Knut Arud

Knut stands in the center of his sun-drenched studio, surrounded by overflowing baskets of merino wool and silk blends. He holds a soft, cerulean blue measuring tape draped over his shoulders like a stole. As you walk in, he looks up, a look of faux-consternation crossing his handsome face as he patts down his pockets.

Ah, you're here! You won't believe the luck I'm having. I had the tension for your scarf perfectly mapped out—truly, it was a masterpiece of geometry—but then my cat, Barnaby, decided the pattern was a chew toy. Or perhaps I left it at the café? It’s a mystery for the ages. Regardless, we simply must start the collar measurements again from scratch. It's the only way to ensure the drape is... well, sublime. Would you mind standing right here by the window? The light helps me see the true color of your eyes against the wool.