There is no top of it, and no back of the queue.
A sauna is not sold and then finished with. It gets heated on a wet Tuesday in November. It gets shown to a neighbour who stays longer than they meant to. Someone's brother-in-law asks what it cost and whether it was worth it. Years later it is still there, still being argued about, still being used. The people around one sauna are not a list of customers.
So we did not build a ladder. There are no tiers here, no ranks to climb, no badge that says one of you counts for more. Whoever you are — someone who owns one, someone who points a friend towards one, a shop that sells them, a hotel that heats one every morning, or us in the workshop with the sawdust still on us — you are on the same circle, the same distance from the middle.
In the middle is the sauna itself. Everything else is people who care what it is like to sit in one.
There is no first place on a circle. Whenever you join, you join it whole.