Íris Indriðadóttir and Signý Jónsdóttir of Studio Erindrekar built their design practice — and their lives — around the nesting season of wild eiders
“We are product designers…,” says Íris Indriðadóttir, smiling from Seyðisfjörður over a video call, “But we’re also eider farmers.” She is joined by fellow designer Signý Jónsdóttir. Every summer, the duo relocates to the East fjords for a few months, a journey that began as an experimental project but has since evolved into Studio Erindrekar. Now, together with fashion designer Sigmundur Páll Freysteinsson, they create small-batch design pieces using the precious eiderdown they harvest by hand.
For those unfamiliar with eider farming, it’s a centuries-old Icelandic tradition of harvesting eiderdown, the soft undercoat of common eiders, often called eider ducks. When Íris and Signý were invited to participate in a design research project on eiderdown in 2019, shortly after graduating in product design, they knew little, if anything, about the material. The project paired various artists — musicians, designers, architects and more — with an eider farmer from across the country. “We got paired with the farmer here in Seyðisfjörður — Sigrún Ólafsdóttir, and her husband, Pétur Jónsson,” explains Íris. “We came here and completely fell in love with this job.”
Since then, they’ve returned every year, spending at least two months harvesting eiderdown. Now, they stay for six — Signý also runs the LAND programme at the LungA School and Íris is doing a residency within it.
“The system is that we get eiderdown salary — we need to sell the down to get any salary,” explains Íris. “That’s how we operate. Just like in the olden days — we go, we harvest the material, we create products from it, we sell it, and then we go again. This is our seasonal rhythm.”
Symbiosis in the wild
Íris and Signý both agree that modern product design requires a heightened awareness of environmental impact. For them, having control over the materials and production process is essential. They value the ability to sustainably harvest eiderdown, following it through from the birds’ nests to the final product.
This process, however, is slow and deliberate. “Eiderdown is not a feather but a fibre that grows on the bird’s chest. It’s actually a very important thing to have because it helps them float up when they’re diving down to get some food,” Signý clarifies. When eiders start laying eggs, hormonal changes cause the down to loosen, which they pluck from their chest to line their nests. Eider farmers then harvest it by hand.
She stresses, “It’s very important for people to know that humans are not involved in any step of this.”
The true value of eiderdown lies in its ability to trap air and interlock fibres, creating a natural insulation that is both highly effective and lightweight. “The eider ducks live on the Arctic Ocean year-round, except for nesting season, which is why they have such incredibly warm down,” says Íris. “It’s the warmest, lightest and most insulating down that you can access in a way.” Also, unlike, for example, geese, eiders nest in colonies, making it easier to harvest their down in an organised fashion.
During nesting season, Íris and Signý go around the colony, trying to be careful to not disturb the birds. “We gently move the eggs aside, take the down, but we don’t take it all. Then we put hay underneath and place the eggs again on top,” Íris explains.
“This is what could be considered one of the closest things we have today that is a little bit of a symbiosis between humans and wild animals — we protect them from predators, and they give us the down,” she says. Apparently, eider ducks prefer to be in the shelter of humans and if the farmer stops taking care of a colony, the colony will move somewhere else.
There are about 1,000 nests spread throughout the area Íris and Signý care for — some are close to each other, while others are quite far apart. They organise the harvest in a way that they see each bird only a few times throughout the summer. “This bird experiences us three times a year. It’s just unbothered by humans the rest of the time,” says Íris.
After harvesting, the down is separated by quality and dried. While some farmers use machines, Íris and Signý prefer drying it naturally in the sun. Then, they carefully remove any impurities, such as eggshells or feathers. From each nest, they collect only 14 to 18 grammes of clean eiderdown. The cleaning process continues as the down is shipped to Borgarnes, where it’s processed further — roasted to 120 degrees, washed, dried and handpicked again.
And even then, the process isn’t over. To sell eiderdown in Iceland, it must meet strict quality standards. “You have to get an inspector from the government, a down inspector, come to your home or your factory and test the quality of the down. If it’s certified as first-class, you can sell it. If not, you either go through the cleaning process again, and try to get the certification, or you don’t sell it,” Íris explains.
She doesn’t hide her fascination with the role. “It’s in the laws of Iceland that you have to have a down inspector to certify your down — someone who relies on their senses, experience and indigenous knowledge to assess the down. It’s all done by hand, smell and sight.”
Slow, local, timeless
Only four tonnes of eiderdown are produced globally every year, with Iceland accounting for 75% of the global supply. Yet, according to Íris, Iceland exports 90% of it to countries like Japan and Germany. “We felt like it’s a little bit of our responsibility as designers to find this product a purpose in Iceland,” she says. “Also, we should be the ones wearing this material because it’s local and perfectly suited for our cold climate.”
Sigmundur Páll came on board to help transform this vision into reality. Together, they began thinking about how to make eiderdown products more accessible for local users and put hats and gloves on the market last winter.
“Eiderdown is so precious — it takes such a long time to make it perfect, and it’s expensive, so we wanted to pair it with a very good quality material,” explains Íris. Signý adds, “All outdoor clothes we wear now use synthetic fabrics, and that’s something that we really didn’t want to pair with eiderdown. We [did a lot of] research on what fabrics we wanted to use and found one that is 100% organic cotton. It’s woven in a way that the fibres expand when exposed to water, so it’s waterproof to some extent.”
The only material Studio Erindrekar imports is this cotton fabric — not out of preference, but a necessity since Iceland doesn’t produce cotton.
Staying true to their philosophy of working with what nature provides, at least to the extent available in Iceland, the team is already preparing for their next release in November. “This is like a new business model, where you have a few products every year coming out at the end of the year,” Íris explains, adding with a smile, “We arrange our whole year around the nesting season of this random bird, and we cannot create more than the bird gives us. We could buy extra down, but we prefer to limit ourselves to the material that we have.”
The products come with a price tag of 67.000 ISK (508 USD), but that cost reflects the craftsmanship involved — handcrafted from locally sourced, handpicked materials. Along with the price, you receive a certificate that traces the product’s entire journey from beginning to end.
As part of DesignMarch, Studio Erindrekar is hosting a seminar at the Nordic House focused on eider farming. Due to the location in the greenhouse, the seminar has very limited seats and will be in Icelandic. “We feel like there are not a lot of people that know about this topic and we just want to open up the conversation,” says Íris. “This industry is becoming old, and younger generations are not taking over. It’s important to keep the word on the street that it’s still happening, it’s very important, and we can’t just let it disappear.”
Best job ever
One might think that a modern urban dweller, relocating to a remote corner of the countryside, would find themselves battling FOMO, itching to return to Reykjavík at every available opportunity. But for Íris and Signý, that couldn’t be further from the truth. “It’s the best job in the world!,” Íris grins broadly. “You’re outside all the time, walking through this crazy beautiful landscape, at peace. You see beautiful birds and take care of them in a way. It’s such a rewarding job — one that’s so worth organising your whole life around.”
Signý is equally resolute: “I don’t want to be anywhere else. If someone asked me to do something during this time…” she pauses, smiling knowingly. “It’s just a no.”
While their peers are planning summer vacations and trips to festivals, Íris and Signý are gearing up for another season in Seyðisfjörður, surrounded by eider ducks, sprawling lupine fields, and mountains rising in the distance — not to mention the hard work that comes with it. “This means we’re unavailable from mid-May to mid-July every year — hopefully, forever,” says Íris.
Do you want to quit your job and become an eider farmer too? If you can’t make the leap just yet, at least check out erindrekar.com or visit their event on Saturday, April 5 at the Nordic House (in Icelandic).
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