Unhinged Things I Did When Starting Rebecca Minkoff

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If you follow me on Instagram, you might’ve seen some of the unhinged things I did in the early days of RM. And based on the comments, you guys were into it. So, I figured, why not bring it to Substack? But with a few extra stories, of course. Because let’s be honest: the beginning isn’t glamorous. It’s scrappy, chaotic, and held together by a mix of blind optimism and caffeine.

Let’s start with the reason I began making bags in the first place. After the I <3 NY shirt moment, Jenna Elfman asked me if I did bags. I said, “Of course.” Which was absolutely not true. I never made a bag in my life, and she needed it in a week. Perfect.

I went to my first factory meeting back in NY, gave them my sketch and my last $1,600. They told me to come back in a week. On day seven, I was told to call tomorrow. Then the next day. And the day after that. By the time I got the bag, it was three days late. Naturally, I overnighted it the fastest, most expensive way possible to LA and prayed it would get there in time. It didn’t. I had no savings and my cards were maxed out. So I did what any rational person would do when stuck with a $1,600 purse: I put all my stuff in it and wore it everywhere.

As for PR? Well, I didn’t have a budget. So I hired a young, hungry girl in LA who turned the back of our store into a celebrity showroom. She invited stars to come pick out bags. That’s how we landed placements on Gossip Girl and Pretty Little Liars. No agency, just a very persuasive twenty-something with a key to the stockroom.

I also hosted tupperware parties. My friend brought wine and cheese. I brought bags and left with cash. Not scalable, but it paid rent.

Same vibe with the LA yard sales. We set up in one of our partner’s backyards and women lined up down the block to shop handbags in someone’s house.

Then came our first big store return: 200 bags. Yes, you heard that right. So, we ran a sample sale out of the back alley of my East Village walk-up. We emailed DailyCandy, they covered it, and the line wrapped around the block. Only in New York.

Another time, I took a barely-paying styling assistant gig for one of the most famous pop stars, just so her lead stylist would carry one of my bags. She agreed, took it, and days later I saw it thrown out in a clear plastic bin. I stayed on for the next five days. A humbling week, to say the least.

In the beginning, we couldn’t afford a quality control team. So, we trusted our first overseas factory. They manufactured bags for Kate Spade and Michael Kors. What could go wrong? Well, the hardware got mixed up. Some workers, who didn’t read English, pulled from the wrong pile and ended up putting magnetic Kate Spade detailing inside our bags. And that’s how, what I now call the Frankenstein bag, was born. By the time we found out, they were already in department stores. So we turned it into a Willy Wonka moment. If you found one, you got a free bag. Not exactly a golden ticket, but close enough.

And before that, I didn’t qualify for an office lease. So, I convinced my landlord on 18th Street to let us rent a second apartment. That became our first HQ. No conference room, but we made it work. In 2005, you’d still find me and an intern packing orders out of that same walk-up.

Fast forward a bit and you’d see me responding to a talent agent asking about my bags. I said, “I’ll send them if you can get them on all of your clients.” A few weeks later, Kristin Cavallari and Lauren Conrad were carrying them.

Now, enter the most unhinged of them all (in my opinion): the launch of the Morning After Bag. Thousands of early M.A.B.s came with a “Call me” card, featuring Gore Vidal’s face and a handwritten number that rang my friend doing a fake French accent. It was part of this whole “morning after” fantasy. Cute in theory. Until we started getting calls from angry husbands and the police department.

A close second? When my PR friend tipped me off that a certain magazine was calling in leather belts. I was driving a moving truck from Virginia to NYC, pulled over at a Goodwill, bought a leather skirt, and made one. It ended up in New York Magazine.

Can’t forget about the times I biked around the city with new bags stuffed in trash bags. I’d meet a model on a corner, hand one off, and bike away. Agyness Deyn actually wore one.

Or when I had a friend sprint a bag into Lindsay Lohan’s hands as she left the Pierre Hotel. She wore it, too.

And then there was the Anna Wintour incident. I was invited to a party she was hosting. I stepped into the elevator and there she was. I was like, it’s my lucky day. Anna is in the elevator. I smiled and said, “How are you?” She nodded. That was it. I quickly learned that you’re not allowed in the elevator with Anna. I got into the event, but have yet to be invited to another one of her parties since.

So, long story short: if you're at the beginning of your founder journey, this is your sign to keep going. And that the scrappy years make for the best stories.

Xx,
RM