right through to 2026.
In the 1970s, a simple photograph of Andy Warhol wearing Levi’s 501s sparked a lifelong love affair with denim that completely rewrote your career path. Can you take us back to that exact moment?
That happened towards the end of the decade. At the time, I was living with my parents in a very small town in Sweden, about an hour south of Stockholm. I don’t know where the impulse came from, as no one in my family worked in the industry, but I discovered “Interview Magazine”, which Andy Warhol founded. Since it wasn’t distributed in Europe, I wrote directly to the US to subscribe, and they mailed every issue straight to my house.
The way Andy Warhol presented the 501 was entirely different from what we were seeing elsewhere. At that time, European denim culture was heavily tied to rock music, artist culture, the 1976 punk movement, and films like Quadrophenia. But Warhol took a completely different approach: he dressed his 501s up with a navy blazer and loafers. He had a much chicer, more sophisticated take on denim than the rock-and-roll or “trash” image. I was immediately drawn to that look.
In fact, I often say that his style is very close to how the Italians eventually adopted denim—it’s more about looking refined and casual rather than overly distressed or heritage-focused. Warhol was extremely early with that aesthetic, he was just naturally chic for his time. Unfortunately, I don’t have those original magazines anymore, but that late-70s Interview era and Warhol’s personal style left a lasting imprint on me. Even today, I wouldn’t call myself a heritage guy; I’m a menswear denim guy focused on a clean, refined aesthetic.
Beyond jeans, music and film have also played a huge role in shaping my world. In 1980, I moved to Stockholm, which has always been a cosmopolitan, curious city that looks toward big global cultural hubs—especially New York and America. By 1986, I had the chance to travel to New York for the first time. Back then, the nightclub culture was incredible and far less commercialized or guarded by heavy security. You could be sitting at a bar and see artists like Bruce Springsteen or Mark Knopfler from Dire Straits just hanging out. This was also true in Sweden: one night at the Gino club in Stockholm, Prince showed up and played a free 40-minute set for the guests just for fun, the night before his big concert. Younger people today think you’re lying when you tell those stories, but that was the reality.
Anyways, seeing how those icons dressed—from Prince’s theatrical style to Bruce Springsteen’s rugged country look—all tied back to denim culture in one way or another. Those influences, alongside Warhol’s approach, have stayed with me my whole life. I don’t take much inspiration from today’s fast trends; instead, I take those foundational elements from my youth and continuously refine them for the present.
Before founding C.O.F. Studio, your career spanned decades of diverse, hands-on roles across the global textile industry. Looking back at that journey, which specific experiences and tough production lessons provided the ultimate blueprint for what your brand is today?
Even after 47 years in this industry, every time you start a new concept or brand, you face new challenges and make initial mistakes while settling into the process. A big part of that learning curve comes from managing factory relationships. Manufacturers naturally try to make things as easy and efficient for themselves as possible, which can lead to every brand looking the same if you don’t fight for your vision. Laundries, for instance, prefer using standardized recipes or pre-set whisker patterns. You have to constantly push back and say, “I respect your process, but for my brand, I want it done my way.”
One of the most crucial lessons I’ve learned is to never launch a small, independent project at a massive factory. Early in my career, I saw people leave big retail corporations like H&M to start their own brands, assuming they could use the same mega-factories because of existing relationships. But when you walk in asking for 200 or 300 pieces in a facility built for 200,000, you will have zero priority, and it will never turn out well. You have to find partners who truly care about your concept and are willing to grow with you.
Finally, the way brands grow has completely shifted. Traditional sales pitches, trade shows, and agents putting labels in showrooms don’t build a strong market position the way they used to. Seeing brands—especially direct-to-consumer models out of Sweden like Acne, Toteme, or Our Legacy—build massive global presences without traditional sales setups showed me that you have to adapt how you package and communicate your brand directly to the consumer.
Your career includes a chapter where you orchestrated immense logistical operations, generating up to 5 million pieces a year for global retail giants. What internal paradigm shift occurs when you decided to leave that macro-scale behind to focus on localized, tight-knit European mills?
Around 2013, during my frequent trips to San Francisco for mass-market clients like Gap and Levi’s, I noticed small, highly focused “Made in USA” brands emerging. One in particular was Tellason. I really admired how owners Tony and Pete worked directly with a local San Francisco factory and sourced their denim exclusively from Cone Mills. Their deep connection to their manufacturing community sparked something in me.
I realized I wanted to build a similar concept in Europe—a brand built on localized craftsmanship, complete origin transparency, and tight-knit supplier relationships rather than anonymous mass production. I reached out to Alberto Candiani, presented my vision for a brand where every pair of jeans would be woven by Candiani and stitched in Italy, and called the concept “Circle of Friends.” Alberto loved the idea and partnered with me from day one, even granting us permission to use their signature golden rivet on our garments.
Shifting away from macro-scale manufacturing meant embracing small batch sizes and local artisans. We initially started in Puglia with a tiny studio of just five operators. As we grew, finding facilities that fit our strict standards for transparency wasn’t easy—when we tried a larger Italian facility, I realized they relied on hidden sub-contracting structures that conflicted with our ethos. That led us to Portugal and Morocco, where we found dedicated, medium-sized, family-feeling factories that offer incredible pride of workmanship.
I wanted a brand built on localized craftsmanship, complete origin transparency, and tight-knit supplier relationships rather than anonymous mass production.
“Circle of Friends” isn’t just a warm sentiment; your brand name suggests that human connections matter more than corporate contracts. How did you cultivate that network, and turn elite suppliers like Candiani or Kuroki into true friends?
It all starts with radical honesty. When I approach an elite mill like Candiani or Kuroki, or a top sewing facility, I am completely upfront. I tell them, “I’m very small, so don’t expect massive volume from me. But I have deep respect for your craft, and I want to build something long-term.” I ask them directly if they genuinely believe in the concept and want to be part of the journey, with zero hard feelings if it isn’t a fit for them.
Once a supplier joins the Circle of Friends, I remain fiercely loyal. I never shop around or split a single product group across multiple competing factories just to play them off each other on price. For denim, we work with Candiani and Kuroki; for shirt fabrics, we partner with Sidogras in Spain; our denim stitching is handled by a dedicated, 60-operator factory in Portugal, and our shirts and chinos are crafted by trusted family facilities in Morocco.
I maintain these relationships through constant personal contact, mutual respect, and shared development. When you treat your suppliers as true partners rather than replaceable vendors, they give you their best work, take pride in your success, and truly become part of your circle.
The inside pocket of each garment explicitly documents the creators, mills, and hardware suppliers who contributed to making it. Why is this consumer education so important to you, and how does it help a customer truly appreciate the labor and history behind his jeans?
I came up with this idea on day one because I felt our industry was filled with too much nonsense. Everyone was claiming to be transparent, yet almost nobody actually was. At the time I started, there were no European laws enforcing disclosure, and brands were trying to sell themselves as entirely unique, claiming things like, “It’s our factory,” or “It’s our fabric mill.” Having been in the business for so long, I knew none of these brands actually owned their factories or mills.
So I thought, “What the hell? Let’s just put every supplier right on the garment—the thread manufacturer, the fabric mill, the hardware supplier, the sewing factory.” That’s what I call my “Circle of Friends.” I reasoned that if someone wants to read those pocket details and reach out to my suppliers directly, I don’t care. We have built strong, long-standing relationships, so I know my suppliers aren’t going to push me aside, and I’ve never been afraid of competition. If you’re going to talk about transparency, then actually be transparent.
Even today, while some brands list their production partners on their websites, many still won’t even state the country where an item was made, which I think is completely absurd. How can a brand talk about transparency when they hide basic origin facts? For me, listing everyone on the inside pocket was simply a way to skip the shenanigans and be a bit provocative with the industry.
It also reflects how intimately I work with these suppliers. C.O.F. Studio is a very small, independent team: I am the 100% sole owner and have no shareholder partners. Aside from working with a graphic designer for visual branding and having someone handle day-to-day administration, I handle the entire creative direction and production process myself, from selecting the fabrics and accessories to working directly with the mills and factories. Documenting that circle on the pocket lining gives credit where it’s due and gives the customer an honest, unfiltered look at the true labor and partnership behind their jeans.
Let’s just put every supplier right on the garment—the thread manufacturer, the fabric mill, the hardware supplier, the sewing factory. That’s what I call my “Circle of Friends.”
When you come across a fabric that really catches your eye, where do you look for inspiration to decide what garment that fabric was born to become?
My fits and core styles are almost permanent; I might add one or two new fits per season, but no more. Because of that, I don’t look out at nature for abstract inspiration to design a new silhouette from scratch. I already have my established fits, so when a mill presents a new fabric to me, I usually know right away which style or program it belongs to.
Even though I get an instant feeling during fabric meetings, I always order reference hangers to test my ideas. During the week, I’m far too busy with daily operations, so I set aside Saturdays and Sundays over a couple of weekends to do the creative work. I lay my garment silhouettes out on the floor alongside the fabric swatches and begin pairing them up.
To refine the finishes and treatments, I turn to my personal archive, which consists of almost 2,500 garments that I’ve collected over the years. In the 1980s, I only collected denim, but today I find modern denim archives far less inspiring. Instead, I look at non-denim pieces from other brands: I might love the wash or finish on a pair of Incotex trousers or the particular feel of a basic material from Dries Van Noten. During a trip to Japan, I visited a beautiful store in Daikanyama that specializes in indigo products and picked up an indigo-dyed jacket. Non-denim indigo dyeing—whether reactive or direct dyeing—is extremely difficult and rare because it stains the entire mill equipment, but the Japanese have a deep tradition with it. I also collect pieces from brands like Comme des Garçons. While they do oversized silhouettes that differ from my usual styling, the way they approach basics and construct silhouettes is deeply inspiring. I love taking those non-traditional, non-denim elements and translating them into my own refined world of denim.
After processing these pairings in my mind for a couple of weeks, I take a very hands-on, industrial approach. I don’t sit around doing fashion sketches. Once I know a fabric belongs with a style, I go straight to the factory floor or meet directly with the pattern maker to adjust the specifications and get production moving.
You describe yourself as a “developer” of jeans rather than a traditional fashion “designer.” What does that distinction mean to you?
I would never call myself a designer. I know construction and fabrics inside and out because I’ve been learning them since 1980. The kind of products we make at C.O.F. Studio are all about refinement, modification, and continuous iteration. We put the garment on a model, I say what needs to be modified, and we develop the pattern right there. In that sense, the pattern maker is the true designer, and I am the product developer. I wouldn’t even call myself a creative director—that sounds far too ambitious for a small, focused project like mine.
If you had to tell the story of C.O.F. Studio through three of your most iconic garments, which ones would you choose—and what part of the journey does each represent?
The first garment would undoubtedly be our five-pocket jeans, which represent the very foundation and evolution of our brand. When I started C.O.F. Studio, our naming convention was simple: “M” stands for “Men’s,” followed by a number—M1, M2, M3, and so on. As a side note, you’ll never find an M4 in our collection because in Chinese culture, the number four is considered unlucky, much like thirteen in the West.
Early on, our signature fit was the M7, a tapered silhouette that was slightly on the slimmer side. Over time, as preferences shifted toward more volume, we modified that base pattern—keeping the exact same top block, front rise, and back rise—to create the M8, which is slightly straighter. Today, we’re moving toward an even more relaxed fit with the M9. While we don’t sell as much of the M7 today, it is the fit that established C.O.F. Studio as it stands now, and remains our central pillar.
The second garment is our Painter’s Jacket, which represents our approach to unconstructed tailoring. The idea came to me after watching a film about Picasso. I was struck by how relaxed and effortless he looked in his studio. He didn’t wear denim, but I decided to execute the concept with an Italian mill called Albiati, using a rich double-indigo fabric (indigo in both the warp and the weft). We designed it with workwear details and a very clean look so that it can almost be worn like an unconstructed blazer. We’ve kept the volume of that jacket unchanged since day one, and it remains a core piece for us.
The third item is our Oxford button-down shirt. Between our five-pocket jeans, the Painter’s Jacket, and the button-down shirt, you have the core trio from which our entire collection has expanded.
Premium denim is an investment in longevity. What are your personal, essential rules for properly caring for and maintaining jeans so they last a lifetime?
Denim production inherently impacts the environment, so the most sustainable choice a consumer can make is to buy quality jeans that last. If you invest in solid quality, take care of them, and repair them as needed, getting several years out of a pair of jeans is completely realistic.
When it comes to care, my essential rules come down to fabric choice, washing, drying, and how you wear them: choose 100% cotton over stretch for maximum durability: 100% cotton denim is significantly more resilient and far easier to repair over time than stretch denim. Stretch fabrics are much more sensitive—especially when subjected to heat or friction. For example, if you commute by bicycle every day in tight, stretch jeans, this creates intense pressure in the crotch area, causing the fabric to break prematurely. While you can repair stretch jeans, they never hold up the same way 100% cotton does under continuous stress. Wearing the right fit for your lifestyle ensures your jeans last a lifetime.
Avoid the tumble dryer entirely, as the absolute worst thing you can do to denim is throw it in the dryer on high heat. Where I come from in Sweden, people often wash jeans at 30 degrees and then tumble-dry them at maximum heat just to dry them quickly. This destroys the textile fibers. Always hang-dry your jeans—it’s far gentler on all fabrics, including sturdy denim.
You should also wash them moderately: my recommendation is to wash them every three to four weeks. Regular, moderate washing creates a much nicer, natural fading over time. People often ask if my personal jeans were washed industrially, but I simply start with a rinsed pair and let them age step-by-step through regular wear and gentle washing.
