48 Hours to Build a Brand

I’m Tanner Leatherstein. I analyze luxury leather goods for a living. I cut them open, question their materials, and talk openly about quality, cost, and craftsmanship. 

But somewhere along the way, I realized something uncomfortable.

I had been analyzing creation for years—but I hadn’t truly created something from scratch in a long time.

So when I was in Taiwan during the summer, an idea hit me hard. What if I challenged myself to build an entire leather brand in just two days? Not just a product, but a real brand: name, logo, website, products, listings—everything.

And to make it real, I set strict rules.

This wasn’t meant to be symbolic. It had to be practical.

• 48 hours total

• $500 maximum budget

• At least three different products

• A fully functioning website with live listings

• Ready to sell to real customers

• Everything filmed in real time
  

If I pulled it off, the brand would launch.
If I failed… well, I’d deal with that later.

Let me take you back to August 2025 in Taipei.

I woke up with a loose plan: start with market research. Visit small local leather shops. See what they sell, what price points work, what’s popular in Taiwan. Then design products based on what I could realistically make with the materials I’d find.

It sounded logical.

It also completely fell apart.

I mapped out multiple shops, hopped on a scooter, and quickly realized I hadn’t paid attention to opening hours. One shop was closed. Then another. Then another. Forty-five minutes later, I had nothing but scooter stress and rising panic.

At that point, I had to improvise.

Instead of wasting more time, I pivoted. I decided to skip market research and go straight to sourcing materials. Whatever leather and tools I could find within budget would dictate the products.

A nearby leather supplier turned out to be a dream. The smell alone told me I was in the right place. Italian veg-tan, Badalassi Carlo, nubucks, buckles—everything I needed in one location.

This store was Disneyland for leathercraft.

I took my time, carefully calculating how much I could stretch each hide, how many belts I could make, and whether the investment would make sense long-term. When the total came up, I had gone over budget—about $570 instead of $500—but I had everything I needed to actually produce.

At that point, there was no turning back.

Day two started early with a hard decision: what three products could I realistically finish?

I chose:

• A belt design with multiple widths and leather options

• A card wallet

• A field notes journal cover

I created digital patterns and immediately ran into another problem.

No printer.

Buying one would push me further over budget, so once again, 7-Eleven came to the rescue. Except the prints came out at the wrong scale. That mistake cost me over an hour and forced me to redraw patterns by hand.

Time was slipping fast.

Without a sewing machine, I saddle-stitched the belts by hand. It’s something I respect deeply—but not something I enjoy doing at production scale. It was slow. Painfully slow.

At that moment, I knew the truth.

There was no way I was finishing three products.

I focused everything on the belts.

With minutes to spare, I photographed the belts on my phone and built the website. The photos weren’t great. The site was basic. Some pages were clearly placeholders.

But it worked.

The listings were live. Inventory could be added. Orders could technically come in.

And yet, by my own rules, I had failed.

By the Numbers: A Clear Failure

• Only one product, not three

• $70 over budget

• A website that looked like a rushed school project

This challenge, by definition, was a failure.

But here’s the part that surprised me.

That feeling—the uncertainty, the messiness, the learning by doing—it felt exactly like starting Pegai ten years ago.

Somewhere along the way, I had gotten comfortable. Busy. Efficient. But I had stopped experimenting.

This failure reminded me why I started in the first place.

I don’t need another brand to manage. I already have Pegai. I already have Stow. What I was missing was a space to experiment openly.

Hatch 48 isn’t going to be another brand fighting for attention in a crowded market.

It’s going to be my public R&D lab.

A place where I test ideas—some expensive, some cheap, some weird. I show the costs. I show the process. I make limited batches.

If people want it, we move forward.
If they don’t, we learn and move on.

It’s the opposite of how luxury brands operate. No secrecy. No inflated stories. Just real creation in real time.

The first Hatch 48 experiment launches in a few weeks.

It’s not a belt.
It’s not even a typical leather product.

It’s something I made for myself—something I needed—and I want to see if it resonates with anyone else.

Every few weeks, as time allows, there will be a new experiment. Some will succeed. Some will fail. Some might graduate into Pegai.

All of them will be honest.

By my own rules?
Absolutely.

But I gained something far more valuable.

I remembered what it feels like to create without a safety net. To share the messy middle. To build without knowing if it will work.

That’s what Hatch 48 is about.

And honestly?
I can’t wait to see where it goes.

If you want to be part of it, sign up at hatch48.com and help decide what’s worth making.

As always— stay leathertained.