DS9 Document EFTA01234093

VIEW Tuleh Tells: Designer Confidential ROD SkYornfoom for Ow %er York nrots I THE TEAM Bryan Bradley, left, and Josh Patner are still chasing the dream. Continued From Page I (aspiring designers be warned: learn to deal with a spread sheet) and talked with at least a dozen potential investors. One guy owned a bowling alley and thought that a fashion investment would increase his luck with the ladies. At times it seems as if half of our debt Is in glossy press kits, dispatched to any- one who might have an interest In a fledgling brand. We have turned down about half the deals, and been turned down in equal number. It is brutal out there for independ- ent designers. This is the era of the mega group: LVMH Moot Hennessy Louis Vuitton, Prada and Gucci dom- inate the game. The business pages are filled with the financial woes of department stores. where customers loom trait for OW Me,. York Times A SETTING In 2001, Tuleh staged a show at Harry Winston. have conic to expect they can buy everything on sale. Even well-heeled shoppers are wary of overspending or seeming conspicuous. I will share some financial facts with you. I am not shy about it. When you are a designer trying to build a house, you get used to opening your books on demand. It becomes like dropping your pants at a checkup. Our first season we had $75,000 in orders, a figure that has nearly dou- bled with each season. But as of today, we have about $12,000 in the bank. There has never been any cash to support our growth. We don't even have a line of credit. How has Tulch survived? Bryan and I will it to sur- vive. Every day. We are owed about $200,000, which, God willing, will be collected over the next six weeks; our current debt is more than that. Manufacturing the runway samples for a collection (excluding payroll, insurance, rent. etc.) costs about 5175,000. To produce a fashion show in the group tents in Bryant Park requires a minimum of $40,000. Our shows, which have never been in the tents (we are snobs), have cost con- siderably more. Keeping up with the cash flow could give a guy dementia. But I have learned that money is not the answer. Money has doomed more designers than it has made. Yes, a designer must have respect for money. But managing money is a talent of its own. I don't believe it Is a talent that true designers — people actually cutting clothes — have. In my opinion, a designer has no busi- ness working as a business person. Distracted by a constant lack of funds, we spend far more time chas- ing cash than great design. Believe me. we have trotted some clunkers down that expensive runway of ours. Fashion does, however, have a built- in blessing: there is always next season. I think the first secret of survival is knowing when to turn the page. Designers give up any claim to a normal life. We never eat out with friends, and don't have a summer house, a 401(k) plan. even a pay- check. When you own a business, you say goodbye to your sex life and to a fit body. Expect instead to say hello to cold. greasy Chinese food, candy, old fried chicken, cigarettes when you don't even smoke, anything to keep your nerves under control. Because you arc indebted to anyone who lent you money, did you a favor, returned your call, your nails will be bloody stubs. The small details will get away from you, then the big picture. and then suddenly the whole game. You will beg, plead, humiliate your- self to collect payment from stores while you try desperately to pay your bills. Your mother's calls never get returned. I have tried to chain half- dead seamstresses to their sewing machines late at night before a show. So we come to the second secret: keep focused on making beautiful clothes. I think that a lot of people become designers to get Invited to A-list par- ties. Yeah, we dress all the right girls. But in four years we have been invited to only one A-list party. It was in our honor. Aerin Lauder Zanier- hofer gave a dinner for us at her home after our fall 2001 show at Harry Winston last March. It was going to be our breakthrough night. Everyone was at the dinner, or rath- er everyone but us. The show had been a mess: the pants were all hemmed six inches too long. An extravagant fur came down the run- way with a huge workroom tag hang- ing from the armpit. A model wear- ing a $6 million necklace came out with her pants unzipped. Bryan and I showed up at Aerin's door two hours late, feeling puny and mortified. Third secret: keep your ego in check. A dressmaker should never be rude. So why do we even try to survive? Does somebody have a gun to our heads? Are we addicts? What exact- ly are we addicted to? Sometimes I think we are addicted to the idea of surviving, of proving the doubters wrong. But there are far more subtle, and ultimately more compelling, ad- dictions that drive us on. The fourth secret is succumbing to your addictions. I am absolutely ad- dicted to Jacki Deena Tutelman, a saleswoman at the New York office of Ratti fabrics, the Italian mill that makes our prints. Jacki has perfect nails. She pronounces "georgette" as if it were "zior-zette." So glamorous. Amanda Cutter Brooks, our in-house muse and best friend, looks so pretty in our clothes that it shocks my senses — I can't believe I had any- thing to do with it. How can we consider closing when our Neiman Marcus buyer, HIla Ekelman, says she has a customer who depends on Tuleh? I worship Raymond Chou, our main contractor, who knows more about clothes than Christian Dior did. Sometimes it is just an idea in my head that keeps me going. And no addict could ever get the pleasure Bryan and I take in seeing a woman turn on in Tuleh. It is a major rush and a very powerful feeling. Secret No. 5: learn from criticism and compliments alike. Getting re- viewed is a grisly experience. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Ironical- ly, while nothing feels better than a good review in the heat of the mo- ment, it can leave you stuck the next time. Good reviews can make a de- signer try to do the same thing again, and then what would there be to buy or to photograph? It is almost better to get a bad review If It makes you work harder. But it sure feels lousy. The last secret for survival: our most valued critics are the women who wear the clothes and the people who sell the clothes to them. Good designers must never stop listening. (After all, I'm a guy. I have never given anything I design a test drive.) We have learned that salespeople are the single greatest source of market research in our industry, yet theirs are the least-heard voices. They can tell you how best to finish a seam to make a dress alterable, how much a blouse should really cost, why velvet never sells. How has Tuleh survived? There is only one reason: the clothes. The only thing a designer can even hope to control is the clothes. Everything else is madness. It is true that we have been supported by the press, but far less than other designers have been. Our buzz sometimes buzz- es out. But Princess Firyal of Jordan called to say that the coat she or- dered fits like real couture. And Kim Hersov, an editor at Harper's & Queen. called from London to ask if we could make up a few things we thought she couldn't live without this season. And Helen Ytuane, a globe- trotting fashion editor, keeps coming back for more. Fortunately, some women love their Tuleh. So thank you, pretty ladies. Keep shopping. EFTA01234093