Journalist. Banker. Bladesmith.
Most knife makers come from metalworking backgrounds. This one came from newsrooms and trading floors. Years spent chasing stories, dissecting markets at Goldman Sachs, and figuring out what makes people give a damn about the things they use.
Then the forge happened. The first blade was garbage. The second was worse. But the obsession had already set in — the same obsession that once fueled all-nighters in newsrooms now meant late nights at the anvil, covered in soot, grinning like an idiot because a piece of steel was finally doing what you told it to.
Ayat Knife Co exists because making blades is the most fun thing a person can do. It's primal. You heat metal until it glows. You hit it with a hammer. You grind it into something beautiful and terrifyingly sharp. Then you hand it to someone and watch their face light up.
Every blade still gets the analytical treatment — precise heat treats, calculated grind geometry, obsessive quality control. But at its core, this is a guy in Austin, Texas who found something he loves doing and can't stop.