14/05/2025
There’s been a lot of talk lately about saddle fit in the upper levels, especially the connection between back atrophy and high-end “custom” saddles that aren’t doing what they claim to do. I wanted to offer my perspective as someone who’s seen the inside of the machine. For a time, I worked as a brand rep saddle fitter for one of the major French companies, the kind that markets itself as “different,” “elite,” and “horse-first.”
It was, hands down, the most disorganized, chaotic, and ethically slippery company I’ve ever been a part of. Orders were managed on paper forms and Dropbox folders, shuffled between departments with zero accountability. Saddles regularly arrived built incorrectly. When that happened, which was often, it wasn’t seen as a crisis, it was just another day at the office. Clients would wait up to six months only to receive a saddle that didn’t match the order and didn’t fit the horse.
The training I received as a rep? Laughably minimal. We were taught how to check wither clearance, determine tree shape, and “balance” a saddle using foam inserts in the panels. No real education on biomechanics. No instruction on how saddle pressure affects movement or chronic pain. No understanding of equine spinal anatomy. And certainly no discussion of long-term horse welfare. When I mentioned learning more from independent fitters, I was told not to. Literally warned by my boss that “those people have an agenda against French brands.” She even insinuated that a certain independent fitter was the reason the last rep quit.
Management also regularly groaned about clients who wanted to have an independent fitter out at the same time as a brand fitter, labeling them as "high maintenance." It was as though questioning the company's methods was a personal affront, rather than a legitimate desire from owners for the best care for their horses.
From the beginning, I felt caught in a system that rewarded sales over ethics, obedience over insight, and pressure over compassion. I was encouraged to focus not on the horse’s well-being, but on how quickly I could convert a client’s concern into a credit card swipe. Even our elite sponsored riders, some of the most accomplished athletes in the sport, couldn’t get saddles that fit correctly. Saddles arrived wrong. Panels were lopsided. Horses were sore. We all knew the saddle could be wrong, and it often was, but the unspoken rule was to get something close enough and push it through. If they can’t be bothered to properly fit the horses that carry their name into international arenas, what makes you think they care about Pookie, your 2'6” hunter at the local shows?
We were explicitly instructed that if a client had a saddle more than a few years old, even if it was still working perfectly, we were to find something wrong with it. The goal was to sow just enough doubt to get the client to trade in the saddle and order a new custom. Not because their horse needed it, but because their wallet could support it.
That’s when it started to really wear on me. I couldn’t sleep. I would lie awake at night feeling sick: not just because we were misleading clients, but because we were hurting horses. Every day I watched animals be dismissed as “hard to fit” when the reality was that the saddle being sold to them should never have been placed on their back to begin with. The moment that broke me came at the end of winter circuit. We hadn’t met our quotas yet. The pressure was sky-high. One of the top reps began pushing saddles onto horses that visibly, obviously, did not fit. It didn’t matter that this would harm the horse over time, it mattered that the sale was made.
Perhaps the most disturbing part is the panel design we used by default, a soft, rounded latex insert, was built not to support muscle growth, but to fill the void left behind by muscle loss. Our whole system was based around accommodating atrophy, not fixing it. We had specialized modifications to make the panels more forgiving to wasted backs, as if the problem wasn’t the saddle, it was the horse’s inability to conform to it. Back atrophy wasn’t treated as a red flag. It was normalized. Built into the product line.
After six months, I started to unravel. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I had entered the role wanting to help horses, and moved across the country to do so. I had left a steady job that I was happy in thinking this would be a way to combine my skills and my passion. I found myself trapped in a toxic cycle of moral compromise. Eventually, I couldn’t fake it anymore, especially since I had begun my equine bodywork certifications. I told my boss I was done. I remember saying, half-joking, half-begging for her to understand, that “I’m not making enough money to cry every night.” “That’s just part of the job,” she responded.
That was a year ago. Since then, two more reps have cycled through my old territory.
So if your high-end “custom” saddle doesn’t fit… if your “fitter” keeps blaming your pads or your horse’s shape… if your horse’s back is getting worse instead of better: you are not crazy, and you’re not alone. You’ve been caught in a system that was never built to prioritize your horse’s health in the first place.
This isn’t just a string of bad luck. It’s systemic. It’s built into the model. These brands don’t invest in education. They invest in optics. They train salespeople, not fitters. And they sell you the idea of customization while relying on generic templates and pressure tactics behind the scenes.
I’m not saying every brand rep is malicious. Some are kind, well-meaning, and genuinely doing their best within a rigged game. But when you pay someone a tiny base salary and dangle their entire livelihood on commissions, it creates a perfect storm of pressure and desperation. Good intentions don’t last long when survival depends on making the sale. That’s why I left. That’s why I speak up. That’s why I’ll keep urging riders to work with independent fitters: people who don’t make a commission off the brand, who aren’t beholden to a sales quota, who care more about your horse’s comfort than the label on the flap.
That’s why I walked away. I couldn’t keep selling saddles that were hurting horses and gaslighting riders into believing it was fine. I couldn’t sleep knowing I was complicit in their pain. So if something in your gut has been telling you this isn’t right, listen. Trust it. Ask questions. Get a second opinion. Seek out an independent saddle fitter whose only loyalty is to your horse’s well-being, not a sales quota. You deserve transparency. You deserve honesty. Your horse deserves comfort, freedom, and a fighting chance to thrive: not just survive under eight thousand dollars of leather and lies. Don’t let the system convince you this is normal. It’s not, and the more of us who speak up, the harder it becomes for them to keep pretending it is.
