You might have dreamed of launching your own fashion brand for years, envisioning your designs taking the industry by storm. The passion is there, the creative vision is strong, and you feel ready to make it happen. However, the journey is often shrouded in unspoken realities, from the complexities of logistics to the critical importance of financial management and profitability – aspects rarely discussed openly.
I’ve previously shared glimpses into my own experiences in the fashion world. However, I’ve never given a completely transparent account of my initial steps in this demanding industry.
And more importantly, I’ve held back from sharing the most difficult and disheartening aspects of owning a fashion brand.
Today, that changes. I’m pulling back the curtain and sharing the full story, starting from the pivotal year of 2004, a time when I felt deeply unfulfilled.
Fresh out of a top university with honors and dual degrees in graphic design and marketing, I found myself confined to a monotonous receptionist role at a non-profit. Answering phones and filing papers for 40 hours a week felt like a betrayal of my creative spirit.
My lifelong aspiration to be a fashion designer felt like a distant, unreachable dream, locked away and forgotten.
I had settled for a dead end job that I despised.
Driven by an inner creative fire, I instinctively turned to sewing, a skill my mother had taught me years before. It was the only outlet I knew to express my stifled passion.
Enrolling in night classes, I immersed myself in design principles, garment construction, and pattern drafting. The act of creation became my refuge, a source of immense satisfaction.
My mother’s hand-me-down red Husqvarna sewing machine became my constant companion, humming and stitching countless seams each week.
With the meager savings from my $9-per-hour receptionist job, I frequented Joann’s and thrift stores, sourcing vintage fabrics and materials to repurpose. I experimented with creating dresses, skirts, and even ventured into men’s shirts (a challenging endeavor that ultimately led nowhere).
I invested in essential branding elements – labels, hangtags, and business cards – taking the first steps towards making my creations feel like a real fashion brand.
After a year of dedicated work in my basement studio, sacrificing social events and weekends, I had amassed a closet brimming with self-made garments.
Unintentionally, I had created my first “collection,” and the question arose: what to do next?
Instinctively, I sought ways to showcase my designs to a wider audience.
Embracing Fashion Shows
Even in a smaller city like Denver, fashion shows existed. Despite my inexperience and limited resources, I leveraged favors and negotiated tirelessly to make things happen without significant financial outlay.
Friends and acquaintances became models, and I secured hair stylists, makeup artists, and a photographer through product-for-services trades.
Intense preparation and promotion became my focus.
Show nights arrived, and just as quickly, they were over. The runway shows were glamorous, exciting, and provided a fleeting sense of accomplishment.
However, the tangible results were limited to photoshoots, often in makeshift settings like alleyways, using borrowed equipment.
Anyone familiar with fashion shows knows the post-event question: what was all that work for?
Fashion shows rarely translate into direct sales.
Audiences are often more interested in socializing and enjoying a “glamorous” evening. Serious buyers are typically absent; the environment isn’t conducive to shopping.
I continued participating in shows, primarily to connect with other designers, but the lack of financial return became a growing concern.
While design was my passion, the reality of needing to build a sustainable business was undeniable.
To survive, my fashion brand needed to generate revenue. Sales were essential.
Venturing into Local Markets
Local markets became the next avenue for my fashion brand. I participated in more markets than I’d like to recall, sometimes accepting less-than-ideal venues out of sheer desperation to gain exposure.
Desperation, I learned, often leads to poor decisions.
My first market experience underscored this lesson. The market was a diverse mix of vendors selling everything from produce and honey to lavender and yarn.
Despite the mismatched environment, my youthful optimism was high. I invited everyone I knew, and my mother even flew in to support me. We loaded my truck with market essentials – a canopy, racks, hangers, a mirror, and a cash box.
The booth supplies alone cost $1000, depleting my savings. I hoped to recoup this investment and more.
Market day began at 6 am on a Saturday. We drove to Boulder, set up the booth, and displayed over 50 dresses and skirts I had created.
As attendees trickled in, some offered polite compliments, while others made dismissive remarks.
Crucially, no one purchased anything.
Invited friends offered forced smiles. Internally, I felt embarrassed and like a failure. I hadn’t even made enough to cover lunch.
Was pursuing this fashion design dream a mistake?
The disappointment was sharp and painful. I wished I hadn’t tried at all.
Especially in front of my mother.
I couldn’t even sell a single dress.
By day’s end, the past year’s efforts felt wasted. My booth investment remained untouched, but my pride had taken a significant hit.
Returning to my receptionist job, I felt dejected. Yet, ironically, the job’s unpleasantness fueled my determination to keep going.
More unsuccessful markets followed, with the same grueling early mornings and physical labor.
It was disheartening.
A Breakthrough: $2K Weekend
Then, a turning point arrived. One weekend, my fashion brand generated $2,000 in sales. This win was desperately needed.
A new market called Fashion Denver offered a fresh concept, tapping into the emerging pop-up shop trend. I had a positive feeling about it.
The familiar routine began: early wake-up, loading the truck, driving carefully, unpacking, setting up, and hoping to avoid sweating before customers arrived.
Immediately, my booth was busy. Sales poured in.
Dresses and skirts sold well. Customers appreciated my designs and were willing to spend money.
However, the majority of the revenue came from a new product line suggested by a friend, which unexpectedly complemented my vinyl record cuffs.
I decided to create 100 pairs of guitar pick earrings specifically for the Fashion Denver market.
While not my favorite design, the earrings had a significant profit margin. Production costs were minimal, assembly was quick, and they retailed at $14 each or two for $20.
They were incredibly popular.
Customers eagerly paid for them, often grabbing pairs without hesitation.
Designers at neighboring booths were visibly envious. While their designs were admired, sales were lacking.
That weekend, I earned $2,000. For the first time, I felt like my dream of building a fashion brand was attainable.
I was ecstatic.
Even if jewelry, with its higher profit margin and faster sales, was the key, I felt confident in my ability to succeed as a designer.
My dream of owning a fashion brand was becoming a reality.
Committing Fully: Quitting the Day Job
The following week, I took a leap of faith and quit my receptionist job. Young, with minimal overhead, it felt like the right moment to fully commit.
To make the business sustainable long-term, I knew market sales alone weren’t enough. I created line sheets and contacted hundreds of boutiques.
Many inquiries went unanswered.
However, some boutiques placed orders.
By mid-2007, the business appeared to be thriving. I had my own fashion brand, and it was working!
My designs were in over 50 stores and gaining press coverage, including in the Denver Post.
From the outside, everything seemed perfect. My fashion brand was stocked in shops globally, and I had two production assistants.
The pride was immense.
The Unseen Realities
Behind the scenes, the reality of owning a fashion brand was less glamorous.
Every dollar earned was reinvested, leaving little for personal income.
The work became tedious, and at times, I disliked it.
Design took a backseat to business operations.
Customer service, packing, shipping, inventory management, and dealing with chargebacks became my daily tasks.
Chasing payments from major accounts, like Hudson News, for thousands of dollars was a constant struggle, often taking months and numerous follow-ups. Sometimes, payment never arrived, even after the product had sold.
I considered shifting to retail sales for higher profits and quicker payments, but that meant managing individual orders and weekend market booths again.
I lacked the energy for either option.
Regardless of approach, selling product became a draining aspect of the fashion brand.
Product Disillusionment
Adding to the challenges, my enthusiasm for my best-selling product waned.
Launching a collection and building a fashion brand necessitates focusing on what sells, not always on personal passion.
The clothing line, while creatively fulfilling, had low profit margins, high investment, and slow sales.
Strategically, investing in low-profit items destined for discount closeouts made no business sense.
Jewelry, conversely, offered low investment, high profit, and no sizing issues.
Perseverance Despite Doubts
I had come too far to quit.
I persevered, even though I had grown to dislike my best-seller, the guitar pick earrings.
I was even embarrassed by their silliness (hence, this story remained untold until now).
(And let’s not discuss the brand name… Funklectic! A blend of funky and eclectic, which I later regretted as many misheard it as funkadelic. Lessons learned…)
To maintain creative sanity, I introduced record purses.
These were difficult to manufacture, requiring five sewers and three laser cutting companies to finalize production. Manufacturing challenges persisted.
To elevate the brand, I explored trade shows – not local craft markets, but international industry events.
I applied to a specialty show in Philadelphia and was accepted.
Inventory production became frantic. Anticipating demand was difficult, but over-preparation seemed wiser than under-supply.
Booth design, display cases, and the expensive logistics of shipping everything became new hurdles.
In Philadelphia, with my partner Marc, booth setup was sweaty and intense. Networking and selling followed.
The three-day show was grueling, filled with small talk and minimal order writing.
Budget-conscious, we ate Subway and stayed in cheap motels to minimize costs.
Despite economizing, the show cost $5,000 – every penny I had.
Orders totaled less than $2,000.
Trade show success, I learned, required repeated appearances to build credibility. While interest was present, immediate sales were low.
I persisted, fulfilling orders and saving for the next show in Las Vegas. The cycle repeated: time, money, energy, packing, shipping, setup, cheap meals, and networking with few buyers.
The Las Vegas show was even worse. Attendee traffic was low, and actual buying was almost non-existent.
Manufacturing issues forced cancellation of some of the few orders received.
Exhaustion and Financial Strain
I was depleted – emotionally, physically, and financially.
By some measures, I had achieved success. In my mid-twenties, my fashion brand grossed over $40,000 in 2007.
But the “dream life” was far from it.
The reality of low net profit, the lengthy journey, and the immense effort became stark.
Having built Funklectic for over three years, learning the industry through trial and error, I faced hard truths.
Minimal Profitability
Despite a $40,000 gross in the third year, actual profit was only around $8,000.
(Alarmingly, this is considered decent in the fashion industry).
$8,000 a year is not a livable wage.
Continuing without profitability was unsustainable. Debt, second mortgages, or dipping into savings were not options I was willing to consider.
Bankruptcy was a real concern, and I recognized the slippery slope of continuous reinvestment without return.
Money isn’t everything, but financial viability is essential.
Life has costs.
Dreams alone don’t pay bills. Runway shows and retail placements are exciting, but they don’t guarantee financial stability.
As much as I wanted to continue, I lacked the energy for constant selling. Even as a young, unburdened individual with a supportive partner, the lifestyle was unsustainable.
Uncertain about the future, my red Blackberry Pearl rang.
A New Direction
Sewing in my basement studio after the second trade show, financially drained, I received a call. It was about a job application I’d submitted on Craigslist almost a year prior – a fashion designer role.
A job interview followed, and I accepted the position immediately.
2008 was incredibly challenging and stressful.
Weeknights and weekends remained dedicated to Funklectic, while weekdays were spent at my new fashion design job.
Overworked, I was clocking 80+ hours weekly.
The new job was demanding, but I was determined to keep my fashion brand alive.
Funklectic continued into its fifth year, until early 2009. For the final year, order fulfillment continued, but new marketing and weekend markets ceased.
This shift brought relief.
Breathing room returned.
My fashion design job provided enough income and valuable industry experience.
A Pivotal Realization
A profound realization struck me.
I preferred the design aspect of the fashion industry. Working with vendors, developing products, and problem-solving during development were fulfilling.
Selling, packing, shipping, inventory management, payment chasing, chargebacks, and customer service were not. The high overhead and low personal income of running my own fashion brand were unsustainable.
After six months of reflection, I dissolved Funklectic in early 2009, coinciding with the recession. Continuing was no longer viable.
And surprisingly,
I felt better than I had in a long time.
No more inventory to manage, FedEx shipments, or consignment deliveries. (Consignment is a terrible model, avoid it.)
The relief was palpable.
I felt amazing.
Working as a fashion designer, creating products manufactured in factories overseas, was fulfilling.
Someone else handled sales, inventory, and logistics – the less enjoyable aspects of running a fashion brand.
I focused on design, fittings, and material approvals – the creative core.
A Fleeting Perfection
For the first time, everything felt perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
My dream job morphed into a nightmare.
Despite disliking the sales and shipping aspects of my own fashion brand,
Working for someone else proved even less appealing.
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