April 08, 2010
In April, Vogue a thousand
You told me a couple of posts ago that you were glad to laugh again with a humorous article because lately I had been a bit serious. It's possible you're right, quite right. On the one hand, what you can read between the lines gives me chills, and on the other, I think, "Wow, guys, they notice everything even if you don't want to tell them, do they read with X-ray glasses?". Indeed, it's possible, quite probable, even certain that from mid-last month until now my head has been in a reflective tailspin. And why, you might ask? There are several factors, I'll tell you more as they resolve, since I only like to tell stories with happy endings (so much mystery), but mainly there's one factor that has affected me above all the others, especially because it was so unexpected. The appearance in April's Vogue.
We had taken the frock coat pattern we were working on and in 3 days we had modified and manufactured it in red and black to fit what Vogue needed for their "Living like a lady" theme. The title couldn't have fit us better, so once again, combining luck and hard work, we got down to business and managed to deliver it in record time. Behind me, there are several people working, the true counts and countesses from whom I learn every day and without whom nothing would be possible. Our motto is: "in times of crisis you can either cry or start selling tissues." With that, I think you can get an idea of the work capacity and responsiveness of these people, true survivors.
The thing is, we knew that a garment was going to be in April's Vogue, and as is tradition, on the 20th at dawn, I was already waiting for the delivery guy to arrive at the newsstand. I had spoken with the girls at Vogue because they were curious to know who was making these garments that were arriving at the editorial office and where they were manufactured. "We're going to make you a box so people know where they can buy them," oh, great, thank you very much. In my ignorance, I thought a box was a small thing, something at the end, where they put "for sale at nowhere in particular, calm down, it's not a Chinese workshop, it's reliable and you can buy it," that's it. I talk to them, answer some questions, send information. Of course, what was supposed to be answered with a couple of sentences, I sent 4 pages just in case, a photo? Oh yes, I have some great ones that Fernando took of me. That's it. Forgotten.
We had taken the frock coat pattern we were working on and in 3 days we had modified and manufactured it in red and black to fit what Vogue needed for their "Living like a lady" theme. The title couldn't have fit us better, so once again, combining luck and hard work, we got down to business and managed to deliver it in record time. Behind me, there are several people working, the true counts and countesses from whom I learn every day and without whom nothing would be possible. Our motto is: "in times of crisis you can either cry or start selling tissues." With that, I think you can get an idea of the work capacity and responsiveness of these people, true survivors.
The thing is, we knew that a garment was going to be in April's Vogue, and as is tradition, on the 20th at dawn, I was already waiting for the delivery guy to arrive at the newsstand. I had spoken with the girls at Vogue because they were curious to know who was making these garments that were arriving at the editorial office and where they were manufactured. "We're going to make you a box so people know where they can buy them," oh, great, thank you very much. In my ignorance, I thought a box was a small thing, something at the end, where they put "for sale at nowhere in particular, calm down, it's not a Chinese workshop, it's reliable and you can buy it," that's it. I talk to them, answer some questions, send information. Of course, what was supposed to be answered with a couple of sentences, I sent 4 pages just in case, a photo? Oh yes, I have some great ones that Fernando took of me. That's it. Forgotten.
I open Vogue, la la la, where could the frock coat be? Not here, no ads, not here either. Oh, it's Belén Antolín, who featured the jackets in the previous issue! I'll light a candle to her photo right now. I keep looking, no sailor stripes, no high society, Alexa Chung, how cute she always looks, it's a joy to see her, tra la la tra la la, no, not here either, no flowers, did they take it out, really? Oh, I'm so nervous, no party, no jewelry, not Sharapova either... and what is that other one doing with a jacket like mine? Who... is... the... photo? But it is, but it's me.... WHAAAAAAT???? What??? WHAAAAT!!!!! That... me... It Jacket... what? What is it saying? But who?... .... ..... ...I need to sit down, I need air, water... an ambulance. Where is Beltrán when I need him???
I sat on the bench for I don't know how long. I got up when I received precise orders from the Consort: "Meet me at such and such a place in 15 minutes. You're close, you can get there by yourself."
I understand that for many people this may not be as important (people from Mars where Vogue doesn't reach, of course), but for me, it has been devastating. The repercussion has been enormous, and I've felt this internal urge of "you have to step up, please," a responsibility, an "hey, get your act together, no more jokes," a need to respond, and ohhhhhh. So it's possible I've been more serious. I speak in the past tense because, in reality, the restlessness arose from not having a prepared action plan. When people started contacting us to see the garments in person, the responses were like "we don't have stock, we make them one by one for each client, but come to the workshop on Tuesday if you want to see the waistcoat, no, not Wednesday, we're sending it to the owner, but if it's the blue jacket, then come on Thursday." And that can't be. So we've been working extremely hard these past few weeks, but we've managed to prepare a complete sample collection of all the jackets, plus the frock coats, plus the waistcoats, plus some other garments, plus some special jackets that will only be sold through Carmen's beautiful "2 de Abril" store, with whom I once did a photoshoot, and it turns out we've ended up setting up a small event tomorrow.
I understand that for many people this may not be as important (people from Mars where Vogue doesn't reach, of course), but for me, it has been devastating. The repercussion has been enormous, and I've felt this internal urge of "you have to step up, please," a responsibility, an "hey, get your act together, no more jokes," a need to respond, and ohhhhhh. So it's possible I've been more serious. I speak in the past tense because, in reality, the restlessness arose from not having a prepared action plan. When people started contacting us to see the garments in person, the responses were like "we don't have stock, we make them one by one for each client, but come to the workshop on Tuesday if you want to see the waistcoat, no, not Wednesday, we're sending it to the owner, but if it's the blue jacket, then come on Thursday." And that can't be. So we've been working extremely hard these past few weeks, but we've managed to prepare a complete sample collection of all the jackets, plus the frock coats, plus the waistcoats, plus some other garments, plus some special jackets that will only be sold through Carmen's beautiful "2 de Abril" store, with whom I once did a photoshoot, and it turns out we've ended up setting up a small event tomorrow.
The invitation couldn't be more beautiful, Paz López made it for me.
Tomorrow, we will be all day at "2 de Abril" (c/ Castelló nº14, almost at the corner of Jorge Juan), showing the complete sample collection, explaining whatever is needed, clarifying doubts, explaining how they are made, how long they take, eating pastries and drinking champagne. Everyone who wants to come, you are more than welcome. Now, we are ready.
And thank you very much for the comments that have been coming in when you saw me in the magazine; it's taken me a while to assimilate it, but we're getting there.
A thousand hugs,
The Countess, who always thought the Bible comes out 12 times a year
*Castuo Dictionary (language formerly used in rural areas of Extremadura): Matahogazo = to get very tired
And thank you very much for the comments that have been coming in when you saw me in the magazine; it's taken me a while to assimilate it, but we're getting there.
A thousand hugs,
The Countess, who always thought the Bible comes out 12 times a year
*Castuo Dictionary (language formerly used in rural areas of Extremadura): Matahogazo = to get very tired