Every great tool begins with a question. Ours was simple: why has no one made a brush worth keeping for life?
Matteo Lindström, a young industrial designer fresh from Politecnico di Milano, walks into the Acca Kappa workshop in Creazzo, northern Italy. For the first time, he watches a master brush maker set bristle by hand — each tuft placed with tweezers, angled precisely to follow the curve of the barrel. The process takes forty minutes per brush. He stays for eighteen months.
Matteo moves to Iris Hantverk in Stockholm, a workshop that has employed visually impaired artisans since 1870. Here, brushes are made entirely by touch. He learns that the best brush makers don't look at their work — they feel it. The bristle tells them when the density is right, when the tension is balanced. This changes everything about how he thinks about design.
On a sourcing trip through southern France, Matteo visits a bristle farm in Normandy that has supplied brush makers since 1847. The farmer, Jean-Pierre Lefebvre, shows him how each boar produces only 200 grams of first-cut bristle per year — the densest, most elastic grade. Most brands dilute it with cheaper second-cut or synthetic filler. Lefebvre hasn't sold to a new client in twelve years. Matteo convinces him with a single prototype.
“He looked at my brush for a long time. Then he said: 'You understand the bristle.' That was enough.”
While visiting Portugal's Alentejo region, Matteo discovers cork as a handle material. Hand-stripped from century-old oaks by tiradores who climb without harnesses, cork is 40% lighter than hardwood, naturally anti-slip, and develops a warm amber patina over years of use. No brush maker has ever used it for round brush handles. He secures an exclusive supply from the Herdade da Comporta estate.
Working between a rented workshop in Milan's Zona Tortona and a friend's garage in Södermalm, Stockholm, Matteo builds over 200 prototypes. Each one is tested by professional stylists in salons across both cities. The feedback is relentless: too heavy, too light, barrel too smooth, bristle too stiff. Prototype #187 is the first one no stylist wants to return.
For the M-Series metal pins, Matteo travels to Solingen, Germany's blade capital since the Middle Ages. At the Klingenfabrik Weber workshop, master metalworkers grind each pin to a 0.3mm rounded tip on diamond-coated wheels. Never ball-tipped, never stamped. The same precision that earned Solingen its reputation in surgical steel, applied to a hair brush pin.
Matteo registers TRENFi in Milan with a single conviction: the tools you reach for every morning deserve the same care as the moments they serve. The name combines trend and fidelity — a commitment to timeless design over passing fashion. The first collection launches with three series: S-Series (cork handle round brushes), A-Series (red oak oval cushion), and M-Series (metal-pin paddle brushes).
Word spreads through the European salon community. Stylists in Milan, Paris, and Stockholm begin switching to TRENFi for daily professional use. The feedback is consistent: smoother blowouts, less breakage, and brushes that hold up under heavy daily use. By year's end, TRENFi is stocked in over 40 independent salons across three countries.
TRENFi expands into precision electronics — USB-C hubs in CNC aluminum, Thunderbolt 5 cables, GaN chargers. The same obsession with materials, the same refusal to cut corners. German engineering meets Italian design. The company now bridges two worlds: artisan beauty tools rooted in European heritage, and precision electronics engineered for modern professionals.
Today, every TRENFi brush is a journey across Europe. French bristle, Portuguese cork, Tuscan oak, Solingen steel. Four materials from four countries, each sourced from the region that has perfected it over centuries. Because heritage cannot be manufactured — only inherited.

Industrial Designer · Milan & Stockholm
Born to an Italian mother and Swedish father, Matteo grew up between two design traditions — the warmth of Mediterranean craftsmanship and the precision of Scandinavian minimalism.
After studying industrial design at Politecnico di Milano, he spent three years apprenticing with master brush makers across Europe. The result is a design language that borrows from both traditions: beauty that serves a purpose, simplicity that hides complexity.
“I don't design brushes. I design the moment between waking up and walking out the door. The brush is just the tool that makes that moment feel intentional.”