I’ve had a thing for Iceland, and the Nordics in general, for as long as I can remember. Maybe it’s a subconscious pull that comes from being a northerner, with a probably-Scandi family tree hiding somewhere in the past. Or perhaps I found it myself through years of geography lessons and a music taste that often prompts my friends to ask if I am okay. I’ve always loved music, art and photography/film that’s best described as melancholic – the kind that feels like a long exhale. Where others hear or see gloom, I seem to discover a sense of uplift.
Icelandic post-classical and rock artists like Ólafur Arnalds and Sigur Rós shaped a lot of my early listening. Their eeriness, their sombreness, the way their music seems to paint a sonic image of Iceland has always resonated with me. A land of high winds, shifting ice, black sand beaches and volcanoes muttering beneath the surface. A land where, despite all that drama, there’s a strange calm, like a hand on your shoulder. I could go on about the meeting point between landscape and sound forever, so I’ll leave that thread dangling.
Woven into this cultural web sits fashion, and no brand channels Iceland quite like 66°North. We were invited to visit their HQ and explore their landscape with them last week, and as my opening confession suggests, I couldn’t have boarded that flight fast enough.
Touching down in Reykjavík, I was greeted by JóI, who for the first time in my life held a sign with my name on it. Bucket-list stuff. Three minutes outside and I was already questioning the survival of my extremities. Airport winds are famously vicious, but this felt like being slapped by the sky. I’d arrived layered in my 66°North Hornstrandir jacket and Vatnajökul vest – not remotely enough, I needed some down. Once thawed in the car, JóI gave me a 45-minute crash course on his country. It was pitch black, so half of what he pointed out had to be imagined, but his enthusiasm did all the heavy lifting. Thousands of earthquakes happen here every year, sometimes in one week alone, there are 30 active volcanoes which love to speak up, and a total population of 400K. Pretty mad for a country not that much smaller than England.
Arriving at the hotel, I was immensely grateful for the care package waiting in the room. Inside: the brand’s hero puffer, the Dyngja jacket, stuffed with 700 fill-power recycled down, a Polartec Tindur fleece, and a pair of Snæfell Shell Pants, a much needed survival kit. I suited up and went out with my camera, hunting for a beer. In a small, warm pub I ordered a pint and two fish tacos, bonded with the bartender over our moustaches and the eye-watering price of life in Iceland. When he mentioned it’s the third most expensive country in the world, my £36 bill for a beer and tacos nodded in agreement.
The next morning, we headed to 66°North’s HQ to meet the team and tour the repair centre. I’d met Helgi, the CEO and owner, once before in their Regent Street store, and I’ve admired the brand ever since. Their pillars – performance, style and sustainability – aren’t marketing lines. They’re ingrained, like the rings inside a tree trunk. You can’t fast-track that sort of identity. After 99 years of making gear for people who depend on it, 66°North hit these three markers with a kind of quiet certainty. What began as coats for fishermen surviving brutal conditions evolved into a fashion-forward, sustainability-driven clothing brand which still owns all of its own production. Repairs are a necessity on an island where self-sufficiency is the default. Nearly a century later, they still prioritise function over form, repair over replacement, timelessness over trends. It’s everything I love in clothing.
From there, I made a quick detour to the sauna before we headed to Fischersund for a guided scent experience. Not nearly as pretentious as it sounds – it was closer to therapy. Fischersund is the project of Jónsi from Sigur Rós and his family. Our guide happened to be his sister Lilja, who shot the artwork for my favourite Sigur Rós album, Valtari. Small world. Afterwards, we ate at Skal, a brilliant spot serving Icelandic small plates. Think fish, fish and more fish – in the best way.
The following day, we ventured east toward Eyjafjallajökull, the only Icelandic volcano most of us can pronounce, thanks to its chaos in 2010. We were there to drive ATV buggies into the Winter wilderness with South Coast Adventures. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun while simultaneously fearing for the integrity of my fingers. I wore a balaclava under my helmet and goggles over my eyes, but my nose remained exposed to shards of snow and wind sharp enough to file it down. But once I had come round to just dealing with that, the fun was unmatched. These machines were like mountain goats on steroids. We ploughed through rivers, climbed boulder fields, and rattled up slopes that were like staircases made of ice. Constant snowfall and sub-zero temperatures only added to the chaos. An insurer’s nightmare, a human’s dream. Easily a highlight.
Later, after a stop at a thundering waterfall, we reached the Ion Adventure Hotel. It looked like a Bond villain’s hideout: moody lighting, a bar balanced on stilts, a geothermal pool steaming into the night. We told reception to wake us if the northern lights made an appearance, but they stayed stubbornly hidden. Another reason to return. Dinner was excellent, rooms were spacious, and I could definitely get used to that version of life.
The sun doesn’t rise until around 10 am this time of year, so waking up feels like you’re emerging from a cave in which you have been hibernating. After copious amounts of Skyr yoghurt and coffee, we headed to the Blue Lagoon for our final adventure. It was still dark at nearly 11 am, one of those grey days that feel like the world is taking a day off. After a tour of their R&D facility, we entered the lagoon. The combination of clay masks and alcoholic drinks amused me deeply. Somewhere out there is a photo of me, clay-faced, clutching a local beer, squat-walking through the steam like a confused troll. The contrast felt perfectly Icelandic – indulgent and elemental at the same time.
We wrapped up with lunch at the Lagoon’s Lava Restaurant, where I chatted more with the designers and team at 66°North. It’s rare to speak to the people behind a brand on their home turf, surrounded by the landscape that shaped them and the brand they work for. Rare to discuss creative challenges over days of shared adventure. Driving a buggy at 100km/h over ice was euphoric, but the conversations – honest, thoughtful, rooted in pride – were just as memorable. These people live the brand. Many grew up with it. To them, 66°North isn’t just a label; it’s part of the country’s fabric.
Next year marks the brand’s 100th anniversary, and we’re excited to see how they celebrate and how they grow. Expansion is on the horizon, but only if the brand’s DNA runs through every decision the same way it has since 1926. Some things change; some things stay constant, like the Icelandic weather and 66°North’s brand pillars.
