“Won’t anyone get off the elevator for Vera?” (Yes, that Vera…and the answer was no)
In the earliest days of my career, I was fortunate enough to participate in fashion week efforts while working for Vera Wang. I was asked to come in the Sunday before the show and hand tack embellishments onto satin belts to be worn by the models that would be marching down the runway and twirling about the showroom. Though this may sound like a seemingly vapid task, each tack job was inspected thoroughly by Vera’s team as if those belts would be worn by The Queen of England herself. They would pull at the belts, flick the stones and beads, fasten the belts around their waists and trounce around the room to ensure all embellishments were truly secure all while I stood anxiously waiting and watching, quietly throwing up in my mouth in fear that my handy work would not be approved.
Thankfully all belts passed inspection and I was free to go late Sunday night. Exhausted I remember taking the train back to the island in awe of how much time and energy had been expelled by the entire Vera team for weeks on end. Countless late nights spent working into the early morning hours, last minute tweaks that took days to execute, tears of exhaustion, pain, pin pricked fingers, achy feet and swollen ankles, fatigued fabric cutters slicing off fingertips. Would all of it really be worth it?
The next day, a particularly balmy day in September 2008, after weeks of slaving to ready ourselves for the big day (show day) we were in the final hours of preparation. Lunch hour began and as everyone scrambled to the elevator lobby it was obvious that one of two elevators was devastatingly out of order. In a Manhattan high rise located a block off Fashion Avenue during the busiest week of the year, having only one elevator was like losing your QB to an injury in the last quarter of the Superbowl. After twenty minutes of waiting and watching elevator after elevator pass us by filled to the brim with hordes of other fashion industry professionals, we finally decided we had to play the game and got on an elevator going up.
The Vera Wang showroom was located on the floor just above the Production floor (our floor). As we all crammed in and began our ascent, the doors opened onto the showroom floor and there stood Vera herself with our fabric specialist, Vera’s personal assistant and Vera’s personal bodyguard (this was during that weird time when Vera had a legit stalker). I was plastered up against the elevator wall as my mentoring pattern maker Deanna held my arm for balance. After fifteen seconds of awkward silence, Vera leaned over to whisper to her assistant, prompting her assistant to then address us directly. She spoke loudly to the crowded elevator, “Isn’t anyone going to get off the elevator for Vera?” she asked. The silence was so deafening my ears began to ring. My heart raced as I made a small move towards the front of the crowd. Deanna gripped my arm and whispered, “Bella, don’t you dare”, and within five seconds the doors quickly slammed shut. Everyone laughed, immediately relieved. One of the pattern makers remarked in Spanish, “She thinks we’re getting off this elevator for her? Always pushing people around, too good to talk to anyone directly, no elevator for you chica!” Another pattern maker replied in English, “You know that’s right girl!”
Later that week, on September 11th (of all the days to have a fashion show) I woke up to a text from Deanna directing me to dress my best. At that point I hadn’t been formally invited to the show nor did I expect to be but made it a point to dress “my best” as requested. Later that morning I sat at my desk working diligently on a bridesmaid pattern I had been assigned. As show time grew closer the office became progressively quieter as all of Vera’s devoted employees began their steady march to Bryant Park.
As I sat bobbing my head along with my music, eyes down, deeply focused, a delicate hand slid a small piece of cream-colored parchment under my nose. “Vera Wang invites you to The Tent at Bryant Park” it said. I almost shrieked with excitement but contained myself as I reached up to hug Deanna. I would finally attend my very first fashion week (“finally” may be a strong word, I was only twenty). I could not have been more ecstatic. As we made our way to Bryant Park, Juanita, my other mentoring pattern maker grabbed my arm and exclaimed, “Bella! You look beautiful! Congratulations!” She dragged me along through the muggy streets of Midtown, our stilettos clacking in unison as we walked.
I remember walking up the steps to the tent terrified but oh so excited. I was a ball of tangled feelings and mixed emotions. As we took our seats, I looked around at the bedlam that had seemingly swallowed our large group whole. Photographers were feverishly setting up their cameras while A through C list celebrities mingled on the other side of the runway. Suddenly loud music blared, and the room fell silent and dark. A spotlight popped on and one by one, models came sashaying down the runway, one design after the next. Camera flashes exploded sporadically and became more constant as the show neared its end. Within fifteen minutes Vera appeared from backstage to give acknowledgement to her audience. With a quick wave, she disappeared behind the large wall bearing her name and just as quickly as the show had begun it was already over. The room erupted into chaos. Photographers sprinted, celebrities dashed, models ran awkwardly in their stilettos like weak legged baby giraffes and within seconds the entire tent was vacant. Just like that. Poof, the room was empty, and everyone was gone, moving on to the next tent for the next show.
There I sat dazed, motionless, fascinated, inspired, emotional. Seeing something you made (even something as small as an embellished belt) being worn or used by someone else – there’s literally no other feeling like it in the world and I was hooked.
It’s been nearly 14 years since that day and to this day, I still can’t believe that was my life. At twenty. While I had worked my ass off to get there, the opportunity was and has never been lost on me. It’s one of those experiences I’ll never forget. It’s one of those memories I recall on the tough days. On the days I wonder why I got into this to begin with. The days I need to remind myself of the magic. Of the reason I’m here. My WHY. The truth of the matter is, whether it’s belts or sashes, bridesmaids’ gowns or wedding gowns, sunglasses, hats, men’s boxers, or women’s swim, luggage or a handbag, the pure joy that creating brings me is the reason I get up at 4am every morning. I was put on this Earth to create, to help people create, to help brands create. That is my why. Never underestimate the power of your own why and if you haven’t figured it out yet, there’s no time like the present. Go find your magic.
With love and light – Stay safe, stay stylish, stay humble…
XO
Erin
Founder
Product Haus
Ps. You better believe I kept that invite ☺
