On the Tibetan Plateau, Meet the Mother-Daughter Duo Spinning Sustainable Designs From Yak Wool

It is fall on the Tibetan Plateau, where vast windswept grasslands are speckled with blue Himalayan poppies—some of the year’s last blooms before the snow arrives. Ensconced among rolling hills at 3,200 meters is the nomadic settlement of Ritoma Village. Its population of 1,500 is outnumbered almost 10:1 by the yaks grazing nearby. These gentle, oxlike creatures, with their kind faces and long fringed coats, are so sacred that locals call them “nor,” or “jewel.”

It takes a four-hour drive from Lanzhou, the capital of China’s Gansu province, to reach Ritoma, traversing winding roads and tunnels that carve through mountains. But this remote village is where Norlha, a luxury brand specializing in ready-to-wear and interior products crafted from khullu—the fluffy down that the yak grows to keep warm through the harsh winters—has its headquarters.

When I arrive at the Norlha guest house, the Tibetan-American Dechen Yeshi—who co-founded the brand, which means “wealth of the gods,” with her mother Kim in 2007—greets me at the door and presents me with a white khatag: a traditional ceremonial scarf. The lounge and dining hall are newly completed, and the scent of freshly cut pine fills the room. Soft furnishings in brown Norlha textiles are arranged around a fireplace, and the brand’s felted blankets are draped across platform beds in the guest rooms.

Just a few steps across a cobbled pathway lie the atelier and one-year-old showroom, where Norlha’s fall 2024 collection is displayed on sculptural rails and chests. “Our pieces always find a balance between the minimal and the majestic, reflecting the landscape and the way people live here,” Dechen says. This season’s designs feature subtly weathered details, capturing the natural power of the Plateau. A vest is boiled for a fleece-like texture; fringed capes and scarves are woven from handspun wool, giving each piece a rugged, tactile finish. A skirt adorned with strips of fabric that gradually fray nods to the prayer flags that flutter on the surrounding hilltops from the dargyu—a conical wooden structure where laptse ceremonies are held to honor local deities.

Warm, earthy tones are a Norlha signature. While yaks typically have dark brown coats, some are gray, and the rarest of all are golden brown or white. The designs in these shades use natural, undyed fibers. A hand-knitted vest top in pure white khullu is a standout piece, while neck warmers in vibrant orange or dandelion yellow add a pop of color, inspired by Plateau women’s flair for bright accents.

The atelier, where the shuttles of weaving looms clatter rhythmically, is Norlha’s beating heart. The building, in traditional Tibetan style, surrounds a courtyard, but with large windows to flood the space with natural light. Just as the architecture has evolved, so too have the production methods. “Many ancient skills struggle to survive modern life because they are intricate and specialized but have not been reinterpreted for today’s market,” Kim explains. “We use 18th-century flying shuttle looms that Britain sent to India after automated looms emerged.” This machinery, she says with a smile, is “modern” compared to its predecessor, which required passing the shuttle by hand across the weft.

Norlha distinguishes itself by creating pieces exclusively from khullu, occasionally blending it with other luxurious fibers like cashmere or silk, but never synthetics. Hermès was an early collaborator, sourcing handspun textiles from the brand.

Khullu is cashmere-soft but nearly twice as breathable, and 30% warmer than sheep’s wool. The quality of the fiber combined with meticulous craftsmanship means a shawl collar coat retails at $2029, with some blankets costing around $3450. In addition to seasonal collections, Norlha produces recurring pieces that reemerge from time to time—sometimes in new shades or patterns—as well as an evergreen collection. “What is so special about the core items is their cross-cultural appeal; they embody what locals cherish most, and someone in Paris or New York will appreciate them just as much,” Dechen says.

In the felting studio, I try my hand at making a pair of wrist warmers under the patient guidance of the artisans. The khullu is carded then weighed and arranged into a template shape on a lightbox for even placement, before being massaged, pounded, and molded with soapy water. For the women in this department (66% of Norlha’s workforce is female) the process is second nature, and akin to sculpting clay. In the time it takes me to make this small accessory, they craft three seamless felt vests—a low-impact product with zero waste.

Norlha is deeply rooted in its community, with artisans frequently featured in the brand’s campaign imagery. From the outset, it was intended to be both socially and environmentally sustainable and has already received B Corp certification. A quarter of households in Ritoma have at least one member working at Norlha, and 98% of employees are local. Many have been with the brand for years; in some instances, multiple generations of the same family work here, with younger people particularly drawn to tailoring.

Ritoma’s proximity to Labrang—a major Gelugpa (Yellow Hat sect) monastery in Tibetan Buddhism—was a significant attraction. “While some monasteries feel like relics, Labrang is vibrant and still has a deep cultural influence,” Dechen says. A lama guides me through Labrang’s temples and the Institute of Medicine—one of six tratsang (monastic colleges). Shoes are scattered outside the Grand Sutra Hall, and inside, the chanting of hundreds of lamas resonates through the space. There is a museum dedicated to intricate yak butter sculptures of Buddhist deities in dazzling colors, and along the monastery’s periphery, worshippers walk the inner kora—the world’s longest path of prayer wheels at 3.5 kilometers.

The lamas’ burgundy and fuchsia robes have inspired the hues of Norlha’s naturally pleated khullu silk scarves. The Plateau is an endless source of inspiration for the Yeshis, though references remain subtle—even more literal designs like the unisex Tibetan shirt, with its kimono sleeves, mandarin collar, and knotted buttons, have a timelessness and neutral quality. “We never want the wearer to feel they are borrowing from another culture or wearing something too traditional,” Dechen says. “It is about celebrating the khullu through simple, classic designs where people feel comfortable.”

Kim likens Norlha’s mission to how the Scottish developed tweed. “We work with local artisans, using locally sourced quality materials and natural colors. These pieces have value; they are crafted to grow old with you; they have provenance.”

One morning before sunrise, I meet the nomadic Dhundup family in the upper pastures, where their day’s work has already begun. Karmo Tso, a young nomadic woman, milks a yak and prepares a traditional breakfast of yak butter tea, a salty, broth-like drink. I follow as the family releases their yaks from the night enclosure and onto the fog-veiled grasslands. On a hilltop, Norlha employees Dorjee Dhundup and Serwu Kyap perform a laptse ceremony, lighting a small fire and casting paper effigies of the wind horse—a symbol of good fortune—into the air, which flutter down like cherry blossoms.

I’m reminded of how rare it is to trace a product back to the very pastures from which it originates, through the skilled hands that crafted it, and through the culture that inspired its design. Here at Norlha, the spirit of the Plateau is woven into every fiber and thread.