In 1913 a team excavating a cemetery at Tarkhan, about fifty kilometres south of Cairo, lifted a bundle of linen from a First Dynasty grave. It sat in a pile of undifferentiated cloth for sixty years before anyone looked closely. When they did, they found a shirt: sleeves, a pleated bodice, a neckline. Someone had worn it, and the creases at the elbows are still there.
Radiocarbon dating puts the flax between 3482 and 3102 BC. It is the oldest woven garment ever recovered. Older cloth exists in fragments, but this is a made thing — cut, sewn, and worn by a person whose name nobody knows.
The point is not that Egypt is old. Every country is old. The point is that this specific craft, in this specific place, has an unbroken record longer than any other textile tradition on earth, and that record is written in linen.
We make one shirt. It is not a copy of the Tarkhan dress and it does not pretend to be. It is linen, woven and sewn in Egypt, cut for the way people dress now. The name is the only thing we borrowed.