Four Years at Ralph Lauren

I loved working for Ralph. I’m a morning person. Loved the morning commute from the West Village, getting to my desk early, making the coffee for my coworkers. I sound like a brown noser, but I truly revered being part of an office. I started interning at 17 and sometimes still feel like a lifelong intern. All this to say, I loved the safety of working for a large publicly traded company. Zero risk.

Well, the persistent feeling of wanting to start something of my own was almost annoying at first. For years I’d have lovely little chats with myself, “Molly, you’re insane. How would you even begin? You don’t know anything about health insurance? How are you going to start a business, you went to design school?” The lovely self-talk we all engage in.

I’d been at RL for about four years and was in a cozy middle-tier associate position. I had both an assistant and a boss. I had grown a little tired of the monoculture and wanted to hop companies. The problem with being a “cheerful/smiles too much” Midwesterner is that while I wanted to move to another high-end designer, the work environment just didn’t suit me, to be frank. (We’ll do another substack about a few of my internship horror stories another day…oh, the days before anyone cared about the wellbeing of interns.) I would have been happier with more money in my pocket at an Ann Taylor or a J. Crew let’s say. But I knew that wasn’t for me.

At the same time, I had left my 1 bedroom + office with two roommates, and moved in with my brother. We were both twenty-somethings living downtown and were ready to move on from semi-random roommates. Sam and I have always been super close, and it sounded like a good idea. I’d successfully completed the West Village *constant dating & dinner parties* portion of my twenties. I was ready to move uptown and move on. Well guess what, it was BETTER than a good idea. It was probably one of the best I’ve had.

It took about a month of living together to start dancing around the idea. I just didn’t want to work for another brand, high end or mass market. Sam was starting to get the feeling he wasn’t going to be in interior design forever. He gave me the courage to start brainstorming, just in the confines of our small apartment. And little by little, we started planning.

Sewing the First Muslins Myself

First it was just gathering inspiration. What we liked from x designer and what we hated from y. Many people tell me Sam and I speak our own language and it’s true. The minute we started brainstorming, it instantly snowballed into something we couldn’t stop dreaming about. I eventually dusted off my sewing machine I hadn’t used since college and started designing a few things for myself. I was terrified. Almost embarrassed. What did I think I was doing sewing dresses myself?

Slowly, over the next year, we started making custom pieces for both myself and others. Kind, supportive friends that had zero idea what our vision was. Friends would refer friends and slowly we started to see it come together. I gained a little confidence. Sam and I ran the custom business on nights and weekends. Looking back, we were insane. We worked every night after getting home from our day jobs, starting at 7pm every night. Every Saturday and Sunday. We ate salami and drank diet coke to stay up late. I patterned, draped and sewed everything that Sam and I designed. As the demand for our custom pieces grew, we would take all our vacation/PTO to travel for clients. I would go to fabric stores at my lunch hour, take meetings with clients that I maybe said was a dentist appointment, you get the picture. Sam and I were unstoppable from the beginning.

Which was a problem. We still had zero clue how to make the jump. But I knew at the rate I was going I was going to get fired from Ralph. I went from being at my desk at 7:45 am to strolling in at 9:20 unenthused and distracted. Pre-covid, young ones, it was respected to be first in and last out in the workplace. Foreign now, I know. I digress. Sam and I sat down and boldly wrote a launch calendar and a budget.

Nine Months Learning How to Make Clothes

This was the hardest part. Over the course of the next nine months, we asked absolutely everyone we knew and everyone they knew for help. Zero ego and zero fear. We raised a small friends and family round of capital to launch the business. It became easier as the months went on because we had absolutely nothing to lose. We were building the scaffolding for the business while still at our day jobs and soon it became a reality I had to quit before we launched. I needed a full season to pitch to editors and we slotted our launch for Nov. 1, 2018.

I am a scaredy-cat. I hate change and almost everything terrifies me. Especially asking for things. But if I’ve learned anything since Sam and I started whispering about starting a business, it’s this. If you’re petrified and feel like you’re a huge imposter, you’re doing something right. No one is going to see the vision you see for yourself, so don’t expect others to dream your dreams for you. I practiced quitting Ralph for about a week. I went from wanting to lose my lunch to extreme excitement in a matter of five minutes.

Launching in November 2018

And guess what. I still love and talk to my boss to this day. My coworkers still cheer me on and some of them are my closest friends. I could never have imagined on my launch day a few months later they would be my biggest cheerleaders.

My dad designed things like zoos, aquariums & theme parks for a living. When we were little, he would make us ride the tallest, scariest rollercoasters regardless of how much we cried and screamed. Zero exceptions. And guess what…we were tall children, so we reached the height requirement way before we were supposed to. I never understood why the other kids never had to ride the rides they were afraid of, and we did. Now, well into my thirties, I still hate heights and despise outdoor adventures. But I know better than anyone that feeling of a huge incline, wanting to collapse in fear while pushing yourself out of your comfort zone in a scarier way than you could ever imagine. Because the muscle memory of the other side of the hill is worth it all. Every time.

I’m still terrified. But I’m glad I quit.