The 4% Irish Woodworker: Why Intentional Design Matters More Than Heritage

I grew up with the quiet, comfortable assumption that I was Irish. It wasn't a topic of dinner table conversation or a point of fierce family pride; it was just a label that existed because no one had ever offered a different one. In my family, records don’t go back very far, and the "old country" was more of a vague concept than a documented history.

Out of a bit of curiosity, I finally took a DNA test. The results were a masterclass in the complexity of human movement.

I am only roughly four percent Irish.

The remaining 96 percent is a sprawling map of Scottish, English, Ukrainian Jew, and Western European roots, alongside a significant African ancestry. It turns out that I’m not a monolith; I’m a composite. Most of us are. We are layered, shaped by generations of migration, survival, and change.

Seeing the Shop for the Trees

This realization hit me right as I was deepening my commitment to Norfolk Wood Shop. When you spend enough time in the woodworking world—especially the physical spaces like local lumber yards, traditional guilds, or community classes—you notice a pattern. It is an industry still largely dominated by a single demographic: older white men.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with that demographic. Some of the finest craftsmen I know fit that description perfectly, and I will too one day. However, there is a subtle, often unintentional side effect: if you don’t fit that traditional image, the shop can feel like a private club where you don’t have the password. You walk in, look at the assumptions being made, and wonder if there’s a bench for you.

Building Inclusion by Design

I am not under the illusion that I can change the entire woodworking industry. But I am deeply intentional about the business I build within it. I want Norfolk Wood Shop to be a "composite" space—one that reflects the layered reality of the people who actually want to make things.

In woodworking, we talk a lot about "intent." You don't just hack at a board; you decide where the grain goes and why the joinery is placed where it is. I’ve applied that same logic to the brand identity of this shop.

The Cartoon Owl The owl isn't a high-brow, heraldic crest. It’s a cartoon. It’s intentional. It signals that this isn't a place of stuffy gatekeeping or rigid tradition. It’s a place for learning, and sometimes, for failing spectacularly before you get it right. It's also a symbol of the deep respect for the nature's own engineering, innovation, adaptability, and beauty.

The Power of Purple If you walk into a big-box store, you see a sea of yellow, red, and teal. Purple isn't a "typical" tool-brand color. By choosing it, I’m sending a quiet signal: this isn't the "standard" shop. It doesn't carry the baggage of what a woodworker is "supposed" to look like.

Education Without the Ego

That intentionality extends beyond aesthetics and into how we teach. I’ve never been a fan of the "expert on a pedestal" approach to woodworking education. That’s why I write this blog with a healthy dose of honesty (and the occasional bit of satire). Woodworking is hard. You will cut on the wrong side of the line. You will mess up a glue-up.

To bridge that gap, I’ve focused on free resources and tools like the Bad Owl Tool web app. It’s a digital resource that anyone can use, regardless of whether they’ve ever bought a single item from my shop.

The Core of the Craft

At its core, woodworking is a human experience. It’s about taking raw material and shaping it with your hands. It’s about the frustration of a dull chisel and the immense pride of a finished project. Those feelings don't belong to one age, one gender, one background, or one 4% slice of a DNA test.

In a world that feels increasingly divided and loud, I wanted to build something quieter. I wanted to build a shop that feels like a welcome bench for anyone who wants to pick up a saw. That is what Norfolk Wood Shop is—and what it will continue to be.