The Journey of YOL

A belt is, in its simplest form, something that follows a path. It wraps around, finds its way, holds things together along the way. We didn't choose that lightly.

When we named our second piece YOL, the Turkish word for road, we weren't thinking about a destination. We were thinking about everything it took just to get here. The small roads. The unglamorous ones. The ones nobody sees from the outside.

The road of finding the right material, again and again, until something finally felt right. The road of being told no by people we asked for help, and the quieter road of finding the ones who eventually said yes. The road of doubting, some mornings, whether any of this made sense, and choosing to keep going anyway.

None of those roads were straight. Most of them were short, stubborn, full of small turns. But they were ours, and we walked every one of them.

YOL is shaped like the simplest object we know. Something worn close to the body, every day, almost without thinking about it. But for us, it carries something more.

It's a quiet thank you. To the road itself, for everything it taught us along the way. To the people who walked parts of it with us, even if just for a stretch. To the version of us that didn't know, when we started, whether any of this would work, and kept moving anyway.

We don't know exactly where this road leads. We've stopped needing to know. What we do know is that we're grateful for how far it's brought us already, and we're ready for what's next.