Doing things their way

Childhood Friends: Rachel Easting and Anjali Stewart are driven by “a strong sense of wanting to do our own thing”. Photo / Mark Mitchell

Samuel Maverick, so legend has it, was a 19th century Texas rancher who refused to brand his cattle. His stock, left unidentified and free to roam, eventually earned the nick-name "maverick" and by the end of the century, the term had come to mean someone who does things his own way.

Rachel Easting and Anjali Stewart may have never heard of this story, but it's fair to say that the spirit of old man Maverick has been a frequent visitor to their lives.

Since setting up their label love-lies-bleeding (now Twenty-seven Names) in 2005, the Wellington friends have forged a reputation for streetwear that reworks the script of contemporary New Zealand design. Think military jackets, cropped broderie anglaise tops, androgynous tailored waistcoats and gently draped shirt dresses in the softest cottons and linens.

For their summer 09/10 range, named after Jimi Hendrix, models prowled the runway in silk leggings with reinforced knees and underwear-as-outerwear in this season's must-have nude shades.

The garments, which are currently filling wardrobes in New Zealand, Britain, Australia and Hong Kong, certainly suggest rock's alpha male was on high rotation during the design phase.

"We are very influenced by music, so you'll find that Hendrix's folk-chic resonates throughout the entire collection," says Easting.

They've also borrowed heavily from controversial performance artist Vanessa Beecroft, whose work fuses conceptual issues and aesthetic concerns.

"Vanessa raises questions about how models function as works of art. The primary focus of her work is the live female figure and the way that figure interacts with the world," adds Easting who, having graduated with a fine arts degree, feels particularly attuned to Beecroft's creative aesthetic.

Given the designers' relative youth — Easting is 26, Stewart a year older — it's natural to assume their clothing is intended for their contemporaries.

Not so, says a friend of mine on the wrong side of 40, who remains infatuated with one of their delicately pin-tucked shirts she bought two years ago.

"People assume because we're young, that's the market we're aiming for," says Stewart. "But we make no distinction between 16 and 60-year-olds. We're interested in using design and fabric in ways that might not occur to other people."

Trying to squash an interview into the days leading up to Air New Zealand Fashion Week isn't the most sensible idea. There's fabric to be cut, strategies to be hatched and sleepless nights to be had.

"It's always a nightmare trying to get ready but this is the third time we've shown at Fashion Week and the sales and exposure we get from trekking up to Auckland makes it all worthwhile," says Stewart.

It's obvious she and Easting aren't star-struck wannabes who watched one season of Project Runway and decided that being a designer was a cool thing to do. They've done the hard work and say the secret to their success lies in the fact that they're "like an old married couple who finish each other's sentences and have known each other since the womb". Well, almost.

The pair met at Karori Normal, one of the biggest primary schools in the Southern Hemisphere. They can't remember a time when the other wasn't around and say at Wellington Girls' College they were united by a love of arts and shopping.

"We'd spend every spare moment trawling the vintage shops and getting into streetwear, which was just starting to hit."

With such creative DNA — Stewart's mother is an artist/potter, while Easting's parents are both English professors — it was a foregone conclusion the pair would end up paying the rent through artistic endeavours.

They washed up at Otago Polytech where Easting studied fine art while Stewart went the fashion route. Dinnertime conversations in their shared flat often revolved around combining their talents in a fashion collection. And so they did in 2005, turning out a limited range of hand-drawn and printed T-shirts, hoodies and sweatshirts that incorporated a series of photographs Easting had taken for a class assignment. It helped that they knew someone who owned a shop, and were able to call on friends to help them produce garments once orders started rolling in.

"We didn't really know what we were getting into, but we were driven by a very strong sense of wanting to do our own thing and doing it our way," says Stewart.

Apropos of nothing, they called their fledgling label love-lies-bleeding "because it seemed like a good idea at the time".

Four years and two degrees later, the pair headed back to the capital, where they set up a home and studio and set about filling orders.

"We spent a whole winter working 14-hour days designing, cutting, sewing and basically never leaving the house," says Easting in a tone that makes it clear she has few good memories of that time.

Stalked by money worries, every day was a struggle but things improved when they met Karie Higgins, a jewellery designer who now shares their inner-city studio and provides accessories for their runway shows.

"Karie proved that it was possible to survive and even thrive doing what you love. She was a huge inspiration to us to keep going."

Their pivotal moment came in 2006 when a hastily arranged collection of skirts, waistcoats and dresses earned them a top three placing in the Deutz Fashion Design Ambassador Awards and a part in a group show at that year's Fashion Week. The knock-on effect was an introduction to PR maestro Murray Bevan and access to the lucrative Australian market. Since then they've produced six collections, each, they say, better than the last.

"It's the old classic learning curve but when you have to come up with 60-75 pieces twice a year, you soon get better and quicker. And more sure of your design direction."

They admit, for example, to being "insanely proud" of their winter 2010 collection, set to have its first outing at Fashion Week on Tuesday in a shared show with Auckland designer and friend Juliette Hogan.

Loath to give too much away about the collection before its debut, Stewart says only that it will feature lots of sheer silks and lace in muted colours, along with denim and velvet — often at the same time. Expect them to again perform the rare trick of producing garments that make women look good. And for the fashion world to once more clasp them to its bosom.

"Beavering away in Wellington, doing our own thing, can be quite isolating. So to see the audience and media at Fashion Week respond so positively to our work, well, that kind of makes it feel as though we've arrived," says Stewart.

There have been tough times along the way though. Two years ago, the men in suits came calling, threatening legal action if the pair didn't drop the name love-lies-bleeding. It turns out an American company had gained control of international copyright usage of the name and, despite there being a famous film and even a plant with the same title, they were forced to change their entire branding.

"It was such a shame, because we'd just shown at Fashion Week for the first time and it felt as though our label was finally gaining some traction and credibility in the marketplace. It was tough to be told that we had to start all over again," sighs Stewart.

The pair, however, seem to have misplaced their anger gene, calling the incident "an entrepreneurial pause for breath".

"Don't get me wrong, it was a pain in the butt but, to be honest, we hadn't really thought seriously about a name the first time around," says Stewart.

"We were keen not to name the company after ourselves so we picked the first thing that occurred to us. Having to rename everything, from our company registration to our website, was a chance to really focus on what the label meant to us."

They spent weeks brainstorming many names with friends and family but nothing quite seemed to fit. One night at dinner, while doodling on a napkin, they came up with the moniker Twenty-seven Names.

"We started to list all the people who had helped the business succeed in its infancy and it came to 27. Calling our label Twenty-seven Names. was our chance to pay tribute to those people."

It's not the only time their pitbull instinct — the ability to hang on — has been tested. Like many who flog pretty frocks for a living, Easting and Stewart have been hard hit by the recession. So far six of their stockists have gone to the wall, including one who owed them around $20,000.

"That was pretty devastating — you do all this work and you don't get paid for it. To be honest, we did wonder if that would break us," says Easting, who says they each aim to live on $150 a week.

But they refuse to feel sorry for themselves, saying that surviving a year in which the world discovered the meaning of "sub-prime" has forced them to be smarter about business.

"We've managed to stage a couple of pop-up sales around the country and we're hoping to sell more of the cancelled orders this week. But it does make you question where every cent goes. If, for example, Rachel goes over-budget on a trim, I'll certainly let her know," laughs Stewart.

There's much more of Twenty-seven Names to come. They've now got their eye on the major prize, Sydney Fashion Week, next year.

"Our lives are defined by producing clothes that we love. We have a pretty strong vision of our style and where we want to go — and we'll get there by doing things our way ..."

Samuel Maverick would be proud.