E42 Transcript
Imagine walking into a room where fabric reps are laying out the latest fabric samples in every color and every texture you can dream of.
Buttons and trims spilling across the table like treasure, just waiting to be chosen.
For a fabric lover like me, this was absolute heaven — and for years, it wasn’t a once-in-a-while treat. It was part of my daily life.
But it didn’t start this way.
My journey into the professional fabric and design world began at the very bottom, with a scissors in hand, cutting sample pieces and dreaming about the day I’d get to sit at that table.
Over time, I worked my way up — learning, stumbling, refining — until eventually, I found myself not just at the table, but leading the team that gathered around it.
Along the way, I discovered so much about focus, process, and the kind of creative leadership that doesn’t just produce beautiful garments… it builds confidence, clarity, and vision.
Last week, we talked about the sewing life I built during my younger years, back when sewing was all about independence and self-expression.
Today, we’re stepping into a whole new chapter — one filled with creativity, collaboration, and just a little bit of chaos.
And even if you never plan to work in a design house, there’s something here for you.
Because the lessons I learned in those rooms — about choosing what matters, about honoring your own creative process, and about leading and coaching yourself well — are lessons that apply whether you’re making for fun, selling at a local market, or building a thriving creative business.
So let’s pull back the curtain on the world of professional design, and see what treasures we can find for your own creative journey.
This series has been a journey through the moments and milestones that shaped my creative life.
As we move into today’s story, I want you to think about your own creative path — the turning points, the surprises, and the lessons that may have been preparing you for where you are right now. I encourage you to look closely at the moments in your own journey where your creativity leveled up, so to speak — when you felt a shift from hobbyist to something more.
Because sometimes, we don’t see the full picture until we look back and realize how those pieces fit together.
My very first job out of design school was about as entry-level as it gets: I was a sample cutter.
I thought I knew everything fresh out of college… spoiler alert — I didn’t.
I wasn’t in the design room, at least not at first.
I was just outside of it, carefully laying out professional patterns and cutting the styles for the day’s work.
I’d run through those cutting tasks as quickly as I could, always hoping I might get a few precious minutes inside the design room. And every so often, I’d get called in — to sew on a last-minute button before market, or to press the samples so they’d look perfect for a presentation.
Those moments were golden.
I’d ask questions, listen carefully, and quietly observe everything, soaking up every detail like a sponge.
Now, here’s the funny thing — I wasn’t exactly in love with the fabric this company was known for. It wasn’t my personal taste at all.
One day, the lead designer gave me a piece of advice I’ve never forgotten. She said,
“I don’t like or wear this type of fabric either. But here’s the thing — if you can learn to make beautiful, marketable styles with this… you can design anything.
It’s easy to make something stunning when you’re working with beautiful fabrics.
The real skill comes from taking something ordinary — even uninspiring — and making it shine.”
She was right.
And as my career unfolded, I saw just how valuable that mindset was.
After that first job, I moved on to another company, this time as a first pattern maker.
My role was to take the designer’s sketch and create the very first prototype pattern — the one that showed the initial concept, shape, and overall feel of the piece.
It didn’t have to be perfect, but it had to be clear enough for everyone to see whether the design would work and, ultimately, whether it would make the final line.
This job taught me so much about collaboration.
I worked closely with the sewists in the design room, the ones tasked with taking my patterns and turning them into real garments. The fact that I could sew myself gave me instant credibility — they knew I understood their challenges.
There was a mutual respect there. When they struggled to make a design come together, I didn’t just hand them the pattern and walk away.
I rolled up my sleeves, worked alongside them, and sometimes even sat down at the machine to figure it out together.
That experience shaped how I approached every role that followed.
As I moved up — from pattern maker to design assistant, to senior designer, and eventually to Director of Product Development — I always carried that perspective with me.
Because here’s the thing: by the time I became a designer, I knew exactly what it took to make a garment.
I never had to worry about designing something that couldn’t actually be produced.
I didn’t have to face the embarrassment of handing over an impossible design because I understood the process from start to finish.
That was a huge advantage.
Looking back, I wouldn’t trade that climb for anything.
Each role built on the one before it, stacking experience and insight like building blocks.
And now, when I coach creative entrepreneurs, I can guide them through every single step of the process — because I’ve lived it.
So here’s what I want you to think about:
Take a look at your own creative journey.
Even if it doesn’t seem connected now, even if the steps feel small or random, there’s a good chance those experiences have prepared you for something bigger.
Nothing you’ve learned is wasted. It’s all part of the process — and one day, you may look back and see just how beautifully it all fits together.
When I finally became a full-fledged designer, one of my biggest responsibilities — and honestly, one of my greatest joys — was choosing the fabrics and trims for each season’s line.
I worked in women’s sportswear and coordinates, which meant that every collection needed several fabrics that could work together.
And for a fabric lover like me, this was heaven on earth.
Almost every day of the week, fabric reps would arrive at our offices carrying suitcases filled with fabric swatches.
They’d lay out huge swatches across the tables — bolts and cuts in every color, every texture, every weave you could imagine.
My fellow designers and I would gather around, passing swatches back and forth, debating over which ones to select.
Sometimes two of us would reach for the same fabric at the same time, and there’d be this little moment of, “Okay, wait… who gets to use this one?”
Because we couldn’t both have it!
Once we’d chosen our fabrics, we’d pull out the purchase order pads and start writing.
Five yards of this, ten yards of that — carefully noting the fabric content, the width, the price per yard.
It felt like a dance: selecting, ordering, planning.
And just when you thought you’d seen it all, the next day a button rep would come in with trays of buttons in every shape and finish you could imagine.
The day after that, a trim rep would arrive, unrolling ribbon, braid, and other embellishments across the table.
The process never got old.
I never, ever got tired of it — not for a single second.
I got better at it, too. Faster, more decisive.
The energy in that design room was electric.
Imagine a team of creatives, all buzzing with ideas, bouncing concepts off each other, fabrics draped over chairs, buttons rolling across the table, and the hum of machines coming from the sample room nearby.
It was intoxicating.
And it wasn’t just fun — it was deeply educational.
Because here’s what I quickly learned:
Choosing fabrics wasn’t just about falling in love with something pretty.
It was about balance.
Balance between aesthetics and functionality.
Balance between creative vision and price point.
Every season, I had to keep my target customer front and center:
What did she love?
What could she afford?
I began to understand the exact types of fabrics, trims, and buttons that would work — and, just as importantly, which ones wouldn’t.
Each line had strict parameters. I knew the top price per yard I could spend on fabric to keep the finished garment affordable.
At first, I hated this. I’ll admit it.
Fresh out of design school, I thought those rules were stifling my creativity.
I wanted total freedom to create whatever I wanted!
But over time, I realized something profound:
Structure doesn’t limit creativity — it empowers it.
It’s like having rails on both sides of the path.
You can run, jump, and play inside those boundaries, knowing you’ll never fall off completely.
Author Todd Henry said it perfectly:
“Constraints don’t stifle creativity — they drive it.
Freedom within structure gives you the confidence to explore without fear of losing your way.”
Wise words indeed, and once I embraced that idea, everything changed.
Those “rules” weren’t holding me back — they were guiding me, giving me the clarity I needed to make better, faster decisions and to innovate within the reality of the business.
This lesson applies to you, too — even if you’re sewing just for yourself or making a few pieces to sell locally.
When you choose fabrics, don’t just think about what looks pretty.
Consider how it will function:
Will it drape the way you need it to?
Will it hold up over time?
Will it fit the purpose you have in mind?
And just like I had to stay mindful of a budget, think about your parameters:
How much you’re willing to spend, how the piece will be worn, and how it fits into your overall creative vision.
Professional designers have to make hundreds of decisions every season, all within certain constraints.
You can bring a little bit of that same professional mindset into your own creative process — and it can transform the way you choose, plan, and create.
If you think being surrounded by mountains of fabric swatches is overwhelming, let me tell you — that’s nothing compared to sitting through a full-blown seasonal trend presentation in the fashion industry.
These events were huge.
Several hundred designers, buyers, and merchandisers would file into a hotel ballroom, buzzing with anticipation.
At the front of the room, a well-known presenter from New York or Los Angeles would take the stage, ready to share their insights on what was happening in Paris, Milan, London — all the global fashion capitals.
For hours, we’d sit through this visual feast — or assault, depending on how you looked at it — covering everything coming for the next season.
First, they’d unveil the hottest colors — which shade would be “the new black.”
Then came the fabrics and trims:
the weaves, textures, and embellishments we were likely to see flooding the market.
Finally, they’d move on to silhouettes and shapes, breaking down what had appeared on the European runways and what that meant for ready-to-wear lines like ours.
By the end, my brain would feel like it had been put through a blender.
I can’t tell you how many times I walked out of those presentations thinking,
“Well, I guess everything is a trend now. So… what do I do with that?”
That was the challenge: out of all that noise, I had to drill down to the one, two, or maybe three things that truly resonated — the ones that fit my brand, my target customer, and my price point.
There was no Pinterest, no social media, no YouTube runway recaps back then.
Those trend presentations were our only real window into the wider fashion world.
But today, you face a similar — maybe even bigger — challenge.
You have instant access to every idea imaginable.
Scroll through Instagram, YouTube, or TikTok, and you’ll see every style, every color, every niche all at once.
Want to make Victorian-inspired home décor? Someone out there is making it — and selling it.
Prefer a minimalist, modern aesthetic? There’s a whole community for that, too.
The options are endless.
And while that abundance is amazing, it can also be paralyzing.
Just like I had to do back in those ballroom presentations, you have to filter.
Here’s what I learned:
Trends are inspiration, not orders.
They’re suggestions, not rules.
There was a time in history when following a trend could almost guarantee a sale.
But today, it’s different.
Trends are just one tool in your creative toolbox — something to spark ideas, not dictate them.
And that same principle applies to all the information coming at you now:
the tips, tutorials, “must-have” tools, even the advice I share in my own newsletter.
When I include color forecasts or style suggestions, it’s never because I want you to feel pressured to follow them.
It’s an invitation to imagine: “What if this worked for me? For my customer? For my creative vision?”
If it resonates, wonderful — use it.
If it doesn’t, set it aside.
That’s the key to staying grounded in today’s noisy world.
You get to choose what matters to you and leave the rest behind.
So the next time you find yourself overwhelmed by all the trends and possibilities swirling around you, remember this:
You don’t have to do it all.
You only need to choose the one or two things that light you up — and let the rest go.
So, how do you know which ideas to follow and which ones to set aside?
Honestly, a lot of it comes down to fully knowing yourself — and understanding how your creative process actually works.
Remember that designer I mentioned earlier, the one who gave me that sage advice when I was fresh out of school?
Let’s call her Liz.
Years later, we found ourselves working side by side at a high-end luxury company that made women’s clothing and home goods.
I had just been hired as a senior designer, and to say I was thrilled would be an understatement.
This was a big leap forward for me — and I was now responsible for the most expensive, high-profile line the company produced.
I walked into the design room on that first day, ready to prove myself, and there she was — Liz — along with another designer we’ll call Sue.
The three of us shared one large room.
Along one entire wall was a massive cork board, divided into three sections.
Each of us had our own space to pin inspiration:
swatches, sketches, trims, tear sheets from magazines, even photos of garments or details that sparked an idea.
It was like a giant, evolving mood board for each of our seasonal collections.
At the start of the season, our job was to gather as much inspiration as possible: fabrics, buttons, trims, images — anything that might get our creative juices flowing.
Then, over the next three months, we were expected to sketch designs, have patterns made, get approvals from the director, and finally prepare duplicates for the many markets where the line would be sold.
It was a tightly timed process… and here’s where things got interesting.
Liz and Sue worked at a steady, predictable pace.
Each week, they’d sketch a few designs, have samples made, get them approved or rejected, and keep refining.
Lots of revisions. Lots of “almost there” garments that never made the cut.
But week after week, they had visible progress.
My process… looked nothing like that.
By week five or six, their sections of the cork board would be covered in sketches and samples in various stages of approval.
Mine?
My section was overflowing with swatches, trims, inspirational photos, and ideas — but not a single final sketch.
I was constantly gathering, seeding my imagination, and waiting for the pieces to click into place.
Try as I might, I just couldn’t force a design out before it felt ready.
By week six or seven, Liz and Sue would be moving into their final round of approvals…
and my board still looked like a Pinterest explosion of ideas with no finished designs.
And then — almost like magic — somewhere around week seven or eight, I’d come in one morning, sit down at my desk, and suddenly… it would all pour out of me.
Complete collections.
Coordinated groups of styles.
Dozens of finished designs, fully realized, ready to be pinned up on the board in one dramatic reveal.
It was like a floodgate opening.
And here’s the thing: those designs were rarely changed by the director.
She almost always approved them exactly as they were.
But before I understood what was happening, that process caused me a lot of pain.
One day, about halfway through the season, the director called me into her office and absolutely let me have it.
She told me I was slow.
That I was uncreative.
That I was a poor designer who wasn’t pulling her weight.
I walked back to the design room in tears, completely crushed.
That’s when Liz stepped in.
She looked at my board, looked at me, and said, “Wait a minute. The director didn’t reject a single design, did she?”
Through my tears, I shook my head.
“Exactly,” she said.
“Meanwhile, Sue and I have been through round after round of rejections, trying to get just a handful of styles approved.
You may work differently, but clearly, it’s working. You just need to trust your process.
And don’t let…insert director’s name here…get to you!”
It was like a lightbulb went on.
My way wasn’t wrong — it was just different.
From that moment on, I stopped beating myself up for not working like everyone else.
I leaned into my process and started planning around it instead of trying to fight it.
And I’ve carried that lesson with me ever since.
Even today, when I’m working on a mixed media collage collection or building out a new program for my business, I still gather, seed, and then create in one big burst.
What about you?
Is there something about the way you work that drives you — or maybe even others — a little crazy?
Maybe it’s not wrong.
Maybe it’s just your process.
Instead of resisting it, learn to plan with it.
Because when you honor the way you’re wired to create, you give yourself the freedom to do your best work — and the confidence to let go of everyone else’s expectations.
By the time I became Director of Product Development, I’d come a very long way from that first job cutting samples outside the design room.
In this role, I wasn’t just focused on my own designs anymore — I was leading both the design and technical teams, while also working closely with our production and import teams.
It was a whole new level of responsibility.
My job was no longer about a single garment or even a single collection — it was about creating systems that would allow creativity and production to flow smoothly from start to finish.
And here’s where my earlier experiences became invaluable.
Because I had started at the very bottom, I understood exactly what it took to do each job along the way.
That insight shaped the kind of leader I wanted to be.
I never wanted to be “one of those” directors — the kind who hands down orders without understanding the work it takes to carry them out.
Instead, I focused on creating rails on both sides of the path — a structure that gave my teams clear direction and boundaries, but also the freedom to play within those boundaries.
Todd Henry describes this idea beautifully.
“When you give people clear expectations and resources, you give them the freedom to be wildly creative — because they know where the edges are.”
That’s exactly what I tried to do.
I didn’t want to stifle innovation.
I wanted my teams to feel safe to experiment, to try bold ideas, and to bring their own unique processes to the table.
That’s what I want for you.
I want you to feel safe to experiment, to try bold ideas and bring your own unique processes to life.
Over time, I realized that leading creatives isn’t just about directing their work.
It’s about respecting their processes and giving them the tools to succeed.
Those years shaped me in ways I didn’t fully appreciate at the time.
Now, in my own business, I bring those same principles to the way I teach and mentor creative entrepreneurs.
Whether it’s through my online courses, my membership community, or the resources I create, my goal is the same:
to help others honor their creativity, build strong foundations, and design businesses that fit the way they work — not the other way around.
Looking back, I can see how every stage of my career — from cutting those first samples to leading entire teams — prepared me for the work I do today.
And that’s why I’m so passionate about helping others on their own creative journeys.
Because I know what it’s like to start at the bottom, to feel overwhelmed by choices, and to wonder if you’ll ever find your own way forward.
And I know what’s possible when you do.
You know, when I look back at those years, I realize they weren’t just about fabrics and designs.
They were about growth — learning who I was as a creative and as a leader.
They were about collaboration — working alongside incredibly talented people, each with their own styles and processes, and figuring out how to bring all those voices together into something cohesive and beautiful.
And most of all, they were about honoring my own creativity, while also making space for others to do the same.
As you think about your own journey, I want to invite you to take a moment and reflect.
What have you learned about yourself along the way?
Are there patterns you’ve noticed in the way you create — the rhythms, quirks, or tendencies that seem to show up again and again?
Maybe there’s something you’ve always thought of as a weakness, but what if it’s actually part of your unique creative process?
How might you embrace those patterns instead of resisting them?
Because when you lean into the way you’re wired to create, you not only free yourself to do your best work — you also give others permission to do the same.
And speaking of spaces where creativity comes to life, next week we’re stepping back into my personal world for a very special episode.
We’ll explore a place that’s close to my heart — my fabric room.
The shelves, the trims, the treasures, and the stories behind them.
It’s a behind-the-scenes peek into the space where so many of my creative dreams have been imagined, planned, and brought to life.
I can’t wait to share it with you.
Until then, keep noticing the ways your creativity shows up — and keep creating in a way that feels true to you.
