For most of my career, I wasn’t just getting dressed.
I was problem-solving.
I had a large chest and, for much of my adult life, I wasn’t confident about my torso. No matter what I ate or did, my friend muffin top was always with me. After having children, I also tended to carry even more weight around my middle and in my chest and back
So I learned exactly how to dress around all.
Open and V-necklines visually broke up my chest.
Long lapels and jackets created vertical lines through my torso.
High-waisted trousers gave me structure through the middle.
Mini-skirts moved attention away from my stomach and focused the eye around my best asset-the legz
I loved dresses that created a waist without clinging to it, and ruching or draping became very useful tools.
And a strategically chosen blazer or leather jacket could solve almost anything.
I stayed away from plenty too: certain high necklines, clingy knits, cropped proportions and anything that made me feel as if my chest or stomach was suddenly the entire outfit.
I got very good at it.
And that inevitably influenced me as a designer.
Sometimes I’d design something because I loved it and wished I could wear it—even though, personally, I didn’t feel comfortable doing so.
Then I had my fourth baby.
Afterward, I struggled with weight that felt impossible for me to shift. Eventually, through my own postpartum hormone, work out and peptide journey, my body changed in a significant and I reached a place where I felt genuinely happy with it in a way I never had
The biggest surprise wasn’t the number on the scale.
It was what happened creatively.
I stopped dressing to correct and started dressing to experiment.
Suddenly I was trying tighter silhouettes, cropped proportions and pieces I would previously have eliminated before they ever reached the fitting room.
I began shopping differently.
And I began designing differently.
This isn’t a statement about how anyone else’s body should look. It’s simply an honest observation about my own experience:
When I felt better in my body, I became much more adventurous with what I put on it.
There’s a design lesson in that too.
Constraints can make you incredibly skilled.
For 20 years, some of my constraints taught me proportion, balance, silhouette and how clothing can completely change the way someone feels.
I don’t regret learning any of that.
But removing some of those constraints has opened another creative door.
For years, I could design for a customer wearing things I loved but didn’t necessarily believe I could wear myself.
Silhouettes I’ve relied on for years ↓
Today, I increasingly get to design for her and for me.
More than 20 years into fashion—and after four babies—I’m breaking some of my own rules.
And I’m having more fun with clothes than I ever have.
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