Why we shut down a brand that looked like a success...

The phone rang.

It was our CFO.

Again.

We were out of money in loof.
Again.

Another transfer.
Again.

I remember standing there, phone in hand, already knowing what I was going to say. This was the last one.

I told myself: If the brand doesn’t survive on its own after this, we end it.

No more saving.
No more believing harder.
No more “just one more round”.

And for a moment, it really looked like it might work.

We acquired a kids’ streetwear brand three years ago.

Then we rebranded it completely.
From Loowfat to loof.
New identity.
Strong product portfolio.
Beautiful lookbooks.
Playful contests.
Developing the Pandafoo character.
Kids of big influencers wearing it.

From the outside, it finally looked alive again.

So alive that when we announced the ending, people didn’t believe us.

They thought it was a campaign.

“Nice marketing.”
“Bold move.”
“So what’s coming next?”

Only when we did the final liquidation sale.
Only when we showed up with the booth at the Mini festival.
Only then it clicked.

Oh.
This is real.

And that’s the cruel part.

You can do everything right on the brand level and still lose on the business level.

There wasn’t one big reason loof failed.
There were many small ones.

Kids grow out of clothes in months.
Sometimes in weeks.
Sometimes they destroy a hoodie in kindergarten in one afternoon.

You make high-quality pieces.
Bio cotton.
Fair production.

Parents love it.
But they love it as “Sunday best”.
Not everyday wear.

Meanwhile Zara, H&M, Lindex are selling kids clothes for prices I can’t even buy the fabric for.

So we kept compensating.

With money.
With energy.
With belief.

Until belief turned into frustration.

And that hurt my ego.

I teach people how to build brands.
And I couldn’t build this one???

Then Ivon said something simple.

“You did rebuild the brand. The brand is beautiful. You just didn’t crack the business.”

She was right.

loof brand wasn’t ugly.
It wasn’t boring.
It wasn’t invisible.

It just didn’t break even.

And while we were pouring more and more into loof, we could feel the contrast elsewhere in our core business.

Places where energy came back multiplied.
Where momentum existed.
Where effort turned into growth instead of survival.

That’s when the decision became obvious.

We weren’t quitting because we failed.
We were ending because staying would cost more than stopping.

So we shut loof down.

Endings are rarely dramatic.
They’re rational.
Quiet.
Often misunderstood.

But they free up something powerful.

Focus.
Energy.
And the chance to put them where you’re actually winning.

The chapter “Koncofília” in my book was exactly about this:

Not quitting too early.
But knowing when enough is enough.

Because sometimes the bravest move isn’t starting something new. It’s ending something beautiful.

Tino