Elvis Jumpsuit

This is what I consider to be my most embarrassing design ever. It is now fondly referred to in-house as the ‘Elvis Jumpsuit’. It’s from my second collection, Spring 2008. It has been stricken from the public record and I am highlighting its existence for the sole purpose of illustrating a point: things change.  

There is a misconception, perhaps more in art and fashion than in other areas, that a person is supposed to enter into their field fully formed. They are expected to have a clear vision that they will sustain throughout their 40-50 year career and they should be able to tap in to their genius right out of the gate.  

It takes time to develop any talent into a real skill, whether it’s as an artist or designer. As I design the 14th Birds of North America collection, I feel more aware than ever of not only how much my judgement has improved over the years, but also of how much my design aesthetic has evolved.

Designers need time to learn, take risks, make mistakes, and be able to get back up and try again without going bankrupt. The way a designer proceeds after deciding to start a line of clothing plays a large part in determining how long they can financially afford to continue and this is the largest factor in allowing a designer to improve enough to have any kind of longevity.  

The fashion industry is an expensive place to make mistakes, and one of the biggest pitfalls for new lines is the temptation to put on a large fashion show. Fashion shows are highly appealing to new designers for many reasons. The process of starting and operating a line of clothing is so overwhelming that the prospect of one event that promises to propel you into the stratosphere of success can be irresistible. The ego boost and the powerful feeling of being ‘the designer’ backstage at a national fashion week is intoxicating and can be addictive.

The enormous downside to doing a big launch with a fashion show is that the designer has to put a lot of money up front, usually without the experience to judge the show’s actual value to the business. The cost of participating in a fashion week in Canada can easily consume the entirety of a label’s start-up capital.

After investing in a fashion show, new designers will often find it a struggle to support themselves while they develop their next collection. Smaller labels rarely get direct sales out of runway events, so there is little or no immediate financial gain to be had. They soon have to confront the impossibility of paying for fashion week appearances over and over, and since there is no other option, they silently slip out of the scene confused and feeling like their careers are over.

The first three years are the hardest for new designers, and that is already a long time to hang in financially even without the expensive burden of a show. A significant number of Canadian lines have started with a big launch only to disappear entirely a year to 18 months later. It takes several seasons of mailing out look books and making calls to stores for the buyers to believe that your line will even be around long enough to be worth investing in. On top of that, they have to actually like what you're doing and the clothes have to be well made, fit properly and sell once they are in the store - not a guarantee! Most people have to mine every personal financial resource possible to make it through the first few years.

 I can speak for most functioning independent designers when I say that we cannot afford to pay for regular fashion week appearances. We support ourselves, the continuation of our lines and our seasonal production exclusively through the sales of clothing we make the previous season.  

I feel very fortunate to have been able to sustain Birds of North America for the six years since I started. Even so, I often feel like I’ve only just begun to understand what I’m doing. More than anything, designers need time to evolve. Had I not survived those first few years, the ‘Elvis Jumpsuit’ might have been the unfortunate defining look of Birds of North America. Seeing these old photographs again reminds me that I have made some progress after all. No disrespect to The King!

Buyers

The start of ‘selling season’ is suddenly upon me again. We completed the Spring 2014 collection in late August and will take orders from stores over the next couple of months so we can produce the line over the winter and have it ready to ship by February.

Meeting with the store buyers is always interesting, and though I found it extremely stressful in the first few years, it has become easier over time. Many buyers order straight from the catalogues we send out by mail and e-mail and I am not privy to the selection process. Others I see in person here at our studio or at their own boutiques.  I’ve learned a lot about the art of buying just through watching so many stores do it!

In the beginning I felt like I was on the opposite side of the fence from the buyers. I thought it was my job to somehow ‘convince’ them to buy from my line. I’ve realized over time that both designers and buyers are essentially storytellers, and that you need to find someone who likes the kind of story you have to tell and is enthusiastic enough about it to want to pass it on. When you find the right match, it’s joyful and effortless for everyone involved.

In this business, it’s easy to succumb to the pressure to tell a story that will appeal to the most people possible, even if it’s not the tale you really want to tell. I have to be conscious of current trends when designing a collection, but it’s much more important to me to tell my own story than it is to provide something that will appeal to as broad an audience as possible. Essentially, I design a wardrobe for the same girl every season. She is me, in a time and place beyond adult concerns, fear and cynicism. She is able to delight and revel in all the places she finds beauty, without fear of judgement.  

The buyer is also trying to tell a story though their store. The stores in which Birds of North America works best are those that have a story to tell that is joyful, whimsical, and during the summer months often evokes a seaside vacation in the 1930s or 50s. Our collection can often provide a missing chapter in the seasonal story they are telling.   

In my experience as an observer, I’ve seen buyers work in many different ways. Some base their selections heavily on trend forecasting while others simply go with their personal favourites. Some prefer a more involved sales process in which I hold up each garment and describe its qualities and features while others seem to prefer to see the collection ‘cleanly’ without the distraction of a guided presentation. I try to gauge what the buyer prefers and then either get involved or try to make myself invisible.

Buyers are very much like designers. The good ones are able to go into their heads and visualize the overall effect they are trying to create for their store and then break it down into a practical plan for buying. All of this while maintaining a strong connection to the spontaneous delight that drew them to Birds of North America in the first place. Through their stores, they have a statement to make about the world just as any designer or artist does and they communicate it through a thoughtful curation of clothing.  

Pear Shaped Girl

Working on patterns for spring 2014 last week, my thoughts kept wandering into how I perceive my own body and the implications of using one's less-than-ideal measurements as a standard for fit. I use myself as the size 6/8/10 fit model, depending on whether it’s a bottom, top, or a dress, for all Birds of North America clothing. I think this is a fairly common practice for independent designers, but unheard of for larger lines which hire fit models with proportions closer to the “ideal”.  

I don’t remember being conscious of the shape of my body when I was a child. Into adolescence and puberty I became more aware of where I differed from the images of models and other representations of “ideal” women I was exposed to. My body tends towards the “pear shaped” - smaller waist and upper body with bigger hips and thighs.  I envied women with narrow hips who could wear any shape of clothing and look good. For me, high waisted anything was permanently out, full skirts were out, clingy dresses were out, any pants that were cropped or pleated were out, out, OUT. They all just seemed to accentuate the part of my body that felt out of proportion.

I, like most women, have the odd day or two or three (usually monthly!) when I feel like a hideous beast. My hips are usually the part of my body that attract the brunt of my scrutiny. On days like these it feels ludicrous that I make clothes to fit my shape - as if I’m fitting clothes on a deformed mannequin. The product would logically be deformed as well.  

Positive but realistic body image becomes essential to developing good patterns when using oneself as a fit model. As a designer, I’m essentially trying to transform and elevate the look of the body through clothing. If I’m not feeling good about my own body and it’s the one I’m using to fit clothes on, it becomes very difficult not only to objectively assess designs for fit and appeal, but to find inspiration in clothing at all.

As BoNA has evolved, I’ve also had to evolve in terms of my self-perception. I finally figured out that to look your best you just have to find things that actually fit, no matter what shape you are. Now, when I fit a pant, dress or skirt to my own body, it feels like an action of honouring and elevating the kind of shape I have. Instead of trying to hide the fuller hip, I try to use it as a tool to accent the rest of the figure.

I often hear from women who buy Birds clothing that it feels like it was “made just for them”. From what I can tell, these women often have the same kind of body proportions as I and, like me, have had trouble finding clothing that flatters them. What I’m noticing more and more, as I learn to look, is that this particular kind of body seems to be one of the most common types, it’s just not represented very well within the culture of our beauty standards in North America. It’s therapeutic for me, and very gratifying, to be able to offer clothing that women feel incredible wearing, and to know that I fit it on myself.

Beauty standards differ enormously between cultures and evolve over time as well. For someone growing up in North America in my day and age (I am 34) I have been pummelled my whole life with images of either super fit women with a more androgynous body type, or extremely thin women with no hips and a very large bust. Like it or not, these are the images that dominate our beauty culture at the moment. It is this standard of beauty that I am reacting to, and it is particular to my age, geographic location, and time.

Historically, women have had a challenging social journey and it continues to play out in our relationships with our bodies today. I sometimes feel like I can sense the weight of centuries of women not just wanting, but needing to present as physically attractive in order to secure a mate and be provided for. 

Feeling as if our bodies don’t meet the “ideal”, whatever it may be, turns very quickly into feeling like we are of less value in general. My job as a designer is to try to take the focus off of our own perceived physical shortcomings by honouring our natural shapes, in all their diversity, bringing us one step closer to the body “ideal” becoming a non-issue.

The Strangeness of Seasons

As a fashion designer, I live in a bit of an alternate universe when it comes to the current season in clothing. Right now, the Fall 2013/14 collection is going through the process of grading, cutting, and sewing, and I am simultaneously designing the new collection for Spring 2014. Because of this rhythm, I generally exist in a season that either feels like ancient news, or in a season that isn’t yet up for discussion or observation by anyone outside of the studio. The Spring 2013 collection going out to stores over the last couple of months was the last step in a VERY long process of design, samples, sales, production and delivery and I usually have major “collection fatigue” by the time it actually hits the racks. I don’t want to look at it, I don’t want to wear it, I don’t want to talk about it!

Of all the periods in this semi annual process, I feel the most satisfaction in what I am doing right now - putting together the bare ideas for the new collection. The base concept usually manifests foggily, like a train coming from very far away. I almost feel it as a physical presence at the very back of my head. As it approaches, things clarify and small details become apparent.  

This part of the process is when I feel most in touch with my inner self. There is usually a starting point - always a dress for me - that sets the tone for the rest of the collection.  It sometimes ends up being the only item of its kind in the collection, but something about it releases the rest of the ideas and feelings.

Design for me comes from a place that has more atmosphere than specific details. I often have an image in my mind that represents the season and the feeling I want to convey and I use it as a foundation for the rest of the collection. Practical considerations come later - at this point in the process, I just let ideas spill out unedited. After that it goes through a series of “reality check” filters - can you wear a bra with it? Is it flattering?  Would I actually wear this? I also have a rigorous “lunge, squat and kick” (patent pending) routine that designs have to pass. I want women who wear Birds to be able to move freely and function effectively in their real lives.

This period is always more fleeting than I would like. It’s the time when I get to be my thirteen year old self, creating clothes alone in my room. A time before the ravenous demands of business ownership consumed the infinite dreamspace of childhood. Before long my sketch book fills up with crude line drawings and written details and I am ready to start the muslin process. I’m always surprised when, a few weeks later, I find myself with 30 odd designs that are ready to move forward.