Bill Cunningham – Fashion Climbing

I just found my must read for this fall – it turns out Bill Cunningham, the beloved New York street fashion photographer, left behind a memoir about his life in the fashion industry. Cunningham was notoriously shy about his own past when he was alive, but it seems he wanted the last word!

In a preview of the book in today’s New York Times, a quote from the first chapter touches upon Cunningham’s childhood and his stern Catholic mother: “There I was, 4 years old, decked out in my sister’s prettiest dress. Women’s clothes were always much more stimulating to my imagination. That summer day, in 1933, as my back was pinned to the dining room wall, my eyes spattering tears all over the pink organdy full-skirted dress, my mother beat the hell out of me, and threatened every bone in my uninhibited body if I wore girls’ clothes again.”

The balance of the book is more about his personal story of working through the fashion industry from stockroom boy, to milliner, to photographer of New York’s most fashion-conscious elite. Although a few characters don’t come off too well, like columnist Eugenia Sheppard, the book is less a tell-all tale than a personal memoir.

Penguin Press is publishing the book this year for a September release.

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What is Vintage?

Here’s an interesting article about how Chanel is suing the New York vintage clothing store What Goes Around Comes Around for selling ‘vintage’ Chanel. The company is citing unfair competition, false advertising, and trademark infringement.

What Goes Around Comes Around has been in business for 25 years and has a very chic looking online website where all their merchandise, by various makers, is sold with clear catalogue-quality photos. Everything is in top condition and appears unworn. It doesn’t look like your typical vintage shop, but that’s because the owners spend a lot of time making it that way. They are trying to make used clothing a viable part of the contemporary fashion market, and so the goods have to be fresh and wearable.

The shop’s goods mostly date from the last 25 years, which Chanel says isn’t vintage, citing the Federal Trade Commission as defining vintage as being at least 50 years of age. I looked it up and the Federal Trade Commission does say “A vintage collectible is an item that is at least 50 years old.” However, the trade commission’s concern is not with the definition of vintage, but rather confusion in the marketplace over what is an antique, vintage collectible and reproduction. The general thought is that something becomes vintage after about 20 years. eBay, Etsy, and the Vintage Fashion Guild all follow that idea of about 20 years to call a garment or accessory vintage.

The term vintage is loose. It is used in the wine industry to describe a particularly good year (not relevant to any particular age – last year could be vintage.) It is used by car collectors to refer to something similar, but does also require at least 25 years of age. The term is also used by Oriental carpet dealers to refer to non-antique carpets (a nice way to say used but quality). The term vintage in the used clothing industry is in itself a vintage term, popping up in the mid 1960s when vintage clothing boutiques started opening up for their hippy clients. However, the term is not set in stone — Patsy Stone in Absolutely Fabulous quips that her clothes are vintage as soon as they come back from the dry cleaner.

As for the rest of the claim by Chanel against the vintage clothing store. They cite finding one counterfeit Chanel bag amongst their stock, but that is why the shop has a guarantee of authenticity for their merchandise, so in case this happens, you can return the bag without problems. Mistakes can happen as there are some very good Chanel fakes out there, and the store obviously has a good reputation, otherwise it wouldn’t still be in business 25 years later. As Chanel is known to be uncooperative and will not authenticate any Chanel item unless there is also a proof of purchase receipt from a Chanel dealer, it seems Chanel itself isn’t exactly an expert at identifying their own goods.

This lawsuit is a case of David and Goliath. Chanel looks silly for making a big todo over one fake purse and the definition of vintage. Chanel says the store damages Chanel’s reputation, but I think silly lawsuits are doing that just fine.

Posted in Designers/Couturiers, fashion industry, Vintage clothing | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Fashion in Song – The Hat My Father Wore on St. Patrick’s Day (1909)

First recorded by Billy Murray, 1909, the song was revived 40 years later by Gene Kelly in the 1949 film Take Me Out to the Ballgame.

“Where did you get that hat?” folks ask me every day
“Isn’t it a nifty one?” I’ve often heard them say
“Keep it on, it’s funny! Can’t you see the people smile?”
It keeps me busy telling them the history of this tile!
The hat my dear old father wore upon St. Patrick’s Day
Talk about respect! with his head erect as he marched along Broadway
“Not a man in line looked half so fine,” my dear old mother used to say
“As your father did with that old-time lid upon Saint Patrick’s Day!”
The hat my dear old father wore upon St. Patrick’s Day
Talk about respect! with his head erect as he marched along Broadway
“Not a man in line looked half so fine,” my dear old mother used to say
“As your father did with that old-time lid upon Saint Patrick’s Day!”
I wouldn’t trade that hat for anything on earth
I keep it as a relic of the land of Daddy’s birth
A finer sky-piece never covered gray-haired, silvery locks

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Hubert de Givenchy, 1927 – 2018

In 1952, at the age of 25, Count Hubert James Marcel Taffin de Givenchy founded his house of fashion. Born in Beauvais, France, Givenchy studied law before entering the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris.

The year after he opened his atelier, he met his longtime muse, Audrey Hepburn. The little black dresses he designed for her to wear in Breakfast at Tiffany’s became style icons of the era. “Givenchy’s creations always gave me a sense of security and confidence,” Hepburn once said. The two remained friends until her death in 1993.

Audrey Hepburn at a Givenchy fitting, 1959

His clothes are recognizable by their elegant simplicity — he is credited with introducing the chemise or sack dress, as well as the princess silhouette that molded over the bosom and swung outwards to the hemline.

In 1969, Givenchy began designing a line of menswear, and a year later branched out further into furnishing fabrics. In 1988 he sold his label to the French luxury goods group LVMH (Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy) for a reported $45 million, although he remained head of creative design until he retired in 1995.

His successors included John Galliano, Alexander McQueen, Julien MacDonald. Riccardo Tisci, and Claire Keller, who took over as the label’s first female artistic director in 2017. Givenchy died March 10, 2018 at the age of 91. He is survived by his partner, Philippe Venet.

Posted in Designers/Couturiers | 2 Comments

What fashion cost in 1926 – Men

From the same 1926 Motion Picture Classic magazine series as Clara Bow’s oufit, comes this article with the breakdown for how Ramon Novarro’s evening suit cost $430.00 (not including shirt studs and cuff links, which could range in price from $25.00 to thousands – if studded with diamonds…) Translating $430.00 into today’s money would be about $6,000.00. Take away the hat ($10.00), cane ($12.00) and evening gloves ($5.00) as they are no longer worn, as well as the topcoat ($75.00), which is not pictured but included in the price, the adjusted value of the 1926 outfit in terms of finding a modern equivalent is closer to $330.00, which is about $4,600.00 in today’s money.

Today, a ready-to-wear tuxedo ranges between about $1,000 and $3,000 (up to $10,000, if custom made). Men’s evening shoes range from about $400 to $2,000, tuxedo shirts range between $60 and $300, bow ties cost $40 to $150, a pair of black silk socks range from $50 to $100, and a white linen handkerchief costs about $15 to $50. The total ranges from a low end of about $1,600 to a high end of about $5,500 (more if the tuxedo is custom made, as Ramon Novarro’s was.) In the picture it suggests Navarro’s suit would cost about the same as a flivver coupe, which was the cheapest car on the market in 1926. Today’s cheapest cars range between $9,000 and $12,000, which about equals the value of a custom made tuxedo in today’s money. It seems nothing has changed since 1926!

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What fashion cost in 1926 – Women

Interesting image from 1926 showing the value of Clara Bow’s outfit. Her high end outfit cost $346.50 in 1926, that would be the equivalent of about $4,500 – $5,000 in today’s dollars. That sounds like a lot of money, but this is not a fast fashion outfit – the garment is made of silk, her purse is made of lizard skin, and she is wearing a string of pearls. It’s hard to find a lizard skin bag today priced at less than $2,000.00, and a string of pearls ranges from $500 to $1000.00. Like today, you can also buy inexpensive clothes — cotton and rayon dresses are advertised in the $8.00 – $12.00 range in the late 1920s. As well,  how money was spent differed in 1926. The average 3 bedroom suburban house in 1926 cost about $5,000, the equivalent of about $55,000 today. You might be able to find a house at that price in an economically depressed city like Detroit, but $550,000.00 is closer to being more accurate for most cities today.

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More Master John

Last year I wrote about legendary Toronto bootmaker Master John. Fashion journalist Nathalie Atkinson also wrote about him as part of her ‘Clearly Canadian’ series on Canadian fashion design for the Globe and Mail. We were both working on shoestrings of information gleaned from a few articles that appeared in the 1970s, but Atkinson’s tribute attracted the attention of Master John’s son, Minas, which Nathalie kindly shared with me. So, armed with more information, here again is a tribute to Toronto’s platform king Master John.

Born in Mytilini, Lesbos, Master John’s real name was Giannis Hatzigiannatzoglou. When he emigrated to Toronto from Athens with his wife Elli in 1970 he became better known by his professional, and more easily pronounceable name, John Masters. Their story was a classic rags to riches tale. Trained as shoemakers in Greece, Giannis and Eli briefly worked in a Toronto shoe factory before they began to make their own line of boots and shoes out of the garage behind their Bathurst street home, near the now demolished Honest Ed’s. Instead of traditional styles, they made platform shoes and boots, and “…got a couple of local guys to start selling them around pool halls,” Hatzigiannatzoglou says.

The first retail outlet was in the basement of a shoe repair shop on Gerrard Street before opening their own shop on Yonge street near Wellesley. At the height of their success, there were two shops on Yonge street, one at 613/611 and the other at 593. According to Hatzigiannatzoglou “Any local acts or big bands who came to town, they’d go to do an interview at Q107, then go to the House of Lords to get a haircut and then they’d go to Master John’s. AC/DC, Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, KISS, movie stars, TV stars — Leonard Nimoy was a client.”

At its peak in the mid 1970s, there were two Toronto factories making boots and shoes for their own stores, as well as a couple dozen other retailers across the province, and the department store Eatons. As the platform craze died down, one of the factories was sold in 1978 to settle bank debts. New designs were introduced, like ankle-high fringed elf boots, but ultimately it was cowboy boots that kept Master John in business. Hatzigiannatzoglou recalls clients like Saga, Anvil and Platinum Blonde buying snakeskin boots.

Giannis “Master John” Hatzigiannatzoglou suffered from Alzheimer’s and died in Toronto in 1996, at the age of 68. After his death Eli continued to operate the business from their final shoe shop and factory location on Danforth Avenue, until it closed in 2003. “The last pair of boots we ever shipped was to Chubby Checker. He was a longtime regular client of my parents, because he liked checkerboard footwear.“ said Hatzigiannatzoglou.

Posted in Canadian dress, Shoes | 1 Comment

Fashion in Song – You Dyed Your Hair Chartreuse (1951)

Recorded by Louis Jordan and the Tympany Five on August 15, 1950, Chartreuse was released early the next year.

You’re a freckled gal
You’re a pug-nosed cutey, sweet as Charlotte Russe
You’ve got big blue eyes
So I ask you why have you dyed your hair chartreuse?

Chartreuse (chartreuse)
Chartreuse (chartreuse)
Though you think it’s mighty cute
Just wait ’til I write and tell your ma
That you dyed your hair chartreuse

In the days of old
When the knights were bolder and the girls were truer blue
Just think what paw
Would have said to maw had she dyed her hair chartreuse
Chartreuse (chartreuse)
Chartreuse (chartreuse)
Though you think it’s mighty cute
You went too far in that beauty booth
When you dyed your hair chartreuse

Now you know I know
That your hair was black when we lived on Chestnut Street
When you wore pigtails
And ginger ale was your most favourite treat
You’re a big girl now
So you think it’s cuter being fast and fancy-loose
But you went too far in that beauty booth
When you dyed your hair chartreuse

Chartreuse (chartreuse)
Chartreuse (chartreuse)
Though you think it’s mighty cute
Just wait ’til I write and tell your ma
That you dyed your hair chartreuse
Chartreuse (chartreuse)
Chartreuse (chartreuse)
Though you think it’s mighty cute
But just wait ’til I write and tell your ma
You didn’t like black, you didn’t like red
You hated blondes, well, it’s no use
You got mad and dyed your hair…

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The Devil Wears Bata — Sonja Bata 1926-2018

Nineteen years ago today I left the Bata Shoe Museum. The reasons I left came flooding back when I heard that Sonja Bata died two days ago at the age of 91.

Bata Shoe Museum, designed by Moriyama & Teshima, built 1994-1995

In 2006 I saw the movie The Devil Wears Prada – it was astonishingly close to my own experience of working at the Bata Shoe Museum. The movie about a young, energetic, naive assistant to an overbearing control freak was based on Lauren Weisberger’s thinly veiled experience of working for Anna Wintour at Vogue magazine.

Everything in that story was familiar, from the ‘gird your loins’ warning phone call from the front desk upon Sonja’s arrival, to being under the constant threat of disapproval and punishment for failure. She even flung her coat on my desk one morning, although that only happened once after I left it there all day. With the perspective of time, I now see Sonja’s sadistic management style for what it was, but at the time Sonja Bata had me convinced I was the one who needed to fix my shortcomings.

Sonja had been born into a wealthy upper middle-class Swiss family with strict, traditional values. She always told interviewers that she was studying architecture when she met her future husband. The truth was that she was only weeks into her first semester at university when she met Thomas Bata. In a soft moment she once told me her mother took her out of university and enrolled her in a cooking school so she would make a better wife. This was Sonja’s Achilles heel – she was in awe of academics, jealous of their accomplishments because their success was her unfulfilled dream.

Sonja in front of her Annigoni portrait from c. 1960

In 1946, at the age of 19, Sonja married Thomas Bata. The Bata Shoe Company had been founded in the town of Zlin (in what is today the Czech Republic), in 1894 by Thomas Bata’s father Tomáš. The company was at the height of success in 1932 when Tomáš died in a plane crash, leaving Thomas and Tomáš’ brother Jan in a legal battle over control of the company. Anticipating the coming war, Thomas built a manufacturing plant in Canada in 1939. After the war, the Eastern European manufacturing plants and stores disappeared behind the descending iron curtain. The company’s HQ was relocated first to England, and later Canada.

During this post war period Bata aimed at international expansion in Asia, Africa, and South America where huge opportunities awaited. Bata excelled at locating in countries where locals were employed to manufacture simple styles of footwear for their own markets. Bata was not a high fashion label. In the Western World, Bata was known for producing everyday ‘back to school’ sneakers and shoes for children, working women’s low heeled pumps, and wardrobe essentials such as slippers and galoshes. Sonja often joked that when she was learning the business, she worked in a shoe store in the East End of London trying to sell high heeled shoes in ‘sunset pink’ and ‘avocado green’, but in working class postwar London, black and brown were the only colours that sold.

While travelling the world in the 1950s and 1960s, Sonja collected various historical and local types of footwear from the countries she and Thomas visited. She had accumulated close to a thousand examples when in 1979 she created a foundation that would someday fund a museum for footwear. She hired a conservator and a collections manager to care for and document the collection, and engaged anthropology hobbyist Alika Podlinsky Webber to acquire examples of Native American footwear for the collection. Webber’s antiquated methods of categorizing material culture by construction methods eventually resulted in the museum’s first publication, a near-useless typology of “Indian and Eskimo” footwear.

I had been keenly following the museum’s progress since I first heard about Sonja Bata’s collection in 1981. I wrote letters to her annually, asking for the opportunity to work with the collection in a curatorial capacity. Then, one day in November, 1987, I received a phone call from Margaret Leask, her secretary, asking if I could come in for an interview. A position was available to catalogue and care for the collection in the basement of the shoe company’s Don Mills headquarters.

The now-demolished Bata HQ in Don Mills, designed by John B. Parkin, built 1964-65

I was 26 and already had a decade’s worth of museum experience, as well as visible enthusiasm, but I was incredibly nervous during my interview because I really wanted the job. The interview went well, even though I could see she was disappointed when I told her I could only read French, and that I had an incomplete Masters. I had been paying for my university education by working part-time during the school year and full time during the summer, but after five years, student fatigue had set in and I called it quits half way through my Masters. I did notice during the interview that she looked at my hands a lot. Years later she said her mother always told her to look at the nails of prospective servants because those with short nails worked harder.

A week later Sonja called to say she would like to hire me and could I come in for orientation and to discuss salary. I gave notice at my other job and bought myself a brand new pair of expensive Florsheim shoes for good luck. At our second meeting she proceeded to tell me that she had thought it over, but the tone and hesitancy in her voice suggested she had changed her mind – my stomach flipped. She hadn’t, but then she explained that I would be replacing the previous collections manager who had a PHD and spoke three languages. I realize now, her tone and hesitancy was a method to lower my salary expectations in light of my shortcomings in languages and education – a point brought up annually prior to any discussion about a salary increase. I later found out that my predecessor, Lena Fattah, had resigned abruptly after telling Sonja to “Fuck Off”. She later became a Buddhist monk.

The position was assistant curator. There was no curator, so it was a pay scale thing with opportunity for promotion. I undersold myself by settling for the first offer at 24,000 per year to start, which in 1987 was okay for an assistant curator’s starting salary. Little did I know that all future salary increases would be based on an average 4% percent increase indexed to the cost of living and tied to annual reviews. However, at the time I was grateful for the opportunity. I had dreamed of working in a museum devoted to clothing or textiles, and few opportunities existed in Canada.

Bata Shoe Museum exhibition opening at the Colonnade, 1992

Things went well for the first few months while I was in a learning curve. My first negative experience occurred when I was about to take my first week of holiday. I was completing an annual inventory of the entire collection, which by 1988 numbered over 6,000 artifacts. Two days before I was to leave, I submitted the report with a total of nineteen missing objects (all of which had been reported missing in previous inventories.) My report was rejected for being incomplete. I was told I would have to cancel my holidays until those artifacts were found. After wasting two days frantically looking for the missing items I went on holiday anyway – anticipating throughout my entire vacation that I would be fired upon my return (not exactly relaxing). However, nothing further was said, although her secretary Margaret told me that in future to always leave the phone number of my hotel where I would be staying in case I needed to be contacted (Sonja didn’t understand that on $24,000 per year, holidays were spent in motels, not hotels.) This was the first of many projects that were never signed off as completed – every project remained an open file. Ironically, years later when Sonja was clearing out some items in her attic at home, thirteen of the missing items showed up.

Similar instances began to happen more regularly. I could excuse some of her criticisms to her being a perfectionist with high standards and I was missing her mark, but I was never given direction so everything was a set-up for failure. I was frequently asked to mount small exhibitions at locations like malls and even the Ontario legislature, but no budget was allocated to do these displays and I had to make do with what supplies and display aids I could find. I was inevitably criticized because something didn’t look as good as it could – then money would be spent or someone brought in to ‘fix’ my work.

The annual salary review became an opportunity for her to save up months-old issues that should have been dealt with at the time they occurred. It was also an opportunity for her to shame me for everything from my messy handwriting to my failure to always wear crisply starched shirts. Meanwhile, anything I was good at doing and relevant to my job, like research, writing, and public speaking, was only allowed to be done as an extra-curricular activity. I was actually not allowed to read a book or visit a library to do research about the artifacts on museum time, even though I was expected to know as much as possible about everything I was handling, which included artifacts from three thousand years of various world cultures. I was a frequent guest speaker for various groups around Toronto, all of which had to be done in evenings, or when she was out of town, as I was not allowed to leave the premises during work hours when she was around, other than for lunch.

For the Bata Shoe Company’s 100th anniversary, I was asked by Thomas Bata to work on a book while he and ‘Sunny’ were in Czechoslovakia most of the summer. With a project coordinator, I picked the shoes, did the research, wrote text, worked with a photographer to take over 200 photographs, even suggested the name for the book and the cover designs. The book was nearly finished when Thomas and Sonja returned. Sonja hit the roof when she found out I had ‘wasted’ my time on this book and was screaming at me until Thomas came out of his office and explained he had asked me to do this. Nothing more was ever said, however I was removed from the remaining production meetings. I heard that she didn’t want my name in the book at all, but the rest of the team protested, and in the end my name appeared second from last in the credits as ‘museum co-ordinator’.

I ignored or worked around what I could because the work was still my first love – it was everything I wanted to do, but in a toxic workplace. The constant barrage of small instances continued: I was once coerced to skip an uncle’s funeral when I was asked if it was really important for me to attend, in a tone that suggested she felt it wasn’t. I was also requested to return to work one afternoon after lunch when my cat was in labour – I returned home to find two healthy kittens, and one dead kitten suffocated by its caul.

What should have been one of the happiest days of my life was destroyed when I was told that the date of a shoe museum symposium she was hosting had been decided over the weekend, without my input, to occur the very day I had booked for the closing and move to my first house. I was asked to move my moving date, which I refused to do – even after a scene in front of the staff. I paid for that defiance for weeks with a cold shoulder, criticism, and a sharp toned voice that kept everyone in the office on edge. The symposium went ahead, with everyone attending wondering why I was absent.

The Fashion Staircase in All About Shoes

Despite these instances, she was relying on me more, even though she never once said in the entire 11 years ‘good job’, or ‘thank-you’. In 1994, with the new museum building nearing completion she decided that with the founding of the museum I needed to become the official curator. At the time I was making about $33,000 per year. She offered a $7,000 increase, but after I showed her that comparable starting salaries for curatorial positions in Toronto ranged between $50,000 – $60,000 she agreed to $45,000, split in two, 7K now, and 5K mid-year. June came and went, then July – in August I asked when the rest of my raise would kick in. The new director, Edward Maeder, checked but came back to ask if I had our agreement in writing. I was absolutely crushed. Sonja had lied to me and used the new director as a shield. So when the new Bata Shoe Museum opened with great fanfare to the public in May 1995, I was making less than half of what the director was making, and only a few thousand more per annum than the janitor, and I didn’t even have a key that opened all the doors. Instead, I had a key that opened a door in the basement where a lock box was located where I retrieved the various keys I needed for the day, signing them out and back in. Nothing was ever made to ease performance.

While she delighted in making my life miserable, she turned a blind eye to employees who were actively stealing from her. A now-retired part-time conservator did very little real work – she would come into the museum once a week mostly to talk to her friends on the phone all day because they were long distance from where she lived. Even worse, the janitor would take props and stock from storage and sell it at flea markets on the weekend.

The other employee she tormented to the same extent as me was Susana Petti, a smart and eager marketing person hired at the time the new museum opened in 1995. Susana worked hard and had great ideas, but she was constantly met with resistance by Sonja. Susana had brought in the advertising firm Ogilvy and Mathers to donate their services to create an advertising campaign shortly after the museum opened. For some reason Sonja actively undermined any progression in creating the campaign until they walked away in search of a company who would be grateful for their gift.

Opening day at the  Museum, 1995 The shoes were an 11, I wear a 12…

As curator, I became the liaison between Sonja and many of the guest curators and designers. At the museum’s official opening in May 1995, Laurent Carrier of Design+Communications of Montreal, who had designed the flagship exhibition All About Shoes, came up to me and said “I won’t say it was a pleasure working with you… ” Despite this, Laurent returned to produce other exhibitions for the museum. This was a pattern typical of many of the guest curators and designers. They all recognized how difficult it was to work with Sonja, but they also knew it would only be for a few months, and at the end there would be an inflated pay cheque (everyone surcharged for the ‘sturm und drang’ of working with Sonja.) An American guest curator/project manager billed the museum in Canadian funds for his services, but was mistakenly paid in U.S. funds when the American dollar was trading at around $1.40. He cashed the cheque and said nothing.

Another guest curator, Dr. Jill Oakes, had been commissioned on several occasions to collect items for the museum from Canada’s North, as well as curate several exhibitions and write accompanying books for the museum. Her expertise in northern cultures was eventually expanded to create a storyline for an exhibition about American Southwest Native footwear – an exhibition I was unaware she had been contracted to curate when Sonja asked me to also write a proposal and outline for the same show (on my own time, of course.) I submitted the proposal and outline, which Sonja then showed to Dr. Oakes telling her she liked mine better. Although Oakes professed the incident was nothing to worry about, it created an embarrassing situation.

Fortunately, I knew that most people could see what I was dealing with via knowing smiles and rolled eyes – even her own children. At the opening ceremonies, where my name was NEVER uttered and I was never thanked, even though I had curated two of the four opening exhibitions, I wore a black jacket upon which I had painted white foot prints. Christine Schmidt quipped “Is mom stepping all over you?” I assured her she was.

Guiding Haakon on a tour, with Sonja in pink nervously fingering her necklace, ready to pounce…

Although I was often not introduced to special guests that came to the museum (Liona Boyd, Andre Pfister, Maureen Forrester…) I was brought in to give a ‘royal tour’ to Norway’s Prince Haakon. Judging by his reactions, I could see the 22 year old Prince was interested in fashion and celebrity shoes. He was admiring a pair of platforms worn by Madonna, when Sonja decided I wasn’t giving the right tour, and stepped in to take over saying “Perhaps his highness would like to examine our Lapp collection?” This made me cringe since Lapp is the politically incorrect term for the Sami (the indigenous population of Northern Scandinavia), as well, our Sami collection was poor – hardly something worth showing the Crown Prince of Norway. Haakon politely followed Sonja as she completed the tour. I faded to the back of the crowd, embarrassed and emasculated. However, as he was leaving, Haakon sought me out to thank me for showing him the “most interesting shoes”. I thought he worded that well.

Until my promotion as curator, the staff consisted of myself, the full time conservator Ada Hopkins, and a part time conservator (the one on the phone all the time.) Prior to the opening of the new museum, more staff were hired including education coordinator Sheila Knox, and director Edward Maeder. I warned the egocentric Maeder that Sonja was not easy to work with but he assured me he knew how to handle women like her – he fled halfway through his five year contract.

The next director to come along was Sharon MacDonald who was the exact opposite of Edward Maeder in every aspect. She came from the police museum and was a bureaucratic rule follower. Within a couple of months she admitted to me Sonja appeared sadistic at times, especially towards me.

Shoe designer Beth Levine at the Bata Shoe museum c. 1998

The final straw came when my credibility was threatened on my 38th birthday, on February 23, 1999. Prophetically, my horoscope that day had said ‘don’t take up issues with your boss today, you will lose.’ Two events occurred that day that made it impossible for me to remain with the museum. The first happened when I came across the recently submitted tax receipts on the secretary’s desk. Looking through them I found one for $46,000 to Rick Riewe for photographs. Imagine my surprise when I saw the forged signature of the name of the person who had done the evaluation – Jonathan Walford. Rick Riewe was Jill Oakes husband, and had taken hundreds of photographs documenting the process of making traditional clothing in Siberia where Oakes had conducted a field collection the previous summer. Even if I agreed with the amount, I hadn’t done the evaluation, and certainly would not permit my name to appear for that huge an amount without documentation to prove fair market value, and/or an arm’s length third party assessment.

While I was contemplating what to do about this situation, the catalogues for the Japanese exhibition, which was opening that night, arrived from the printer. At the final production meeting two weeks earlier, I noticed my name was spelled correctly in the credits as both the exhibition curator and author of the catalogue. A few days after that meeting Sonja had told me she had called them to make a couple of minor changes, but it didn’t occur to me that it would be to remove any trace of my name from the catalogue. Knowing how Sonja’s mind works, she wanted it to look like the exhibition and the catalogue had been done in cooperation with the Japanese community by having only Japanese names in the credit list. Although the photographer and the designer had Japanese names, I did not.

My name was being added to things I hadn’t done and being removed from things I had done…I went ballistic.

I contemplated wiping out the entire catalogueing system (something I actually could have done – I knew how) However, I calmed down, got a box, filled it with my personal possessions and any damning evidence, and left the building. I went back a week later for a de-briefing, but instead of discussing the real issues, Sonja had pulled out some of my recent catalogueing sheets and pointed to insufficiently notated references. She then said she thought I must be entering a mid-life crisis… I stopped her there, stood up, held out my hand, thanked her for the opportunity of working with the collection but that I couldn’t work with her anymore. I still recall the look on her face – like she couldn’t believe I had finally found a backbone.  I was told later by the director, Sharon, who was in the meeting with us, that Sonja immediately said after I left that she realized she had not handled that well.

I had no option but to report the tax receipt to Revenue Canada – an action that resulted in a three year audit for the museum. Leslie Tenenbaum, one of the company’s lawyers, was brought in to mediate my departure in a heavy-handed manner. He tried to mitigate any possibility of my suing for constructive dismissal or fraud, and explained how I didn’t deserve an exit package because I left of my own accord. I just wanted out – all I could think of was the Tina Turner movie where she says all she wants is her name. I didn’t care what it took to get away from Sonja’s clutches and the frequent phone calls from her minion lawyer.

Sonja could be charming, but her motivation was power and she never saw how her actions impacted others (or perhaps she did, which would be worse…) She was not a great leader – she was an iron-fisted bully, and because she was at the top of the food chain, there was no managerial accountability. When the only days you look forward to at work are the ones when the boss is out of town, you know there is a problem. There was an ongoing joke I had with Robert Barron, the education assistant – I would walk into the office in the morning and say “Is she dead yet?”, and he would retort “Maybe today!”

I am actually saddened by Sonja’s death, because of what could have been. She spent a fortune on artifacts that are a gift to the world through her architecturally important museum. She hired many good people, but lost most of them because they wouldn’t put up with her shit. However, in spite of her, I learned amazing things and wouldn’t have started the Fashion History Museum without the experience I gained as the Bata Shoe Museum’s founding curator.

Sarah Beam, now an ex-employee of the museum, told me a few years ago how Sonja had bought a playhouse for her great grandson – Graydon, the son of Galen and Alexandra Weston. Sonja said she thought it would be amusing to watch Galen try to put it together on Christmas day – to which Sarah pointed out “That’s not very Christmasy – is it?”

Posted in Other collections/museums, Shoes | Tagged , | 28 Comments

I had this weird dream….

Queen Elizabeth and Anna Wintour were at this fashion show and the models were all wearing mismatched flower printed dresses with motorcycle helmets…

Turns out it was true. Yesterday, H.M. Queen Elizabeth II presented the inaugural Award for British Design to Richard Quinn and his fall 2018 collection of flowery printed frocks – this was only the second collection of his career.

Posted in Fashion | 4 Comments