The Feeling Was the Product All Along
How Parachute and Brooklinen built category-defining brands without leading with product
The most dangerous moment in building a brand is when you start describing your product instead of naming what it does for a person.
Two brands looked at the same broken, commoditized, trust-starved bedding market in 2014 and told completely opposite stories. Both won. Neither led with product.
I own Parachute sheets and a duvet. I snagged them at a closing sale from a store that happened to be walking distance from my house — I knew what I wanted, I knew it was an investment, and the timing was right. The store closed shortly after. But the brand had already done its job. That is what good emotional positioning does: it converts even on the way out the door, because the feeling was never really about the store.
Why Nobody Trusted the Bedding Industry
In 2014, buying bedding was a chore disguised as a choice.
Pottery Barn felt like your mother’s taste. Department store shelves displayed a wall of identical packaging with competing thread-count claims no one trusted. The high-end options cost as much as a car payment. The affordable options felt like they knew it.
Ariel Kaye, a former advertising executive, saw something most founders miss: customers were becoming increasingly aware of the connection between quality sleep and overall wellness, yet no bedding brand was connecting with shoppers holistically. There was no brand loyalty in the market. Nobody felt seen by any of it.
She did not fix the sheets. She fixed the relationship.
Parachute launched online-first with a straightforward premise: luxury linens, sold directly to consumers, at an accessible price. European craft. Natural materials. A neutral palette that whispered slow mornings instead of shouting sale banners. The brand’s own language tied the entire thing together neatly: quality, comfort, and living a more comfortable life. The product was the vehicle. The feeling was the destination.
Customers responded immediately. From the moment Parachute launched, the feedback was consistent: “I’ve been waiting for a brand like this.”
That is not a product review. That is someone recognizing a feeling they already had but could not name.
That same year, Rich and Vicki Fulop were staring at the same broken market from a completely different angle.
Their origin story is almost aggressively practical. In 2012, the couple stayed at a Las Vegas hotel and slept on sheets so comfortable they tried to buy a set before checkout. The price was $800. Rich, with a background in finance, started pulling the industry apart to understand why. What he found was not superior materials. It was, as he described it, “an outdated and bloated distribution system that mainly benefits large retailers, distributors, and license holders.”
Brooklinen launched on Kickstarter with a $50,000 goal. Backers contributed nearly $250,000.
The emotional language could not have been more different from Parachute’s. Where Parachute said slow down and live beautifully, Brooklinen said you’ve been getting ripped off, and we fixed it. Brooklyn-bred, irreverent, accessible. Rich Fulop was explicit about the intention from the beginning: “We want to be a lifestyle brand from day one. We didn’t want to be the Brooklinen sheets. We want to be Brooklinen, the brand.”
Same problem. Opposite emotional languages. Both built loyal audiences before they built scale.
When Selling a Feeling Gets Complicated
Here is where it gets worth sitting with.
Both brands are, at their core, selling rest to people who are structurally exhausted. Parachute wraps it in European linen and candlelight. Brooklinen makes it feel like a savvy, no-nonsense decision you should have made sooner. But neither brand created the conditions that made rest feel scarce in the first place.
Burnout culture is well-documented. The attention economy has colonized the margins of daily life. Leisure — real, unproductive, guilt-free leisure — has become a premium product in a way that would have been unrecognizable to previous generations. People were not just tired. They had lost the language for what they needed.
So the question worth asking: is naming an unmet feeling an act of service, or is it a sophisticated form of capture? Is giving exhaustion a beautiful container a form of care, or does it make the underlying problem easier to ignore?
The answer is probably both. And founders who pretend otherwise are either not paying attention or not being straight with themselves.
Holding that tension is not a reason to avoid building something meaningful. It is a reason to build it with more intention.
Emotion Is the Product-Market Fit
Psychology has a name for what both brands did. It is called affect labeling — the act of putting language to an emotional state reduces its intensity and increases a person’s sense of control. When a brand names a feeling its customer already has but cannot articulate, it does not manufacture desire. It provides relief.
Sociologically, both brands arrived at a precise cultural moment. Millennial consumers — the primary target for both — were the first generation to grow up with the internet, come of age in a recession, and enter adulthood in a culture that had fully commodified productivity. Rest was not just scarce. It was loaded with guilt. The definition of luxury had shifted. It no longer needed to be exclusive or scarce to feel meaningful. It needed to feel deserved.
Parachute said: you deserve the slow morning.
Brooklinen said: you deserve the hotel sheets without the hotel markup.
Two different permissions. Two different customers. One insight.
The brand that names a feeling its customer already carries — before anyone else finds the words — does not just win a sale. It earns a category.
What Broke — and What It Teaches
Both brands eventually faced the same test: what happens when you scale the product faster than you scale the trust?
Parachute’s answer is the cautionary tale hiding inside the success story. The brand aggressively expanded into brick-and-mortar, growing to 26 retail locations with stated ambitions to reach 30. By 2024, the company announced it would close 19 stores, acknowledging it had “opened stores that were too large or in regions where brand awareness wasn’t what it needed to be.” Ariel Kaye, who had built the brand from a feeling into a household name, has since stepped away from the company she founded.
The feeling of slow mornings outlasted the footprint. My sheets are still on my bed.
Brooklinen stayed leaner longer. Word of mouth was the cornerstone of early growth, supplemented by scrappy influencer outreach — renting a Zipcar and hand-delivering sheet sets to influencers with handwritten notes. The community came before the campaign budget.
The pattern is consistent enough to be a principle: trust compounds slowly and spends quickly. Brands that scale the feeling alongside the footprint sustain. Brands that outrun the feeling spend the next several years trying to buy it back.
The Strategic Takeaway for Early-Stage Brands
You do not need a brand team or venture capital to apply what both brands got right. You need clarity on a question most founders avoid because it feels too soft for a strategy conversation.
What feeling does your customer already have that they cannot name yet?
Not what problem you solve. Not what feature differentiates you. What emotional state is your customer living in before they find you — and what do you give them permission to believe is possible?
Parachute gave permission to rest. Brooklinen gave permission to stop overpaying. Both answers are specific. Both answers are honest. Both answers are the entire brand in a single sentence.
A few things worth carrying from both:
Name the feeling before you name the product. Positioning built on emotion is stickier than positioning built on features because features can be copied. Feelings, when they are specific and true, are much harder to replicate.
Pick a lane and stay in it. Parachute and Brooklinen did not try to speak to everyone. They each spoke fluently to one targeted audience. The temptation to broaden too early is one of the most common ways early-stage brands dilute the very thing that made people pay attention.
Scale trust before you scale the footprint. The Parachute store closures are not a story about retail being hard. They are a story about what happens when you open locations faster than people in those markets know who you are. Community depth in a few places beats thin brand awareness everywhere.
Specificity is a strategy, not a limitation. Both brands won in part because they were precise about who they were for. “Everyone who needs sheets” is not a customer. “People who are tired of overpaying for bad sleep” is. “People who want their home to feel like an exhale” is. The narrow answer scales. The broad answer doesn’t.
If any of this is landing close to home, that’s usually a sign something needs naming.
Two brands. Same broken market. Completely different feelings. Both right — until one of them tried to grow faster than its own story.
The most useful question you can ask about your brand right now is not what you sell or who your competitor is. It is this:
What feeling does only your brand know how to name — and are you leading with it, or burying it under your product specs?
If you have to think about it for more than a few seconds, that is your answer.
Amanda is the founder of Organic Finds, a marketing solution for startups and small teams. She helps founders clarify their concept, shape the narrative, and validate demand before committing time and budget.