FEATURE
Departures
It can be dangerous to speak in absolutes: Lunch begins at 1 p.m. The workday ends at 5:30 p.m. The soul is immortal. There is only one truth. Living by such sureties requires discipline, and it’s a risk if you fear being wrong. But Brunello Cucinelli doesn’t believe in fear. He advocates replacing it with hope, belief, love. “The world today is better than it has ever been,” he asserts. “Yet my generation and your generation have transmitted this obligation to be afraid. My father never told me, ‘Be afraid.’ He said, ‘Have courage.’ We need to go back to being paladins, guardians, sentinels — to unite justice with knowledge with concordia: unity and harmony.”
Cucinelli’s words could be viewed as platitudes if you’ve never been to Solomeo — the small Southern Italian hamlet where Cucinelli is knight, keeper, and benevolent king, complete with a winged-lion crest. There, one sees firsthand the place from which such prophecies spring, as well as where the profits from his eponymous brand end up. It is also — as foundational to Cucinelli’s immutable vision — where his world-renowned cashmere sweaters and bespoke suits begin, on daylight-filled factory floors and at the School of Contemporary High Craftsmanship and Arts.
Fifteen minutes from Perugia, encircled by Umbria’s wild hills, Solomeo is serene and pristine in the morning sun — cypress trees rise in plumb lines, window pots flower in trim clusters, ancient stone facades are dirt-free, and a World War I monument to the fallen is polished. Garbage and neon lights are unimaginable blights. The medieval village is, like all of Cucinelli’s offerings, a paragon of beauty, though before he declared it the headquarters of his then-small cashmere company in 1985, it was abandoned and deteriorating, like many small Italian crossroads then and now.
Cucinelli first purchased and restored Solomeo’s tower, then transformed the center’s vacant buildings into departments for his growing business. In 2008, he constructed a 240-seat Roman-style theater (the only new construction in the town, built in traditional style by local craftspeople using time-honored methods) before setting his sights on the surrounding lands.
“It’s our duty to leave the world more beautiful to have we found it,” Cucinelli proclaims from his company’s headquarters at the base of Solomeo, where we’re joined by framed images of the sages who have inspired him. “As Kant says, ‘Beauty is the symbol of morality.’ If everything is in order, it’s also beautiful. This is true for everyone, for all places. A well-maintained place is beautiful. A field that has been well-cared-for is beautiful, so is a monument, a home, a human being.”
Cucinelli’s lifework is creating beauty through the art of handcraftsmanship. And Cucinelli’s work is his life, but not in an American way: He is not defined by his job title. Rather, he runs his company according to his life philosophy — ethically and aesthetically. “I took from the Greeks the love of beauty; from the Romans the rules,” he expounds. “Two thousand years ago, according to Roman law, there were only three rules: Live honestly, injure no one, and give to each their due. So I often say: I live like an Italian and run my company like an Italian, but I think like a Greek.”
This is why, for Cucinelli (and his employees), lunch is always at 1 p.m. and lasts for 90 minutes. It is complimentary, served in the company’s cafeteria at family-style tables, and comprises an antipasto, primo, and secondo — as well as wine, dessert, and coffee. The day of my visit, menu highlights include the local version of focaccia, torta al testo paired with Umbrian pecorino cheese, and a pasta al pomodoro so well-executed it transforms my understanding of the dish.
Cucinelli’s allegiance to the Italian way of life also defines the end of the workday as 5:30 p.m. with no exceptions. “After 5:30, I don’t want anyone to be connected,” Cucinelli affirms. “I don’t want to rob your soul. People don’t have time anymore to dedicate to their souls — to speak to themselves, to get drunk on beautiful thoughts.” Aside from “beauty,” “soul” is the word that most often passes Cucinelli’s lips.
"The genius loci, the soul of the place, is very important to me ...
I think that there is always a place where your soul resides, and that place for nearly every human being is where your person has been formed ...
There’s an intelligence that’s acquired from studying and one that comes from the soul. Push yourself on the intelligence of the soul; that is what is going to give you the best results ...
At the age of 60, after 50 years of discussions with the sky and many conversations, I decided that the soul is immortal. No one is going to change my mind on that. And if the soul is immortal, everything becomes easier."
These are the proclamations of a man at peace, who stands under the summer rain at three in the morning, nude, to bask in its majesty; one who retreats to his terrace to contemplate the dawn stars. “If you go outside and look at the sky and stars, everything regains balance,” he tells me, divulging the wisdom he believes imperative to pass along to younger generations, which concludes with, “And last, try to accept things you cannot change. And very last, as Spinoza says: Don’t judge. And never condemn.”
They are also the declarations of a man who is happy, a state defined by another of Cucinelli’s great teachers, the Greek philosopher Epicurus, who penned “The Art of Happiness.” Cucinelli’s chief real estate management and development officer, and chief facilities officer, Michele Baiocco — his partner in imagination and execution — gifts me the book upon my departure from Solomeo while synthesizing the concept, “Brunello said he’s happy? Yes, I’m happy too. We’re happy because we know when enough is enough.”
Baiocco first met Cucinelli years ago while playing soccer. In 2007, Cucinelli invited the then-winemaker to dinner at his home to discuss his dream, his grande progetto of creating an agrarian park. Not an “agricultural company,” Baiocco clarifies, but a park combining vineyards and olive groves in the style of a Renaissance labyrinth. It would also include Italian gardens, where you could sit, leave your thoughts behind, and cultivate an ozio creativo, a meditative practice with roots in ancient Greece, to which Cucinelli and Baiocco are both devoted.
“You might see someone sitting on a park bench for two or three hours,” explains Baiocco of the concept, “and you say: ‘What’s that guy doing? Nothing — ozia.’” Oziare being the Italian verb for “to laze about.” “In reality," he continues, “when it’s creative, these hours aren’t lost. They are spent in profound reflection and great planning. There is a moment to think and a moment to do — these phases need to be distinct. Otherwise, there is confusion.”
Over 15 years later, Cucinelli and Baiocco have realized the dream in full, with the parco visible from the center of Solomeo, its vines undulating in gentle, idiosyncratic waves interspersed with eye-shaped Italian gardens. The combination creates micro-climates that help the grapes grow due to how the air flows. Roses and other delicate flowers are planted at the end of each row because they signal before the vines that disease has entered the plot. At the time of my visit, the vines are slouching with plump grapes, just two weeks or so away from harvest. Cucinelli’s first vintage — Castello di Solomeo, a red blend of cabernet franc, cabernet sauvignon, merlot, and sangiovese grapes — was released globally last year in limited allocation.
Meanwhile, the olive oil — of the Dolce Agogia varietal exclusive to this particular pocket of Umbria — with its characteristic gentle, distinct green flavor, is strictly for private consumption.
Crops rotate annually to regenerate the soil, and the fruit from the cherry, apricot, and peach orchards is free to passersby. Cucinelli’s Tribute to Human Dignity — a travertine monument built using ancient techniques, reflecting rules and proportions of classic architecture — bisects the groves. And the company’s 30-plus agricultural workers, hired to realize and maintain the vision, are highly trained and paid an unprecedented wage.
“Did we do this to be heroes or because we really wanted to make wine or oil?” Baiocco asks. “No. Everything we produce is a vehicle to arrive at a grand finale: to convince the world, once again, to place great value on agriculture, because we’re losing it. If this type of work isn’t revived fully, with dignity — economically, socially, with pride — if we lose the ability to do this type of work, who will do it tomorrow?"
Which is to say, craftsmanship, as relates equally to Cucinelli’s garments and agricultural offerings, is both his method — defined by high-quality artisanal skill — and his means: He passes along heritage knowledge through paid apprenticeships at his suiting, sewing, and knitwear schools; constructs more than 50% of his garments by hand, all in Italy; and pays artisans 20% more on average than white-collar workers. He does this all while turning a profit, paying fair taxes, and contributing to bettering his country. This underscores the actual price and value of the human hand and proves the feasibility of Cucinelli’s theories of humanistic capitalism and human sustainability: In 2022, the company earned 919.7 million euros in revenue.
“In the last 20 years, we grew about 12% year after year,” Cucinelli tempers. “The world is growing at a faster pace than what I would like to. I often say: Buy less, but don’t throw it away.” By way of example, he dissects his outfit: “Today I’m wearing a jacket from 2016 with a shirt from this season and last year’s shoes. My belt is probably 10 years old.” By way of action, Cucinelli set a profit cap for the company earlier this year to ensure sustainable growth for its future, which includes investing in ever-better working and salary conditions for its employees.
The sincerity of Cucinelli’s commitment is corroborated by Baiocco when I ask him if Cucinelli has changed in the nearly two decades that he’s known him, as he’s evolved from being a successful Italian entrepreneur to a globally renowned billionaire. “Brunello is the same as when I met him,” he counters. “On the inside he’s the same, identico, lineare — he’s a person who wants the truth. For him, the ugly truth is always better than a beautiful lie. If a person is like this, it’s forever. Brunello is a great entrepreneur. He’s a great marketer. But what’s more important is that he’s real, he’s true. He’s the same as he’s always been because he’s true. And this is another important concept: There’s only one truth.”
This singular truth is Cucinelli’s paramount absolute. It assures that even as he continues to grow his company into a fully fledged global lifestyle brand; even as he extends his custodianship of artisanal craftsmanship to olive oil and wine, homewares, and perfume; even as he becomes an archetype for altruistic capitalists the world over, neither his beautiful legacy nor his soul will ever be for sale.
PUBLISHED IN DEPARTURES
PHOTOGRAPHY BY STEFAN GIFTTHALER
view more
FEATURE
Departures
It can be dangerous to speak in absolutes: Lunch begins at 1 p.m. The workday ends at 5:30 p.m. The soul is immortal. There is only one truth. Living by such sureties requires discipline, and it’s a risk if you fear being wrong. But Brunello Cucinelli doesn’t believe in fear. He advocates replacing it with hope, belief, love. “The world today is better than it has ever been,” he asserts. “Yet my generation and your generation have transmitted this obligation to be afraid. My father never told me, ‘Be afraid.’ He said, ‘Have courage.’ We need to go back to being paladins, guardians, sentinels — to unite justice with knowledge with concordia: unity and harmony.”
Cucinelli’s words could be viewed as platitudes if you’ve never been to Solomeo — the small Southern Italian hamlet where Cucinelli is knight, keeper, and benevolent king, complete with a winged-lion crest. There, one sees firsthand the place from which such prophecies spring, as well as where the profits from his eponymous brand end up. It is also — as foundational to Cucinelli’s immutable vision — where his world-renowned cashmere sweaters and bespoke suits begin, on daylight-filled factory floors and at the School of Contemporary High Craftsmanship and Arts.
Fifteen minutes from Perugia, encircled by Umbria’s wild hills, Solomeo is serene and pristine in the morning sun — cypress trees rise in plumb lines, window pots flower in trim clusters, ancient stone facades are dirt-free, and a World War I monument to the fallen is polished. Garbage and neon lights are unimaginable blights. The medieval village is, like all of Cucinelli’s offerings, a paragon of beauty, though before he declared it the headquarters of his then-small cashmere company in 1985, it was abandoned and deteriorating, like many small Italian crossroads then and now.
Cucinelli first purchased and restored Solomeo’s tower, then transformed the center’s vacant buildings into departments for his growing business. In 2008, he constructed a 240-seat Roman-style theater (the only new construction in the town, built in traditional style by local craftspeople using time-honored methods) before setting his sights on the surrounding lands.
“It’s our duty to leave the world more beautiful to have we found it,” Cucinelli proclaims from his company’s headquarters at the base of Solomeo, where we’re joined by framed images of the sages who have inspired him. “As Kant says, ‘Beauty is the symbol of morality.’ If everything is in order, it’s also beautiful. This is true for everyone, for all places. A well-maintained place is beautiful. A field that has been well-cared-for is beautiful, so is a monument, a home, a human being.”
Cucinelli’s lifework is creating beauty through the art of handcraftsmanship. And Cucinelli’s work is his life, but not in an American way: He is not defined by his job title. Rather, he runs his company according to his life philosophy — ethically and aesthetically. “I took from the Greeks the love of beauty; from the Romans the rules,” he expounds. “Two thousand years ago, according to Roman law, there were only three rules: Live honestly, injure no one, and give to each their due. So I often say: I live like an Italian and run my company like an Italian, but I think like a Greek.”
This is why, for Cucinelli (and his employees), lunch is always at 1 p.m. and lasts for 90 minutes. It is complimentary, served in the company’s cafeteria at family-style tables, and comprises an antipasto, primo, and secondo — as well as wine, dessert, and coffee. The day of my visit, menu highlights include the local version of focaccia, torta al testo paired with Umbrian pecorino cheese, and a pasta al pomodoro so well-executed it transforms my understanding of the dish.
Cucinelli’s allegiance to the Italian way of life also defines the end of the workday as 5:30 p.m. with no exceptions. “After 5:30, I don’t want anyone to be connected,” Cucinelli affirms. “I don’t want to rob your soul. People don’t have time anymore to dedicate to their souls — to speak to themselves, to get drunk on beautiful thoughts.” Aside from “beauty,” “soul” is the word that most often passes Cucinelli’s lips.
"The genius loci, the soul of the place, is very important to me ...
I think that there is always a place where your soul resides, and that place for nearly every human being is where your person has been formed ...
There’s an intelligence that’s acquired from studying and one that comes from the soul. Push yourself on the intelligence of the soul; that is what is going to give you the best results ...
At the age of 60, after 50 years of discussions with the sky and many conversations, I decided that the soul is immortal. No one is going to change my mind on that. And if the soul is immortal, everything becomes easier."
These are the proclamations of a man at peace, who stands under the summer rain at three in the morning, nude, to bask in its majesty; one who retreats to his terrace to contemplate the dawn stars. “If you go outside and look at the sky and stars, everything regains balance,” he tells me, divulging the wisdom he believes imperative to pass along to younger generations, which concludes with, “And last, try to accept things you cannot change. And very last, as Spinoza says: Don’t judge. And never condemn.”
They are also the declarations of a man who is happy, a state defined by another of Cucinelli’s great teachers, the Greek philosopher Epicurus, who penned “The Art of Happiness.” Cucinelli’s chief real estate management and development officer, and chief facilities officer, Michele Baiocco — his partner in imagination and execution — gifts me the book upon my departure from Solomeo while synthesizing the concept, “Brunello said he’s happy? Yes, I’m happy too. We’re happy because we know when enough is enough.”
Baiocco first met Cucinelli years ago while playing soccer. In 2007, Cucinelli invited the then-winemaker to dinner at his home to discuss his dream, his grande progetto of creating an agrarian park. Not an “agricultural company,” Baiocco clarifies, but a park combining vineyards and olive groves in the style of a Renaissance labyrinth. It would also include Italian gardens, where you could sit, leave your thoughts behind, and cultivate an ozio creativo, a meditative practice with roots in ancient Greece, to which Cucinelli and Baiocco are both devoted.
“You might see someone sitting on a park bench for two or three hours,” explains Baiocco of the concept, “and you say: ‘What’s that guy doing? Nothing — ozia.’” Oziare being the Italian verb for “to laze about.” “In reality," he continues, “when it’s creative, these hours aren’t lost. They are spent in profound reflection and great planning. There is a moment to think and a moment to do — these phases need to be distinct. Otherwise, there is confusion.”
Over 15 years later, Cucinelli and Baiocco have realized the dream in full, with the parco visible from the center of Solomeo, its vines undulating in gentle, idiosyncratic waves interspersed with eye-shaped Italian gardens. The combination creates micro-climates that help the grapes grow due to how the air flows. Roses and other delicate flowers are planted at the end of each row because they signal before the vines that disease has entered the plot. At the time of my visit, the vines are slouching with plump grapes, just two weeks or so away from harvest. Cucinelli’s first vintage — Castello di Solomeo, a red blend of cabernet franc, cabernet sauvignon, merlot, and sangiovese grapes — was released globally last year in limited allocation.
Meanwhile, the olive oil — of the Dolce Agogia varietal exclusive to this particular pocket of Umbria — with its characteristic gentle, distinct green flavor, is strictly for private consumption.
Crops rotate annually to regenerate the soil, and the fruit from the cherry, apricot, and peach orchards is free to passersby. Cucinelli’s Tribute to Human Dignity — a travertine monument built using ancient techniques, reflecting rules and proportions of classic architecture — bisects the groves. And the company’s 30-plus agricultural workers, hired to realize and maintain the vision, are highly trained and paid an unprecedented wage.
“Did we do this to be heroes or because we really wanted to make wine or oil?” Baiocco asks. “No. Everything we produce is a vehicle to arrive at a grand finale: to convince the world, once again, to place great value on agriculture, because we’re losing it. If this type of work isn’t revived fully, with dignity — economically, socially, with pride — if we lose the ability to do this type of work, who will do it tomorrow?"
Which is to say, craftsmanship, as relates equally to Cucinelli’s garments and agricultural offerings, is both his method — defined by high-quality artisanal skill — and his means: He passes along heritage knowledge through paid apprenticeships at his suiting, sewing, and knitwear schools; constructs more than 50% of his garments by hand, all in Italy; and pays artisans 20% more on average than white-collar workers. He does this all while turning a profit, paying fair taxes, and contributing to bettering his country. This underscores the actual price and value of the human hand and proves the feasibility of Cucinelli’s theories of humanistic capitalism and human sustainability: In 2022, the company earned 919.7 million euros in revenue.
“In the last 20 years, we grew about 12% year after year,” Cucinelli tempers. “The world is growing at a faster pace than what I would like to. I often say: Buy less, but don’t throw it away.” By way of example, he dissects his outfit: “Today I’m wearing a jacket from 2016 with a shirt from this season and last year’s shoes. My belt is probably 10 years old.” By way of action, Cucinelli set a profit cap for the company earlier this year to ensure sustainable growth for its future, which includes investing in ever-better working and salary conditions for its employees.
The sincerity of Cucinelli’s commitment is corroborated by Baiocco when I ask him if Cucinelli has changed in the nearly two decades that he’s known him, as he’s evolved from being a successful Italian entrepreneur to a globally renowned billionaire. “Brunello is the same as when I met him,” he counters. “On the inside he’s the same, identico, lineare — he’s a person who wants the truth. For him, the ugly truth is always better than a beautiful lie. If a person is like this, it’s forever. Brunello is a great entrepreneur. He’s a great marketer. But what’s more important is that he’s real, he’s true. He’s the same as he’s always been because he’s true. And this is another important concept: There’s only one truth.”
This singular truth is Cucinelli’s paramount absolute. It assures that even as he continues to grow his company into a fully fledged global lifestyle brand; even as he extends his custodianship of artisanal craftsmanship to olive oil and wine, homewares, and perfume; even as he becomes an archetype for altruistic capitalists the world over, neither his beautiful legacy nor his soul will ever be for sale.
PUBLISHED IN DEPARTURES
PHOTOGRAPHY BY STEFAN GIFTTHALER
view more
