In a quiet corner of Hailey, Idaho, Jytte Mau has spent decades doing something that rarely draws headlines but remains central to her identity: making things by hand. She has lived in the Wood River Valley for more than 40 years, and her approach to work hasn’t changed much during that time.
Jytte (pronounced you-tay) Mau was born in Denmark and immigrated to Canada with her family in the 1950s. Her early years were shaped by language—her family spoke Danish and German at home—and by the kind of hand skills passed down through generations. She learned to knit and sew as a child, not because it was fashionable, but because it was expected. “It was part of how we lived,” she says.
That early foundation stayed with her. Over time, Mau’s interest in textiles and the outdoors converged. She found herself working in the outdoor gear industry, spending time on snowy slopes and in design rooms, helping to shape products that would keep people warm in tough conditions. Eventually, she decided to start JYTTE, a small production operation of her own, rooted in wool, machine knitting, and a preference for function over trend.
“I like understanding how things are made,” Mau says. “And I like being close to the process.”
She set up her workspace in Hailey, using industrial knitting machines sourced from Europe and relying on small-batch wool supply from domestic mills. Over time, the operation became known for simple, high-function hats designed for cold climates. The approach remained consistent: make something durable, in small numbers, with as little waste as possible.
Though the business never expanded beyond its intended scale, the products have found a loyal following. Travelers passing through Hailey take them home, and word spreads quietly. Her hats aren’t widely available outside the valley—that’s by design. She prefers to keep production small and manageable, with a focus on quality rather than scale. Much of her business comes from repeat customers and word of mouth, but her reputation is universal, especially for being the preferred beanie of choice for winter explorations and adventures.
Mau’s process is quiet and deliberate. “It starts with the fabric,” she says. “We make it here, then shape it into something useful.”
Some of the leftover materials are turned into small items—cat toys, bedding for animals, scraps for local use—as part of an informal effort to minimize waste. She doesn’t market this as sustainability; it’s simply how she’s always worked. “You don’t throw good material away,” she says. “You figure out how to use it.”
At a time when clothing is often designed for short-term use, Mau’s work is something of an outlier. The wool is chosen for durability, and the fit is refined through years of experimentation, not seasonal cycles. “It’s not about the next thing,” she says. “It’s about doing the same thing well over time.”
Now in her seventies, Mau continues to work with a small team and maintains close involvement with every aspect of production. There’s no apparent marketing department, no e-commerce strategy. There is only the workshop, the machines, and the rhythm of making things by hand.
“It’s easy to forget that clothing can mean something,” she says. “But when you make it yourself, you don’t.”