From the Studio
Columbia's Story and My First Fashion Show
On Valentine's Day, we had a fashion show.
The skirts I have poured over, got to show off the only way they can: on women of all shapes, ages and personal styles.
The salon stretched her legs. We moved into the attached atrium: all the mannequins, the antique buffet, my moodboard, portraits of the women who stitch our skirts, my lighting and photography backdrop…
And then came Columbia. Driving 4 hours to be a part of the evening. Sharing her story, which changed the feeling in the room. After a collective exhale, there was such joy and celebration as we...
Tariffs and Ice Cream
I’ve been dreaming of expanding into new fabric types, but getting there takes careful steps. These split skirts became an experiment—testing whether shipping fabric from New York City would be prohibitively expensive, and embracing a higher cost per skirt so this tricky fabric could be stitched with extra time, precision, and care.
They’re also the first skirts to arrive with added tariffs—25% on this shipment, and 50% on the next. The pursuit of beauty doesn’t pause when things get hard. This skirt has become a reminder of that: intentional decisions with higher costs, made even costlier by tariffs, yet...
7 Questions About My Business (and What I’ve Learned Along the Way)
I was recently interviewed by a business student, and I thought I’d share my answers here as a sort of “get to know me” segment.
Why My Skirts Are Based on the Ribcage
When I was in college, I took figure drawing classes for my art minor. We spent class time sketching live models, but our homework? Bones. Our professor insisted we learn to draw skeletons—because if we could understand the structure underneath, we could draw the outside.
Start with the structure.
In the final weeks of my senior year, my fashion show was complete, my internship in New York was secured, and I found myself with unstructured studio time. So I made something...
An invitation...
The reality of work-life balance? Giving up control.
If I want to host Olive’s friends for her birthday, enjoy lazy mornings in the backyard, or drop everything to picnic and sketch in the park, it means I ship orders at odd times. My studio—and my business brain—becomes a heap of half-finished projects, stacked precariously but intentionally, so that whenever a quiet moment appears, I can pick up where I left off.
The mental side might be the hardest. I check out so completely that checking back in feels jarring. The gears...
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