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 just for fun: a paperbag waist skirt with wide elastic.
A few months later, I wore that very skirt to The Lion King on Broadway. The tickets were a graduation gift from my siblings.
A few years after that, I had my baby girl. None of my old clothes fit. My new ones pulled and sagged. But that skirt? With one small adjustment, it still fit, flattered, made me feel like myself: I pulled the waist up onto my ribcage, above my postpartum belly.
So when I added skirts back to my collection in 2018, I returned to that pattern. It had already proven itself—from Broadway to postpartum. It was timeless. Adaptable. I added a crotch to some versions, creating what I now call “split skirts,” for even more freedom of movement.
Since then, I’ve made versions of this design for toddlers and great-grandmothers. For bodies 3 feet tall to 6 feet tall. For waists from 24" to 54". For every season of life.
What makes it work? It’s not just the fullness or comfort or the beauty of the fabric. It’s where it sits.
Yes, my skirts are high-waisted—but more specifically, they’re ribcage-waisted. Designed to rest where your body wants them to: somewhere between ribcage and natural waist. That placement shifts slightly from person to person, and from season to season, and the skirt adapts. The elastic finds its home.
A design that begins at the structure—it works because it honors the body beneath.