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The Epiphany of Saddle Stitching: How Hermes Accidentally Created the Birkin Phenomenon
- xoxo.minang
- Sep 27
- 4 min read
Updated: Oct 13
Watch the videos here:
A Return to the Needle and Thread
This morning, as I picked up my tools and began saddle stitching after a long break, something unexpected happened. Somewhere between the silence, the pull of the thread, and the piercing of the needle, I felt a click in my mind. Suddenly, I saw Hermes—and the Birkin in particular—in a completely new light. What brought this realization to life was not just the craft in front of me, but oddly enough, a Japanese pen I couldn’t buy.
The Reality of Saddle Stitching
I was working on a passport wallet, one of my oldest designs, using my all-time favorite vegetable-tanned leather. As I moved slowly through the stitches, I was reminded of something I already knew but had forgotten in my hands: saddle stitching is brutally slow, labor-intensive, and mentally exhausting. It is not scalable in any modern sense. If you want to build a global brand, saddle stitching is a nightmare.
So why did Hermes stick with it? That question lingered as I stitched. The answer, I realized, was rooted in their origin story. Hermes was born out of saddlery, horses, and heritage. Even as the fashion world evolved and sped up with machines, Hermes preserved parts of its identity. They kept saddle stitching alive—especially in their most iconic lines. In the Birkin, this decision was non-negotiable.
Craft Over Commerce
From a business perspective, Hermes’ decision to continue saddle stitching made no sense. It slowed down production, limited output, and increased costs. But what it created instead was scarcity. In the early days, the Birkin was fully hand-stitched, and even today, portions of it still are. That painstaking process meant Hermes couldn’t produce enough bags to meet demand, and as a result, the Birkin became harder to obtain.
The design itself was created for Jane Birkin, and while undeniably beautiful, its allure came from more than aesthetics. It was the difficulty of production that gave it an edge. Women at the top of society wanted it, but Hermes simply couldn’t make them fast enough. So they introduced something that wasn’t a marketing trick at first, but a necessity: a waitlist.
And here’s where human psychology kicked in. When you tell people—especially those unaccustomed to hearing “no”—that they cannot have something, it transforms into an object of irresistible desire. The Birkin’s scarcity was no longer a weakness. It was the spark that ignited an obsession.
A Japanese Pen and the Psychology of Scarcity
This realization about the Birkin clicked for me during a very different chase: a pen hunt. As a stationery fan, I stumbled on a YouTube video about the Uniball Zento Signature pen, a simple but elegant Japanese pen. The catch? It was sold out everywhere.
On a trip across Asia—Taiwan, South Korea, Japan, China—I made it my mission to find one. I searched forums, tracked stores, visited shops that had recently stocked it. Every time, the answer was the same: sold out. And with each rejection, I wanted that pen more. Strangely enough, I don’t usually wait in restaurant lines, yet here I was, obsessing over a pen I didn’t even need.
That’s when the Birkin made sense to me. This was how it started. Scarcity bred obsession. And once people finally acquired the item, it wasn’t just about the object anymore—it became a symbol of status.
From Accident to Strategy
At first, Hermes’ scarcity wasn’t a marketing strategy. It was simply the result of slow, traditional craftsmanship. But at some point, Hermes figured out the power of what they had. The Birkin was no longer just a bag. It was a phenomenon, a silver bullet that could drive the entire brand.
And so they gamified the process. You couldn’t just walk into a store and buy one. You had to earn it. First, you’d be offered scarves, belts, shoes, wallets—the high-margin products that sustained Hermes’ business. Only once you demonstrated loyalty would you be invited to purchase a Birkin. It was no longer simply an accident of production; it had become one of the most brilliant business strategies of all time.
Hermes didn’t fake scarcity—they discovered it through their commitment to heritage, and then they leaned into it. Craft came first, commerce second. And out of that irrational decision grew one of the most powerful brand dynamics the world has ever seen.
Irrational Craft, Lasting Legacy
In the end, I believe the Birkin became what it is because Hermes remained irrational. They protected a method of craftsmanship that made no sense in the context of modern global business. And yet, by doing so, they created scarcity, desire, obsession, and ultimately, status.
So here’s my theory: the Birkin phenomenon wasn’t born from a master plan. It began with craft, not commerce. The genius came later, when Hermes realized what they had in their hands and built a strategy around it.
What do you think? Was it an accidental magic trick born from heritage, or was Hermes playing chess all along?
If you’re curious about why saddle stitching is so unique—and why it’s nearly impossible to scale—I’ve made a separate video comparing machine sewing versus saddle stitching. That one is all firsthand experience, no theory. Watch them side by side, and let me know which resonates with you the most.
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