ON A DAY filled with optimistic sunshine, Chris Van Dyke and Ian Yolles walk into Bay Partners, a $1 billion venture-capital firm in Cupertino, California. It's May 2006, and they've come with the usual trappings of entrepreneurs looking for money: a PowerPoint presentation, financial documents, and tired legs. But Van Dyke, 56, and Yolles, 49, have brought something else: a huge suitcase full of extraordinary new clothes.

They shake hands with Dino Vendetti, a partner at Bay. Van Dyke opens the suitcase, which is packed with outdoor apparel from his new company, Nau, a Portland, Oregon–based clothing maker set to open for business in January. Many of the startup's 45 staffers came from

Is Nau Good?

Does their stuff stand up? Read our reviews here

important jobs at some of the biggest names in retail, like Starbucks and Adidas. Van Dyke, Nau's president, worked at both Nike and Patagonia, as did Yolles, the vice president of marketing. Nau's high-profile employees took pay cuts as high as 70 percent to gamble on a socially responsible company that intends to take a notably upright stance toward the environment. Starting with its chic, logo-free, high-end garments.

"This is three-layer polyester, made out of recycled pop bottles," says Van Dyke, picking up an elegant black mountaineering jacket.

"You're kidding," says Vendetti, an athletically built 45-year-old who's leaving tomorrow to kitesurf in Hawaii.

"We're only using polyester that's recycled," Van Dyke says. "Nobody else is doing this in a completely sustainable fabrication."

"OK, so I need one of these," says Vendetti, throwing the jacket's hood over his head.

Van Dyke pulls out a long-sleeved burgundy top and lays it on the conference table. It's as inviting as silk. "This is a base layer," he says. "It's made out of corn."

"Out of what?" says Vendetti.

"Corn," Van Dyke says with a smile.

After the fashion show, Van Dyke explains Nau's business model. Instead of taking the usual route of wholesaling its stuff to third-party retailers, Nau will sell directly to consumers through its own retail stores and Web site. By cutting out the middleman, Nau hopes to save enough money for the company to be profitable and distribute a whopping 5 percent of its revenues among multiple nonprofit organizations. (In an unusual twist, customers will be able to choose which charity to support when they make a purchase.) Van Dyke says this novel approach will leave people feeling good about shopping, in more ways than one.

"Does the world need another outdoor-clothing company?" he says to Vendetti, crossing his arms. "No, it's a crowded marketplace. But a new company with a different point of view? Yes."

The business proposition tempers Vendetti's enthusiasm, though. Bay is accustomed to funding low-overhead tech startups. Why get involved with a staffed-up company that wants to give away piles of money and open dozens of capital-intensive stores? "There's not a lot of positive venture experiences that you can point to in bricks and mortar," Vendetti says. "Tough, tough road to plow." Without uttering the word no, the VC makes his rejection clear.

Minutes after the meeting, Van Dyke and Yolles regroup over lunch. The lanky Van Dyke, who bears more than a passing resemblance to his famous dad, actor Dick Van Dyke, knows better than to get down on himself. He's already raised $14 million for Nau. He chooses not to dwell on the fact that, if he doesn't secure another $17 million in the next eight months, the company could go belly-up before a single crushed-corn shirt lands on a customer's back.

"We just need to pursue all leads," he says between bites of salad.

Yolles, wild-haired and sporting an earring, is a tad more cynical. Nau may be an eye-opening proposition, but judging by Vendetti's uncharitable response, the funding battle has just begun.

"We thought venture capital was about venture," says Yolles, staring into his ice water. "Apparently, that's not how it works."