Abroad Jump
With Promising Gains Here, Designer Derek Lam Is Thinking Big, Acting Boldly

By Robin Givhan
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, November 24, 2006

PARIS

Afashion designer just launching his own collection has endless hurdles to clear: financing, manufacturing, marketing. Derek Lam, who has been in business since 2003, had all of those worries -- and one more. He calls it the "implant issue."

American women, it seems, can't get enough of large, attention-grabbing breast implants. The ever-growing number of man-made C-cups, D's and DDs has created an imbalance. A woman who might be an enhanced size 8 on top, says Lam, often is only a size 4 on the bottom. (This being the world of high-end fashion, there is no need to get into a conversation about a size 14, which is as rare as a polyester blend.) Such top-heavy figures make the construction of something as form-fitting as a strapless dress a perilous endeavor for a designer.

Lam could have reworked his patterns and his sizing to fit this excessively endowed American woman. But if he changed the proportions to fit American customers, the clothes wouldn't fit shoppers in Europe. It seems that while the women there are also enthusiastic consumers of cosmetic surgery, they favor smaller cup sizes.

Lam -- an American entrepreneur with global ambitions -- regrouped. "The secret to success," he says, is "the V-neck dress."

He relays this observation with an I'm-not-making-this-up chuckle. Lam, 40, in this most international of fashion capitals for fashion week earlier this fall, is explaining his multi-country business strategy while sitting in the brocade-drenched tearoom of the Meurice Hotel. "An audience that likes what I do," he says, "I know that doesn't exist in just one country."

Lam has yet to garner much name recognition in the United States outside New York and perhaps Los Angeles, but he already has set his sights on Paris, London, Milan and the vast luxury market in Asia. In an unusual move for the fashion industry, Lam is branching out into Europe before he has conquered Chicago.

In the past, American designers would grow big and muscular on domestic dollars before swaggering onto the global stage. That's the way Polo Ralph Lauren, Donna Karan and Calvin Klein did it.

But the high-end clothing market in the United States has become more competitive since those designers began building their businesses in the 1970s and '80s. Many more fancy designers are trying to get a piece of the country's tightly controlled retail space. The international market, however, has expanded dramatically, with increasing numbers of conspicuous consumers in places like Russia and China. A beginning designer has to get his nibbles wherever he can.

"One of the pitfalls of concentrating in America is you have difficulty expanding out of it," Lam says. He has shunned the example set by Karan, who positioned herself as confidante of the American professional. Lam doesn't want to focus on the nuances of an American woman's lifestyle to the exclusion of a French woman's. He believes he is as likely to find women who appreciate his design viewpoint in Europe as in the States.

Lam isn't a particularly esoteric designer, as are so many of the men and women who show their collections here. He's not creating jackets with armholes for extra appendages and he is not an extravagant showman. His work is firmly rooted in the traditions of sportswear as established by Claire McCardell, who essentially invented modern American ready-to-wear, with its practicality, informality and attention to comfort. One season, for instance, his collection was inspired by the kind of layered dressing practiced in a hot-cold Bay Area summer.

His clothes have a youthful sensibility and he aspires to bestow them with a couture-like attention to detail. And they are expensive. It is not uncommon to find his dresses priced at more than $1,000. It is an aesthetic that he hopes will easily translate across borders. Emblematic of his international approach are the sizes on his labels. He uses the European system: 36, 38, 40, etc. And his clothes have a narrower silhouette than the typical American brand.

Only a few budding fashion entrepreneurs such as Zac Posen have seized on the global approach to business development, which remains an unproven strategy. But Lam is in a unique position, in part because of his background.

He is Chinese American, grew up in San Francisco, graduated from the Parsons School. The bulk of his career has been divided between working for a big sportswear brand in Hong Kong, and for designer Michael Kors in New York.

"I don't think this is an answer that fits every situation. My sense is it depends on who you are and where you're known," says Domenico De Sole, former head of Gucci Group and now chairman of Tom Ford International. "For Derek, it makes great sense."

De Sole has been advising Lam since last year, when Lam was a runner-up for a Vogue/CFDA Fashion Fund Prize and, as part of his award, brazenly requested De Sole as a mentor.

"Domenico has an endless array of contacts," says Jan-Hendrik Schlottmann, 41, Lam's business and personal partner. "He's like a father figure."

Lam's work in Hong Kong has given him name recognition there. He also signed an agreement with Tod's -- the Italian leather goods house famous for its driving moccasins -- to design a small collection of ready-to-wear. The deal gives Lam the opportunity to work with and learn from one of Italy's most respected leather firms. With three years to go on his contract, it also provides Lam with a paycheck, no small matter since his own line is self-financed. The relationship also has given him a presence in Europe without his having to spend a dime.

When Lam wanted to create his own line of handbags and shoes -- essential elements to building a profitable fashion house -- he turned to Tod's for the licensing deal.

"To have that kind of industrial tool as a starting company, you can't really put a number on that," says Schlottmann.

Lam's privately held company reported net sales of $4.8 million in 2005, the first year it posted a profit. It has since exceeded that sales number -- although the company won't say by how much. Fifty-five percent of the company's revenue is derived outside the United States, with its strongest markets in France and Italy.

But for a small American company there are limits to instant globalization.

"At some point he will want to open a store. It will be in the U.S. because there aren't the resources to open in London," De Sole says. (A company spokeswoman says a boutique is planned for late next year.)

"If you're talking of consumers in general, the store represents the brand," De Sole says. "A store is a temple of the brand."

For Lam, establishing and clarifying his image is essential. His professional life has had its share of glittering moments. He can brag about having created the inauguration ensemble worn last year by Barbara Bush -- the president's daughter, not his mother. Photos of the ivory skirt, yellow blouse and sky-blue cashmere trench coat were dispersed around the world. He also created a wedding gown for Vanessa von Bismarck, who is German royalty, a New York-based publicist and a friend, facts that were elaborately chronicled in the full-color, glossy pages of Vogue magazine.

But he is fighting to stand out from a crowded field in the United States and abroad. At designer prices, a woman is not simply buying a garment; she is buying an image, prestige, a story line. What does Lam offer that is unique? That is a critical question and one that Lam has trouble answering.

"It's just my personal dream," he begins.

This is not a good sign. A dream is not enough.

A Dream and a Plan

That is partly why Lam and Schlottmann have come to Paris and why they are hosting a cocktail party one night not far from the Louvre. Waiters pass drinks and tiny tuna burgers and a group of models dressed in frocks from his spring collection pose in a tableau vivant at the top of an elegant marble staircase.

Lam is here to meet with retailers and the many fashion editors who come to Paris but do not bother with New York, where his runway show was held. The purpose of the party, his first here, is to thank them all -- and the many Americans -- for their support and, of course, to raise his profile.

Lam is not of the Tom Ford charm school, with an ability to make both men and women swoon. He has more in common with Kors -- a willingness to befriend and to empathize -- but without the knack for "Project Runway" witticisms. Lam is medium height with an athletic build. He is cleanshaven, with hair cut so close it is little more than a shadow. He speaks in such an open manner one wonders whether he is a man who truly has nothing to hide or simply one who would perform especially well on the witness stand.

This week designers from around the world are vying for the attentions of the traveling band of press and retailers, many of whom have already nibbled on hors d'oeuvres and sipped flutes of champagne in New York, London and Milan. Most have seen more frocks than they care to remember. Lam's party is sandwiched between shows by the young Japanese designer Jun Takahashi and the venerable Yohji Yamamoto.

There is little time to do much more than weave through the crowd, hustle for a drink, double-buss Lam and interject: So great! Fabulous!

Is this even worth the cost of the champagne?

Schlottmann, who was born and raised in Hamburg, has a strong jaw, sandy-blond hair and a direct manner born of etiquette, efficiency and pragmatism. A veteran of the beauty business, he worked at fragrance houses in Geneva and Paris and was vice president of marketing for Prada's beauty division.

The business of skin care, color cosmetics and fragrances is kin to fashion. But compared with the way in which designer clothes are produced and sold, the beauty industry -- with its promises to diminish the appearance of fine lines-- is positively practical.

"With fashion, every six months you do things again. With other luxury goods, you create something and it's there for 10 years," he says.

Retailers enthuse about Lam's talent.

"His first collection was so well edited. Everything had a place and was worthy of the runway. That doesn't always happen with young designers," says Jennifer Wheeler, vice president of designer apparel for Nordstrom. "He has a huge presence in London, the highest of all the young designers, and you wouldn't necessarily think that he'd be the one with the highest profile. I think their business plan is incredibly smart, that's one reason why they're doing so well, I think. But also because of the quality of the collection."

Without diminishing Wheeler's praise, there's a small error in her assessment. The collection she recalls as his first, that perfectly edited runway collection, was actually his second. The first collection wasn't shown on the catwalk at all but in a showroom. And Lam has made no secret about its sad fate: It didn't sell. At all. Nothing.

He debuted the line about a month before the United States invaded Iraq. The clothes were black and heavy. The collection was as wrong for the moment as anything could be.

"It was a disaster," says Schlottmann, the company's chief executive.

"It was the nadir," Lam agrees. "People were not interested in what I was doing. It was dark and sober and stores were not interested in dealing with a dark collection from a new designer."

Lam and Schlottmann didn't even recoup the cost of producing the samples, which now sit in storage. Foolhardy or fearless, they tried again.

On their second attempt, they worked on stirring up buzz. And they got lucky.

Bloomingdale's fashion director, Stephanie Solomon, "happened to be in our building. She said, 'I recognized the name and thought I'd come in.' She saw a few pieces. They weren't dark and somber. It was like something you read about. She was so nice and friendly," Lam says. "You work so long in the dark -- "

"To get that attention," Schlottmann says.

Lam has been the beneficiary of enthusiastic support within a fashion industry that believes in him. There are no cynical murmurings that he is more bluster than substance. No gossipy tales of immaturity, of his dancing on tables into the wee hours.

But back to the big question. What makes your clothes special? The query is akin to asking a political candidate: Why should voters pick you?

Lam looks toward the ceiling; he sighs and starts again. "When I design," he says, "I want to create clothes with a certain subtlety. It's poetic. It's sexy."

He knows he still hasn't quite nailed it. "People want more concrete terms," he says, "and I struggle with that."

Eventually, Lam will need to find an answer. Certainly before he opens that first store. And based on his business plan, he'll need an answer that makes sense in as many languages as possible.