Walking in the rain I thought: how can these things be allowed?
From a rainy London street where broken umbrellas posed quiet hazards, a New Zealand engineer spent four years reimagining an object the world had long stopped questioning. Twenty years on, Blunt Umbrellas has sold more than two million units across thirty countries, moving into a new Auckland headquarters that signals not merely growth, but the maturation of a philosophy — that even the most ordinary object deserves to be made well, repaired rather than discarded, and designed as if it matters.
- For a century, the umbrella had been quietly failing people — inverting in wind, shedding broken spokes at eye level — and the industry had simply accepted this as the cost of cheapness.
- Blunt's patented engineering — rounded tips, tensioned frames, fully replaceable components — disrupted a disposable market by insisting that durability and safety were worth paying for.
- Collaborations with Karen Walker, Flox, and Tā Moko artist Graham Tipene transformed a technically superior product into a culturally resonant brand, with one limited Matariki edition selling out in three hours.
- A price point between $129 and $229 initially challenged consumers conditioned by throwaway alternatives, but word of mouth and design credibility steadily built a loyal global following.
- The move to a new Epsom headquarters at the company's twentieth anniversary marks the moment a stubborn engineering idea has become a fully realised global business with a clear sustainable vision.
On a drizzly Auckland morning, Greig Brebner walks through his company's new Epsom headquarters and reaches for a domestic metaphor: it's like leaving a flat and finally buying a house. Blunt Umbrellas turns 20 this year, and the move from a cramped Newmarket space to this light-filled maker's studio represents something larger than square footage.
Brebner founded Blunt in 1999 after walking through London rain and noticing what everyone else had stopped seeing — streets littered with broken umbrellas, bent spokes, metal tips at eye level. As a tall man, he felt the danger personally. He spent four years rethinking the umbrella from first principles: rounding the tips, engineering real wind resistance into the frame, and designing every component to be replaceable. The first 200 sold in New Zealand, rough in execution but enough to prove that people would pay for something made properly.
Two decades later, Blunt has sold more than two million umbrellas across thirty countries at prices between $129 and $229. The breakthrough came through collaboration. Engineers by instinct, Brebner and his team needed partners who could translate functional obsession into visual language. Karen Walker, who owned seven Blunt umbrellas before they ever approached her, taught them how design could elevate an entire brand experience. Auckland artist Flox has since created five collections, each one a creative time capsule she describes as rare in commercial design — open briefs, genuine trust, partnerships that deepen rather than expire.
The collaboration with Tā Moko artist Graham Tipene carries particular resonance. He arrived at the Best Design Awards to find a blank umbrella template on his seat and drew through the night. Four of his designs reached the top six; one won outright. When Blunt later commissioned a limited Matariki edition, Tipene's daughter Te Ngakau Mahaki joined the process, bringing her vision of Takaparawhau Bastion Point's sunrise and the light off the water. A single artist's sketch became a whānau effort.
For Brebner, the new headquarters — with its mortgage and real responsibilities — feels like the natural next chapter for a company that began with one engineer's frustration on a wet London street: proof that when engineering and design trust each other, even the most ordinary object can become something worth caring for.
On a drizzly Auckland morning, Greig Brebner walks through the doors of his company's new headquarters in Epsom and describes the feeling with the precision of an engineer who has spent two decades perfecting a single product. It's like leaving a flat and finally buying a house, he says. The brand turns 20 this year, and the move from a cramped Newmarket space to this sprawling, light-filled maker's studio marks something larger than square footage—it marks the moment when a stubborn idea about umbrellas became a global business.
Brebner founded Blunt in 1999 after a walk through London rain. He watched people navigate streets crowded with broken umbrellas, spokes bent at odd angles, metal tips jutting out at eye level like small weapons. As someone tall enough to feel the danger personally, he saw what others had overlooked for a century: the umbrella was fundamentally broken, and nobody had bothered to fix it properly. The product had become disposable, designed for cheapness and speed rather than durability or safety. He spent four years in obsessive development, rethinking how an umbrella should actually work.
The engineering innovations were straightforward but transformative. Blunt rounded the tips to eliminate the eye-level hazard. They engineered greater tension into the frame, giving the umbrella real wind resistance and a dramatically lower chance of inverting in a gust. They designed every component—canopy, frame, shaft, handle—to be replaceable, turning the umbrella from a throwaway object into something that could last. The first batch of 200 sold in New Zealand, though Brebner admits the early quality was rough. It was a validation that people would pay for a well-designed umbrella, even if the execution needed work.
Two decades later, Blunt has sold more than 2 million umbrellas across 30 countries. The price point sits between $129 and $229, which initially felt steep to consumers accustomed to disposable alternatives. But Brebner understood early that word of mouth and brand awareness would be essential. They weren't selling a luxury item—they were selling premium engineering to people who didn't yet know they wanted it. The breakthrough came through collaboration. Brebner and his team are engineers first, not designers. They needed partners who could translate their functional obsession into visual language that resonated beyond the product itself.
Designer Karen Walker became their first major collaborator in 2015, after the team learned she owned seven Blunt umbrellas. She taught them how to think about design as something that could elevate the entire brand experience. Since then, Auckland artist Flox has created five successful collaborative designs. Tā Moko artist Graham Tipene designed a limited edition for Matariki that sold out in three hours. Artist Karl Maughan's recent collaboration, drawn from his painting Rawhiti Terrace, arrived fully formed as a great idea that simply worked. Each partnership has been organic—sparked by genuine connection rather than marketing calculation.
The Tipene collaboration carries particular weight. He arrived at the Best Design Awards to find a blank umbrella template on his seat, an invitation from Blunt to anyone interested to sketch a design. Tipene drew all night. Four of his designs made the top six, one won outright. When Blunt approached him about creating a limited edition, his daughter Te Ngakau Mahaki became part of the process, bringing her vision of Takaparawhau Bastion Point's sunrise and the light off the water. What began as a single artist's drawing became a family collaboration, a whānau effort that deepened the work's meaning.
Flox describes each Blunt collaboration as a time capsule, capturing where she was creatively at that moment. The trust Blunt extended—relatively open briefs, freedom to bring her own visual language—allowed the partnership to deepen over multiple collections rather than end after one transaction. That's rare in commercial design, she says. The umbrellas together tell a story of how both brands evolved. For Brebner, moving into the new Epsom headquarters with a mortgage and real responsibilities feels like the natural next chapter. The company that began with one engineer's frustration on a London street has become something larger: a proof that engineering and design, when they trust each other, can transform even the most ordinary object into something worth caring for.
Notable Quotes
Moving here felt like leaving a flat and finally buying our first house. We've grown up, and like many adults, now have a mortgage and a lot more responsibilities.— Greig Brebner, on relocating to the new Epsom headquarters
Each Blunt collaboration becomes a little time capsule, capturing where I was creatively at that particular moment, and together they tell a story of how both brands have evolved over the years.— Flox (Hayley King), on the significance of her ongoing partnership with Blunt
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
You started this because you were annoyed by broken umbrellas. That's a very specific frustration. Did you know it would become a 20-year business?
No. I knew there was a problem nobody had solved properly, and I knew I could engineer a better solution. But I didn't know if anyone would actually care. The first 200 we made sold, but the quality was rough. That taught me something important—the market was there, but we had to earn it.
What changed between those first 200 and 2 million sold?
Honestly, we had to stop thinking like engineers and start thinking like a brand. We're not fashion people. We needed partners who could help us speak to people in a language beyond function. Karen Walker showed us that.
The collaborations seem central to your growth. Why not just make the best umbrella and let that speak for itself?
Because an umbrella is intimate. You carry it, you hold it, you use it in moments when you're vulnerable—caught in weather. If it's just functional, it's still just an object. But when an artist like Graham Tipene or Flox puts their vision into it, it becomes something that means something. It becomes worth talking about.
The Tipene umbrella sold out in three hours. That's not normal for a product like this.
No, it isn't. But it wasn't a gimmick. His daughter was part of the design process. It was rooted in a real place—Bastion Point, the sunrise, the light off the water. People felt that authenticity. They weren't buying a design. They were buying a story.
You've moved to a bigger headquarters, you're in 30 countries, you've sold millions. What's left to prove?
We're still proving that people will choose quality and repairability over disposability. That's not a given yet. The new space, the collaborations, the global expansion—it's all in service of that same original idea: that an umbrella doesn't have to be broken.