We All Carry the Brand
I recently finished reading Lena Dunham’s new book, Famesick.
Now, Lena is one of those people I’ve gone back and forth on over the years. Brilliant at times. Exhausting at others. Hugely influential and deeply flawed all at once. There were parts of the book I found incredibly sharp and self-aware, and other parts that made me want to say, “Okay yes, but also… enough.”
But there was one thread I kept returning to.
Her reflection on what her creative life had given her, and what it had quietly taken away in return.
Friendships. Relationships. Stability. Health. Home.
And maybe it struck such a nerve because I’m writing this from bed.
Truthfully, it feels like I’ve spent more time in bed these past few months than out of it. For at least a year now, I’ve ignored what my body has been trying to tell me. Doctors have mentioned things like chronic fatigue and chronic glandular fever and I’ve internally rejected it almost immediately.
Partly because I don’t have time for it. Partly because it makes me feel weak. Partly because I feel immense guilt as a mother and wife. And partly because I’m deeply, deeply stubborn.
There’s also something oddly embarrassing about not being able to operate at the pace you expect from yourself. Especially when you’re the founder. The visionary. The one who is supposed to hold energy for everyone else.
And yet lately, even showering can flatten me. I’ll convince myself I’m fine, only to find my body negotiating otherwise. My mind saying, “Get up. Push through. Keep going.” My body responding with a firm and undeniable no.
It’s confronting.
Because the truth is, I’ve spent much of my adult life believing that pushing through is precisely why Sage x Clare exists at all. I worked on my wedding day. Within hours of giving birth, I was deliriously dictating email replies to my sister from a hospital bed. I’ve missed dinners, drifted from friendships, replied “soon!” to messages for months at a time, if I reply at all. I’ve pushed through chronic pain daily while convincing myself rest was something indulgent people earned after the work was done.
And I know I’m not alone in that.
We’re very good at celebrating what building something looks like from the outside. The growth. The campaigns. The milestones. The “success”.
But we talk far less about the private cost of caring deeply about something. About the way it follows you home. The way your mind never fully switches off. The way your body quietly absorbs the pressure while your life continues moving around you.
And yet, in the middle of all this, we’ve been doing one of the most important pieces of work we’ve ever done as a brand.
Branding.
Not logos or fonts or colour palettes.
The deeper kind.
The kind that asks: Who are we really? What do we stand for? What are we trying to make people feel? Where are we going, and how do we all move there together?
To be honest, old me would’ve rolled my eyes at this process. I’ve always been impatient when it comes to things like branding strategy. I’m far more comfortable in motion. Making. Doing. Problem-solving. Shipping the thing. I’ve often wondered who has time to sit around talking about vision when there’s so much actual work to be done.
But somewhere along the way, I realised something important. If everyone understands where the ship is headed, then the brand no longer relies on one person steering it alone.
We all carry it.
And I felt that recently when I dropped into our latest campaign shoot. Or more accurately… limped into it.
I’d already missed several days which, for me, is almost unheard of. I’ve shown up to shoots pregnant, exhausted, anxiety-ridden, even on crutches. But this time my body simply wouldn’t cooperate.
I was standing there watching the team work. Our design team adjusting the scene instinctively. Creative direction flowing effortlessly. The collection being brought to life exactly as I’d imagined it, without me needing to hold it myself. Or even be there.
And one of my team looked at me gently and later messaged:
“Rest up my darling. I could see the tiredness in your eyes.” My eyes have never been very good liars.
But what struck me most wasn’t the exhaustion. It was the overwhelming feeling of trust. Watching everyone move with such clarity. Knowing exactly what world we were trying to create. Understanding the essence of the collection without needing constant instruction or oversight.
The brand existed beyond me.
Not separate from me. But beyond me.
And strangely, there was enormous relief in that.
Maybe this season is teaching me something I’ve wrestled with for a very long time. That carrying everything is not the same thing as leading. That devotion can quietly tip into depletion if you’re not careful. That building something beautiful should not require the complete abandonment of self.
And perhaps that clarity is the gift of this season. Not less ambition. Not less creativity. Not less care. Just a different understanding of what sustainability actually means. Not only for the business, but for the humans building it.
Even me.
I still believe wholeheartedly in what we’re creating. Maybe more than ever. But I no longer think the answer is one person sacrificing themselves entirely at the altar of the vision.
Because the truth is, Sage x Clare was never built by one person alone. It has always been carried by many hands. By people who care deeply. By people who see the magic. By people willing to nurture an idea until it becomes something tangible and real.
And standing on set recently, watching the team move with confidence and instinct and clarity, I realised something quietly profound:
The brand is no longer living just within me.
We all carry it now.
And perhaps that’s what growth really is. Not building something that depends entirely on you, but building something strong enough to breathe beyond you.
With a whole lotta love,
P x