FairEnds: Ben Ferencz Is a Dachshund

Ben Ferencz is a dachshund.

Early on a dewy Sunday morning, just after cleaning the last of his wife’s garlic harvest at their Foothill Farm in St. Ignatius, Montana, the 38-year-old co-founder of FairEnds is sitting in his home office holding a white can of generic “BEER.”

He points to a messy altar of personal relics. "I've got this little zone over here that no one has seen,” he says. “These are the tchotchkes that pay rent in my head space." A dozen or so small metal dogs sit in a cluster. "I have this thing for dachshies,” he says. “This is a collection from my grandfather.”

Beginning with a line of fun baseball caps in unique, fanciful fabrics and expanding to a full line of clothing and accessories in four short years, Ferencz and his business partner, Martin Carvajal, have established one of the most well-respected companies among the creative set. But how were they able to achieve such success from a barn in Montana?

Born and raised in the suburbs just North of New York City, Ferencz grew up the son of food lovers, the grandson of a tailor. A trip west as a kid sprouted his love of the Rocky Mountains, and upon graduating from high school, his main focus became escaping the shackles of Eastern Standard Time for some Mountain Time.

“But my mom was adamant: ‘Before you head for the Rockies, try the Catskills for a year,’” he says. While at a small liberal arts college upstate, he made friends with a guy named Selden Daume who sought similar pursuits (gnarly powder, adventurous women, and sick gear), and they took their winter break to travel to Montana. “Sure as shit, after my first semester, my folks asked, ‘How’s school?’” Ferencz remembers. “I said, ‘I hate it. I’m transferring.’”Around the same time, Daume hit him up: “‘Dude, what are you doing for winter break? Let’s go to Missoula.’” Ferencz was in. “My parents didn’t support it, but I didn’t care,” he says. “My friend had a car, and we had the most epic ski days. We slept in a tent in the middle of the winter. We went out again for spring break, and that was it. By our sophomore year, Selden and I transferred to the University of Montana.”

Following his graduation, Ferencz’s career trajectory made high art of fits and starts. To the untrained eye his curriculum vitae looks like an ouroboros, the snake eating its own tail.

While working at an outdoor gear shop in Hamilton, Montana, he saw potential in building relationships with brand representatives who’d stop the shop. As he did so, Ferencz began to develop bigger, better, and more influential connections. Eventually, through those connections, Ferencz landed a job in Salt Lake City at the world-renowned climbing company Black Diamond. It was here he got his turn on the other side of the till.

“Effectively, I was part of the team that helped spread word of the great things we were doing among the most influential people in our community simply by providing them the opportunity to try our products.” It was this experience that lead Ferencz to become the masterful networker he is today.

In the wake of 9/11, Ferencz heeded an urge to return to his native New York, finding work as a designer for an ad agency. At the same time, he began cultivating a love of fashion, particularly of minimalist designers like Martin Margiela, Jean Touitou, and Yohji Yamamoto. They spoke to the type of clean and classic design work he was being assigned.

But the mountains won again, this time, seemingly for good. The love of a woman and their shared love of Montana brought him back to Big Sky Country, where his wife, Julie, applied her knowledge of organic farming techniques to their Foothill Farm. “It’s the most beautiful organic farm in Montana, growing the best garlic and tomatoes I’ve ever tasted,” beams Ferencz.

While Julie was storing the proverbial hay in the barn, Ferencz built Freeman Transport. Named for his co-founder an old friend, Nathan Freeman, the pair built the perfect travel bicycle and bag. Ferencz sent an email to Chris Bray at New Jersey leather goods manufacturer Billykirk, admitting he was a fan, and before he knew it, a canvas and leather bike bag arrived. But Ben and Nathan found it easier to sell the hats and accessories they were creating than it was to sell a $5,000 bike. The company closed shop in 2011. Freeman and Ferencz have barely spoken since.

“When the bikes died and the hats were a success, the lesson was: keep it simple, and keep it fun,” Ferencz says. He called upon Carvajal, a well-respected designer based in New York, and through their shared connections, their bright-patterned hats have landed in several of the world’s best shops, including Colette and Jack Spade, and they’ve begun to collaborate with many on the front lines of the fashion world’s new frontier.

As he lists the names of clients and collaborators – designers in shops the world over – he begins to adjust one of the metal dachshunds on his desk. A connection takes shape. These dogs were bred to hunt burrowers like the prairie dogs that populate much of the plains to the southeast of Foothill Farm.

This slim man, with his clipped beard and close-cropped hair, overflows with energy and enthusiasm. He is a hunter of good ideas, good design, and good people. He burrows among his coterie of friends and acquaintances – the creative prairie dogs of this world – looking for ways to collaborate, acknowledging his missteps and celebrating his successes.

Ben Ferencz is a dachshund.

Originally published in The Collective Quarterly, Issue 01 (Montana), 2014.