Custodian Culture:
how we build matters more than what we build
There’s a phrase my grandmother used to say to me when I was young:
“Do unto others.”
At the time it sounded like simple moral advice — treat people the way you would hope to be treated. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve started to see it less as a rule of politeness and more as a structural principle.
What if entire systems were built that way?
What if businesses, institutions and even governments were designed around the idea that our decisions should strengthen the whole — not just elevate the individual?
Most of the systems we live within are triangular. Power rises upwards. Authority concentrates at the top. Success is measured in speed, scale and competitive advantage. Decisions are often shaped by short-term cycles — quarterly targets, election terms, immediate wins.
That model isn’t inherently malicious. It’s simply dominant.
But it isn’t the only possible structure.
At Old Green, we’ve always described ourselves as circular — in materials, in process, in rhythm. We reclaim. We return. We design with cycles in mind rather than straight lines.
Over time, I’ve realised that this isn’t just about materials. It’s about orientation.
Recently, as we’ve been having deeper conversations in the studio — including around a new hire — we found ourselves reflecting on language we’ve used for years. We’ve proudly described ourselves as female-led. At times, we’ve even reached for the word matriarchy to describe the kind of culture we were building.
But that word carries weight. For many, it implies a reversal of hierarchy — women ruling where men once did. And that isn’t what we mean.
What we were trying to describe was never about gender dominance. It was about shape.
Triangle versus circle.
A triangle concentrates power.
A circle distributes it.
A triangle elevates one point.
A circle connects many.
The more we examined it, the clearer it became: what we were proud of wasn’t being female. It was building a circular culture.
Collaboration over competition.
Long-term thinking over short-term gain.
Shared responsibility over individual elevation.
We’ve started calling this Custodian Culture.
A custodian doesn’t own something outright. They hold it in trust. They recognise they are temporary stewards of something that will outlast them — land, community, knowledge, opportunity.
That shift — from owner to custodian — changes how decisions are made.
It asks different questions:
Does this strengthen the whole?
Does this decision still make sense in ten years?
Who absorbs the cost of this convenience?
What are we leaving behind?
Custodian Culture resists the instinct for immediate comfort at long-term cost. It recognises that short-term self-protection, when scaled, becomes collective instability.
This isn’t about rejecting ambition. It’s about redefining it.
In our studio, we try to model this concept. We grow deliberately rather than aggressively. We design products with return built into their lifecycle. We prioritise long-term viability over rapid expansion. We aim to create flexible, human-centred work rather than scale at any cost.
We are not outside the economic structures we live within. We balance ideals with invoices. But orientation shapes trajectory.
Seasonal living — which underpins much of what we do — is not just about candles or rituals. It’s about reconnecting to rhythm. And when you feel part of something cyclical rather than separate from it, protection becomes instinctive rather than ideological.
What you love, you protect.
Perhaps the reason stewardship-based leadership can feel unusual is because we’ve normalised triangular systems for so long.
But circles are not radical. They are natural.
And perhaps the question isn’t whether the world changes overnight.
Perhaps it’s whether, in the spaces we influence, we choose to build triangles — or circles.
