Breakin' into
the Fashion Industry

a jewelry designer shows her portfolio
to Bendel's fashion and accessory buyers

© by Marcy Einhorn; all rights reserved

New York City: Someone said there were 60 m.p.h. winds in New York City one morning in October, but that didn't stop an intrepid group of fashion industry novices from queuing up out-of-doors for a shot at their big break - the ritual "open-see" at Henri Bendel.

By the time I arrived at 56th Street and Fifth Avenue at a little before nine o'clock in the morning, the line of fashionistas already snaked from the middle of the block, back to Fifth Avenue and around to 55th Street. And this despite the prevailing winds and the blustery, umbrella-snatching rain.

Like crusaders in search of the Holy Grail, each person in the line bore gifts of splendor, to be revealed, like an epiphany, at that special moment, when the gods of fashion, otherwise known as Bendel's fashion and accessory buyers, called out your name to signal your chance at 15 minutes of fame, more or less.

With the dedication usually shown only by U.S. postal delivery people, a few hundred jewelry, clothing and accessory designers braved the winds and rain to deliver their message, and a look at their goods, to the panel of experts buried deep in the bowels of Bendel's 56th Street headquarters.

Like hardened New Yorkers, and wanna-be New Yorkers, neither rains nor winds nor long lines were enough to deter these hardy creative types from their chosen mission.

News that an "open-see" would be held had come to these supplicants earlier in the month, over the internet, and by calling a designated phone number. Since this "American Idol" of the fashion set happens on short notice, and at unpredictable times, it's a do-or-die event: people call in sick from their day jobs, slip out on scheduled appointments, and travel to New York City from far and wide whenever an open-see is announced.

Almost an hour in the rain didn't dampen the "esprit d'corps" among strangers on the line. After all, it was a long-shot that anyone on line would actually come out a winner, with an order from Henri Bendel, at the end of the morning.

So why not be civil and exchange business cards, and marketing tips, with other like-minded creative types looking for a shot at the brass ring.

I carried my portfolio of hand-made beaded jewelry in a standard issue nylon backpack. Others hauled all sorts of satchels, garment bags, suitcases and wheeled carts, almost all in obligatory NYC black, with the size and shape determined by the wares to be displayed that day.

The informal survey I conducted while passing the time on line revealed that 4 out of 4 people I addressed were also showing jewelry that day, a statistic borne out by the long sign-in sheet for jewelry designers, relative to the shorter lists for men's and women's fashion, handbags, and other accessories.

But I was not to be easily discouraged. Fledgling marketing efforts and intermittent sales over the past few years had convinced me that there was a market for my goods. Now, if I could only convince the buyers at Bendel's that we would make beautiful music, or more precisely, money, together....

After 40 minutes or so on the street, the queue was coralled into Bendel's, 20 to 30 at a time. Once inside the building, a conga-line of designers snaked down two or three serious flights of stairs, and emptied out directly in front of the employee time clocks and lockers. After a bit more snaking, and a sign-in, everyone was directed to a waiting area- with just enough chairs, in the employee snack bar.

Hot coffee, bottled water and easy access to clean bathrooms kept the expectant group at ease, and the regular call of names from the lists reassured us that we would, in fact, get a chance to show our wares to a real live buyer.

I have to admit, Bendel's crowd-handlers were courteous and well-organized, and there was little confusion about where you belonged or the fairness of the process, despite the potential for chaos.

It was just after 11 a.m. when my name was finally called. I gave a heavenward glance to the deity of my choice, and took my place in the final line of the morning.

Like the dancers' tryouts made famous in A Chorus Line, I hoped for a chance to tell my story convincingly enough to stay in the game.

When called, I stepped up to the buyers' table to face a buyer of indeterminate goods, whom I shall call Steve. Other buyers had identified themselves with tags: "handbags," "women's," "men's," "accessories." But Steve remained untagged, and I was completely at his mercy.

I had learned about giving a prepared ten-second "elevator" speech at a class for entrepreneurs, but everything I learned went out the window as I stepped up to Steve's seat at the table.

I did remember to unroll my black and red velvet portfolio, however. I adjusted my collection lovingly, and went right into describing my materials and my target market, after Steve had the good graces to introduce himself to me.

Though polite, Steve's next comments to me were short and to the point: "This is not our look. Have you looked upstairs? This is what Bergdorf's sells. This is beautiful. But this is not our look."

And that was it.

I'd gotten my chance, I certainly couldn't deny that. The fashion gods must have been smiling on other designers that day. Henri Bendel and I were not going to go any further down this road together, at least for now.

Dejected a bit, but proud of the effort, I rewrapped my portfolio, scooted back up what now seemed like six flights of stairs, lifted my collar against the weather, and headed back into the extraordinariness of pedestrian traffic on 56th Street and Fifth Avenue.

"Screw your courage to the sticking point," said Shakespeare. And that's just what I had done, in this latest step in my quest to break into the fashion industry, by taking a stab at one of its hottest venues.

Forty-eight hours after my open-see efforts, none other than the New York Times ran a feature article about the trials and tribulations of breaking into the high-end jewelry trade.

A handful of loyal colleagues at my day job made sure to stop by and show me the story: "we want to see you in Tiffany's" one was kind enough to say. "I'm doing what I can," I shared, and glowed in the retelling of my first open-see, with the satisfaction of knowing I had not only thrown myself into the lion's den, but had beat the New York Times by living the story before it was in print.

Next stop: The "3 B's" of fashion. Look out Bergdorf's, Bloomies, Barney's. I've got you in my sights, and I'm headed your way. Damn the torpedoes, as they used to say in the movies. Full-speed ahead!

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