Time was against designer Zoe Gustavia Anna Whalen when she decided to stage a runway show for her fall 2024 collection. She had resolved that she could not afford to put on a show this time around, but then her community rallied.
She found a venue at 154 Scott, the space in Bushwick that hosts an abundance of artists (it was the setting of Luar’s triumphant show this season) and also features a members-only club with a gym, pool, and a myriad of facilities one would not have found in the neighborhood 10 years ago. Gustavia found models in her friends and colleagues; and hair stylists and makeup artists willing to lend their time to her cause. Her show took place on the second-to-last day of New York Fashion Week at 5PM, off-schedule.
The original idea, Whalen said at a re-see of her collection, was to stage her show as criticism of the traditional runway format. “I had this feeling of having so many eyes on me and commodifying my craft: that felt so weird,” said Whalen, “I’m very critical of it, but then this community of people that I found was so supportive and made me realize that I love this, and I love what I do, and that it’s important that I keep doing it.” After her show, Whalen said, she realized that rather than a critique, she had staged a ritual, a return to the core of what the fashion show is: “A procession.”
Whalen is part of a lineage of designers who have questioned and criticized the fashion system by oftentimes partaking in it, challenging it from within. In New York, where Whalen is based, there is the school of Susan Cianciolo, the famed artist and designer who was a key figure in the underground fashion and art scene in the ’90s. She designed 11 collections for her label Run between 1995 and 2011, having since refocused her practice to art. Cianciolo, who once described herself as a designer who makes art, and an artist who occasionally designs clothes, is also a professor at the Pratt School of Design. She has become a mythical presence overlooking and inspiring the new wave of designers-slash-artists in the city, not least because she helped shape the model of offering completely manual and craft-oriented one-off pieces as ready-to-wear that many of them have been chasing since her time.
At 29, Whalen describes herself in a similar way. She was born in Massachusetts, and completed her bachelor’s degree in fashion at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York. She then received a diploma from Central Saint Martins and an MFA from the Parsons School of Design. Her label bears her whole name, which honors both her grandmothers. Whalen references pagan ceremonies for her fashion shows-as-rituals. There is a distinct spiritual quality to her work, not only in the way she weaves her own lineage as an American woman through the stories of her own ancestors, but also in the way she formats her practice as art first by way of its hand-crafted nature. Every garment holds a unique story and represents years of history and life. Found linens, Victorian laces and underpinnings, discarded blankets, and more are draped around the body in playful spirals that gracefully swaddle every curve.
Whalen debuted her label a year ago with an off-calendar presentation during New York Fashion Week inside St. Mark’s Church in the East Village. She had recently spent a brief time working for Jack Miner and Lily Miesmer at Interior, and prior to her MFA studies she cut her teeth first at Eckhaus Latta, New York’s current art/design success story, and subsequently at Bless, the widely celebrated interdisciplinary brand founded by Desiree Heiss and Ines Kaag in Paris in 1993. “They [Bless] were the ones who showed me I can have an art and fashion practice and maintain slowness and beauty sustained over decades,” said Whalen.
The first Zoe Gustavia Anna Whalen collection was made entirely with discarded and deadstock materials sourced everywhere from New York to Pennsylvania Amish Country and Salem, Massachusetts (where Whalen’s mother currently resides). There was a sincerity and humility to Whalen’s first 16 looks, but the commercial appeal of her collection was limited by its provenance. Whalen made every piece herself with the help of friends and fellow artists. The combination of her slow approach to fashion and the uniqueness of her materials equated to a practice that could not mold itself to fit to standard industry market structures.
While many of her counterparts in the city are looking to create pieces they can eventually produce in large quantities to scale up their businesses and stock at retailers, the essence of Whalen’s work means it cannot be mass produced. It’s not scrappy because she is a young, independent designer, but because by being handmade it simply has to be; yet Whalen remains committed to her approach, and offers styles on her website and through retailers that align with her practice (she is currently stocked at Café Forgot, APOC and Absolutely Fabrics).
Now a year and three collections in, for fall Whalen looked to be more expansive with her process without losing sight of her ethos. She repurposed the materials laid out for guests to sit on in her second show and turned blankets and tablecloths into dresses, petticoats, and skirts. With some felted wool she sourced from a woman in upstate New York, Whalen made a run of hats, vests, and sweaters. And she also source cotton jersey and recycled nylon from a Japanese mill to turn into dresses, puffer jackets, and novelty handbags. These are materials she can replenish, which means she can produce more than one of each piece, though she will continue to make them herself at her studio. Some will be available as they are ready and others on a pre-order basis.
Whalen has been keeping her label running by taking on freelance projects and selling pieces on her website, which have been received well, she said. She also started to teach at the Rhode Island School of Design this semester. “I’ve only been able to do this because I know how to sew and know pattern-making, and have time to dedicate to sourcing material,” she said, meaning she doesn’t need to find money for pattern-makers and sample makers. “I’m just a fucking workhorse and I can do it right now,” she added, plus she has a community standing with her. She’s adamant about finding modes of production that enable her to continue as she has. “There’s a lot of energy for employing small creatives who exist in New York and are also looking for platforms and opportunities to create something,” she said.
Much has been said this past NYFW about whether or not the city has become an inhospitable environment for independent designers like Whalen to thrive in. Whalen is confident that it can be done. “My ultimate goal would be to help spark some sort of change in New York fashion and art production,” she said. She wants to show others like herself, who exist in this liminal space between art and fashion, that they can build practices that they find sustainable and aren’t bogged down by costs of production and unsustainable systems. “It’s been [about] building this small community of commerce that one feels good about,” she said. At a time when the industry is questioning whether its structures allow designers to thrive, and in which emerging talents are considering their own notions of success, Whalen is willing to be a test subject. “I never thought I’d be able to say this about selling stuff,” she said, “but it feels good.” She is building her brand based on direct-to-consumer sales, pre-orders, commissions, and buys from small stores who “share my ethos.” “The honest to God answer is that I’d rather keep trying to do it this way,” she said when asked if she’d ever bend the knee to the industry’s current system. “I’m not afraid of failure, I’m actually happy to fail.”
