King of the Cold: The Story of Zero King

Before Gore-Tex. Before Thinsulate. Before the outdoor aisles at REI gleamed with neon synthetics and molded zippers—there was Zero King.

You’d find it hanging by the door in a ranch house outside Cody, Wyoming. Or slung over the passenger seat of a rust-bitten pickup somewhere north of Duluth. A coat that wasn’t so much owned as earned. Heavy in hand. Brushed suede or duck canvas stiff with memory. Lined in flannel, quilted nylon, or shearling like the pelt of something wild.

Zero King didn’t shout. It didn’t need to. It was made for men who faced weather with their backs to the wind and a flask in the glovebox.

The Name Says It All

Born in the mid-20th century, the Zero King brand carved its place in the pantheon of cold-weather American outerwear—somewhere between the workman’s grit of Carhartt and the refined sportswear of Woolrich. But Zero King had its own flavor: part cowboy, part motorist, part mid-century suburban sportsman.

The name was a promise—warmth below zero, and you still wore the crown.

Whether sewn in Indiana, New York, or the northern Midwest, the brand offered coats that blurred the line between utility and swagger. Western yokes, horn buttons, belted waists, mouton collars, and rugged zippers built like bridge cables. These coats didn’t just keep you warm—they made you feel like you could walk straight through a January blizzard and come out the other side without a flinch.

A Lost King

Like so many American icons, Zero King was a product of its time—and its slow fade mirrored the decline of domestic manufacturing. By the late ‘80s, the label had vanished from department store racks. Not with a bang, but with a quiet slipping away—folded behind newer names, lighter fabrics, cheaper production. The kind of slow disappearance that feels like waking up one day and realizing the gas station doesn’t sell maps anymore.

Today, what’s left are the coats. The real ones. The ones with faded labels, brass zippers that still bite, and linings that smell like cedar and gasoline. If you find one, feel the weight. That’s not just insulation—it’s memory.

A Return to the Throne

We’ve made it our mission to collect and restore the best of what remains. Not out of sentimentality, but out of respect. Because Zero King represents something worth remembering: a time when coats were built with backbone. When warmth wasn’t outsourced. When stepping outside in January didn’t require battery packs or Bluetooth.

And here’s the secret: they still work. Better than most of what’s sold today.

Each Zero King piece we restore and pass on comes with the creases of someone else's winter—and the promise of your own.