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For centuries, shepherds across the Anatolian plateau and the mountains of Central Asia have relied on one garment above all others to protect them from harsh weather, the kepenek.
Made of thick, hand-felted wool, this sleeveless, tent-like coat has served as an essential part of pastoral life, shielding its wearer from cold winds, heavy rain, and summer heat.
The kepenek’s origins reach deep into Turkic history, yet in Türkiye today, people see it more often in cultural events, workshops, and art projects than in everyday use. A small number of master artisans still make it, and some designers have reimagined it for modern fashion.
Its story offers a look at how a practical piece of clothing evolved into a cultural emblem and a model of sustainable, functional design.
Nomadic Turkic peoples in Central Asia created the kepenek in response to two realities: cold climates and a pastoral economy.
Sheep-rearing formed the core of their livelihood, giving them abundant wool to transform into felt, a dense, windproof, and insulating fabric that also resists water to a degree.
Shepherds fashioned the kepenek as a sleeveless, seam-free outer garment that leaves the head and feet uncovered while draping over the body like a portable shelter. Some versions have a hood, while others do not. The open front lets the wearer move easily, while the thick felt wraps warmth around the shoulders and torso.
In rural Anatolia, generations of shepherds refined the design. They valued the kepenek not only for its weather protection but also for its versatility. Large “battal” versions, weighing up to 10 kilograms, worked as makeshift sleeping bags, allowing shepherds to rest with their flocks through the night. The Turkish saying “everything lies under the kepenek” reflects its role as both garment and shelter.
Making a kepenek requires skill, strength, and patience.
The process starts with cleaning raw sheep’s wool, often sourced from surrounding villages. Artisans remove debris and spread the wool evenly on a mat or reed base.
They prepare decorative patterns, sometimes inherited from past masters, before adding another layer of wool on top.
With a hand-made wooden tool called a sekpi, the maker spreads and compresses the wool slightly. Hot water and soap help the fibres bond.
The wool is then pounded by hand or with a machine until it forms dense felt. While some workshops now use machines for the pounding and cleaning steps, much of the process still relies on human labour and expertise.
Once the felt is ready, the maker cuts three pieces: one for the back and two for the front. They stitch the pieces together along the shoulders and sides, creating a thick garment about one centimetre in depth. A finished kepenek weighs between six and ten kilograms. Rain can increase its weight, but the wool remains warm even when soaked.
Shepherds relied on the kepenek not only for warmth but also for its year-round temperature regulation.
In winter, it blocked icy winds; in summer, it kept heat off the body while allowing airflow. Its natural lanolin gave it water resistance, and its felted structure made it self-cleaning.
The garment doubled as a mat for sitting or sleeping outdoors. Families used worn kepeneks to insulate stored butter or cheese before refrigeration. In emergencies, a soaked kepenek could act as a protective layer while escaping a fire.
Such versatility has impressed modern outdoor gear researchers. Danish designer Frits Ahlefeldt, who studies hiking rainwear, praised the kepenek as a “design tested by time” that solves problems many modern jackets cannot—without zippers, synthetic coatings, or chemical treatments.
Over the past decades, the kepenek has lost its place in everyday rural life.
Synthetic fabrics, factory-made jackets, and changes in herding have reduced demand. In some areas, only one or two artisans still make them.
In Denizli’s Cal district, 85-year-old Ethem Hallac has made kepeneks for more than 70 years, continuing a family tradition.
Fellow craftsman Huseyin Oksuz works in a 400-year-old family home, producing kepeneks and other felt goods while training newcomers through local cultural programs. He remembers when merchants brought wool from across the region to keep up with orders.
In Igdir, Veysel Balci remains the last kepenek maker. He learned from his father over 30 years ago. “If I stop, the kepenek in Igdir will disappear,” he says. Once, Igdir had nearly a dozen felt makers. Today, Balci repairs old kepeneks more often than he makes new ones because of high production costs.
Without apprentices, the craft risks vanishing from certain regions. The loss would mean not just the end of a garment but the disappearance of a set of skills passed down for generations.
While fewer shepherds wear kepeneks, designers and artists have started to reinterpret them.
Felt artist Ayfer Gulec, recognised by Türkiye’s Ministry of Culture as the first registered female felt-maker, combines traditional wool felting with silk to create high-end clothing, scarves, and accessories. She calls this blend “the magical meeting of silk and wool.”
Her work appeals to the slow fashion movement, which values sustainable materials and traditional craftsmanship.
Gulec stresses that wool felt is not just a rustic textile but a material with health benefits and year-round usability. She points out that silk cools while wool warms, creating a natural temperature balance. This combination, she says, keeps wearers comfortable without causing overheating.
In Luxembourg, the LUGA Art Trail featured an interactive project by artists Cengiz Hartlap and Sara Lefebvre, who worked with one of Anatolia’s last felt makers.
They created “augmented” kepeneks with built-in sound systems. Visitors could wear them while listening to stories about rural life, turning the garment into a cultural and sensory experience.
For the shepherds who wore them, kepeneks represented a connection to the land and their animals. They were local, renewable, and repairable long before such concepts became marketing points in modern fashion.
In an age when technical jackets often rely on petroleum-based fabrics and chemical coatings, the kepenek stands out as a sustainable alternative. It uses only wool, water, soap, and human skill—materials and methods that leave a light environmental footprint.
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