Q: What do these stores have in common? A: “Vertically integrated manufacturing”

Imagine you’re in a boutique trying on some jeans that almost fit. What if they actually offered to make a pair tailored your measurements at their factory at India, in two weeks? That’s the case at JF & SON, which works with hand-weavers throughout India to develop custom fabrics–for clients and their own clothes–that are sent to the vertically integrated JF & SON studio in New Delhi. This system of production allows them to make constantly make unique products, in small quantities that are responsive to what their customers want.

Pushing this notion to its extreme is a new line of denim, Prison Blues, made by prisoners in Pendleton, Oregon out of a 47,000 square foot facility devoted to making jeans. Each pair features a tag resembling a license plate saying that each pair is “made on the Inside to be worn on the Outside.”

The idea that a company controls every step of its production process–vertical integration–has started to take on greater appeal as consumers demand ever greater quality control and customization options. It has long been front and center in all of American Apparel’s advertising and even on their storefronts, and allows them to showcase new products in development and respond to feedback regarding new colors, fit, and fabrics quickly. LVMH also claims to be vertically integrated in that they control every step of the supply chain–from sunglasses to clothing to watches–produced in their own specialized workshops.

Part of the appeal of vertical integration—across all levels of retail, from everyday basics, boutiques, to luxury stores—is that consumers are responding to brands that stand for a particular way of making and using, that produces a system of meaning or validation. There seems to be an affinity for brands to operate more as ateliers or workshops than as mass production companies where materials are outsourced, costs are mercilessly pared down, and production is standardized. By acknowledging, exposing and controlling their manufacturing process, these brands make consumers feel a deeper connection to them by creating a new mythology around how their products are made.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, as the years sandwiched between the dot-com boom and the late 00’s ushered in an unprecedented ballooning and democratization of luxury. The base price for  “It” handbags (and now shoes) rose to over a grand, fashion houses long past were resurrected with new talent (a low point being Lindsay Lohan’s short-lived appointment at Ungaro), and brands expanded into ever far-flung categories.

Meanwhile, a backlash to this state of affairs was emerging. “Slow fashion,” a cousin to its more well known kin slow food, embraced like-minded principles such as locally sourced materials and manufacturing, ethical production practices, and environmentally responsible choices. Think Anya Hindmarch’s iconic and endlessly knocked off “I’m not a plastic bag” dating from 2007, or Ali Hewson and Bono’s ’organically sourced clothing line Edun. Cue 2008 and the luxury market that had overperformed since the early 2000’s took a nosedive. The age of ubiquitous luxury and overvaluation had ended.

At Columbia’s GSB’s Retail and Luxury Goods Club’s conference a few months ago, it became clear that fashion houses and luxury conglomerates had begun to tout slow fashion principles to justify their relevance in the “new normal” and search for a more substantial notion of authenticity.

As Daniel Lalonde, CEO of Louis Vuitton NA put it, “The new luxury value equation has shifted, how do consumers construct the ‘value’ of a luxury item and rationalize its purchase? I’ve found that customers respond to creativity, craftsmanship, and value.” Some brands are starting to communicate this “value,” as tied to authenticity, by establishing provenance and, on the flip side, promoting transparency in manufacturing.

One of the cornerstones of this “luxury value equation” is the nature of heritage and craftsmanship. A marquee name is no longer enough, it has to be demonstrated by a tradition of craftsmanship, sourcing, and provenance. Nowadays, status items might be designed in the United States, sewn in China, and then finished in Italy, creating tension for brands in how they portray their production processes. As clothing production has shifted to computerized systems, artisanal and basic technical skills are being shifted to other countries, mainly China. These pressures have led brands such as Louis Vuitton and Gucci with a built-in heritage story to rediscover their legacy and make it the centerpiece of their 2010 campaigns.

It should be pointed out that the groundwork for luxury’s current fixation on provenance has been accelerated by social media, such as tastemaker fashion bloggers and their readership, resulting in increasingly savvy consumers. We’ve entered an era where bespoke details are becoming more mainstream, which was not the case even five years ago. By popularizing the notion that it’s cool to know how clothes are made and finished, social media has effectively shifted the needle towards slow fashion.

LVMH recently joined forces with Parsons to launch a new initiative, “The Art of Craftsmanship Revisited: New York” in which designers are paired with local master artisans to create original fashion ensembles and short documentary films. Their commitment to heritage spans not just years but generations into the future—a wise investment at a time, as NYT fashion critic Cathy Horyn put it, when “many aspects of contemporary life feel unreliable, [so] heritage brands offer a degree of security.”

To be continued next week…

Born out of a homesickness for the yogurt of his native Iceland, Siggi Hilmarsson started to make his own batches at home, founding Siggi’s in 2005. After many, many batches, he was able to create a nonfat skyr with three times the amount of protein compared to standard yogurts.

It has the cleanest taste (and thickest texture!) of any dairy product I’ve ever tasted, and quickly developed a cult following among foodies and healthy eaters. Now distributed nationally by Whole Foods, I sat down with Siggi to discuss his perspectives on American tastebuds and approach to eating.

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What was the inspiration for you behind founding your own yogurt company?
I missed skyr the yogurt of Iceland, which is much thicker than regular yogurt from being strained– you strain about 75% of the whey weight out so you have a much more concentrated mass of milk solids. Skyr is traditionally made from skim milk, because it’s a byproduct of butter. So back in Iceland in the old days, you would start by skimming off the cream to make butter, then take the skim and make the skyr, after straining the whey from the skyr you would use the whey to drink or pickle various sheep’s parts usually or other food items to store over the winter.

Although I missed skyr the reason why I founded Siggi’s as a particular brand of skyr in the US has more to do with food here than with yogurt per se—I’m pretty averse to eating a lot of sweet stuff and I wanted to make the product not very sweet. I wanted to make a yogurt that was not excessively sweet and didn’t have this explosive sweet flavor.

I don’t like eating a lot of sugar. And when I came to the States, I was shocked by not just candy, but whole wheat bread (with high fructose corn syrup) and everything in between has sugar.  In particular even natural yogurt had 25 to 30 grams of sugar a cup. And then you see some that use aspartame, or artificial sweeteners, which I absolutely abhor. I don’t think they are good for you, they taste terrible, and they are part of this engineered food that I’m not really into.

How did you educate yourself in the process of making skyr?
I started just reading about it. My mom went to a couple local libraries back home in Iceland and got me some really old articles. I read some books, I read online, learned about yogurt in general. And then I started experimenting. All in all, from the time I made my first batch to when I started selling it, it was probably a year and a half. I went through many batches that failed first.

As a company, what are your guiding principles?
We don’t want any of our foods to be overly or excessively sweet, so we use a low amount of any sort of sugar substance. And the sugar we do put in there, we decided to use agave, which is a low glycemic carbohydrate, it takes the body longer to break down so basically you don’t get as much of a rush as you would if you just pump yourself up with sugar.

The other principles are general subtlety—we don’t use flavorings or try to avoid them, we use real fruit, don’t use any colorings, no artificial ingredients, try to keep ingredient style clear and short.

Even things that are unnecessary we just don’t include—for example people will often add beet juice for color, which is still natural and it’s pretty tasteless in small amounts, but we’ve skipped that. We don’t try to exaggerate the colors of things. Also with our sourcing we try to be transparent and traceable. We have certain criteria for the farms that they give their cows access to pasture, grass feed them, don’t use any hormones, we are against tail docking which is a rather unpleasant practice in some industrial dairies. We endorse sustainability–for the lack of a better word -and humane animal treatment, no factory farming. .                     .

Healthy guts!

I recently discovered Eukanuba’s “prebiotic” dogfood, which contains FOS (fructooligosaccharides), a prebiotic that stimulates the growth of good bacteria to enhance your dog’s digestive system.

For pet-owners, this product may come as no great surprise. But for those who don’t browse the aisles of Petco: there’s been a revolution in the category. Gone are the days when dogfood was just “miscellaneous meat” (or horse meat, if you saw that episode of Mad Men). Over the past few years we have seen the sophistication of pet products, and an ever-increasing crossover from the human to the pet world — diet food, salons, chemotherapy, sunblock, massage.

Pets are as old as civilization itself. But dedicated pet-lovers seem to be accelerating their climb towards ever higher levels of emotional commitment, responsibility, involvement and anthropomorphizing with their furry friends. As we become more and more savvy about health and wellness, doesn’t it seem natural to want to apply our knowledge to the protection of loved pets? And at $49 billion in the US alone, the pet product industry is only too happy to oblige.

But as Pet Care and People Care continues to converge, some larger ramifications are beginning to emerge. Will our standard health insurance options soon include a standard “four-legged family member” option? Will Furry Pharma become an increasingly hot, profitable, focus of big Pharma, as they ramp up their spending on pet-related R&D?  Might we see scarce resources diverted from solving niche human health issues to mass pet ones? Is this, indeed the dawning of the age of Pet Rights, Pet politics, and Pet Healthcare reform?

And lest we forget the current (human) healthcare brouhaha — how long before the uninsured resort to Petco for some cheap, dog-approved prozac?

I recently went on a shopping spree in Soho. No, not for clothes, but for green cleaning products.

Green Depot began as a supplier of green building materials- think insulation, paint, tiles. Their success in the building world coincided with a rise in public awareness and interest, and they recently took the plunge into the consumer world. Green Depot’s store on the Bowery showcases all things to do with “living,” from building materials to gardening supplies and lighting options. They have a “filter” system that evaluates the environmental impact of their products, so as to “squarely address greenwashing.” With the curator of all things natural and organic (Whole Foods) just down the street, it certainly feels like Green Depot is angling for the position in the world of green.

For me, the jewel in the Green Depot crown is their cleaning agent refill bar.

Anyone can bring a bottle in and have it refilled with glass/tub & tile/all purpose cleaner or dish soap. Eager to give it a try, I crossed town with 3 empty bottles (method, Listerine & Envirostep) in hand. The stuff is literally on tap, and several pumps later, the friendly barista (soaptender?) had filled the bottles and taped on new labels. The cost? 12 cents an ounce, which works out to be less than a new bottle.

In addition to the modest cost savings, that’s three less plastic bottles for me to chuck in a landfill. (I’ve been haunted about my plastic footprint since watching “Garbage Island.”  It’s a problem.)

Is it reasonable to think that everyone is going to schlep around with empty bottles in their purse? Maybe not. But response has been very positive, and one hopes that it might provoke major players such as P&G and Unilever to acknowledge that consumers are beginning to care enough to go a little extra distance– and that there is opportunity to meet us halfway. I personally would be delighted if my supermarket had a refill station for everything from shampoo to cooking oil.

Paris. London. Hong Kong. Milwaukee?  Recently Craig, Kat, and I had the pleasure of staying at the Iron Horse Hotel, which we agreed was one of the best hotels we’ve spent a night in. Opened in October last year, the Iron Horse was founded by real estate developer Tim Dixon and is the first upscale hotel geared for business travelers and motorcycle enthusiasts alike, which makes sense given that Milwaukee hosts many conventions and is home to Harley-Davidson. Its name comes from the term Native Americans used for the train as it crossed the prairies, and today the Iron Horse is located alongside a historic yet active railroad.

Once a mattress factory, the architecture (lofted industrial beams, reclaimed woods) amenities (motorcycle rentals!), and food offerings (a fancy restaurant as well as more casual pub fare) are executed perfectly within the realm of Ralph Lauren Americana meets Restoration Hardware meets high-end biker. The overall effect was unexpected (a bedside bench upholstered in cowhide), luxurious (bathrooms half the size of my apartment), and thoroughly embodied a new notion of biker-chic luxury that could only be at home in Milwaukee.

What I find particularly compelling about the Iron Horse is how it manages to cater to two unexpected segments (bikers and business travelers) and addresses the frequent traveler’s fatigue with cookie cutter “stylish” business hotels. It feels like a return to place/locality and the specific things that make a city special and authentic.  For example, look no further than the Ace Hotel whose bottom-up spread from Seattle, Portland, Palm Springs, and finally New York, is grounded in expressing a quirky aesthetic particular to each of those cities. The Ace Hotel’s expansion contrasts with the generic chic of thousands of boutique chain lobbies playing light house music across the country (W Hoboken, anyone?).

In a city not known for design innovation, the creativity of the Iron Horse hinted at the larger landscape of things to do in Milwaukee. “Gateway” experiences like these can shape one’s experience and expectations of a city—earlier this year I went to Detroit and loved it; the success of my entire visit hinged upon an extremely detailed Design Sponge-authored guide by local blogger Sweet Juniper that recommended furniture stores and historical architecture sites unfamiliar to most locals.

DESIRES (don’t laugh), the hotel management company that manages the Iron Horse, just opened Moonrise, a sister hotel in St Louis, with a retro-modern mid century decorating theme so it will be interesting to see if their formula of bringing local flavor/heritage will be as successful there as the Iron Horse has been for Milwaukee.

I recently got the chance to peek at the Milk and Honey Service Manual, authored by patron-saint-of-cocktails Sasha Petraske and his staff. A pioneer in the fancy cocktail scene, M&H is especially known for 1. Quality: Extreme attention to detail in every aspect of drink making, especially in regards to ingredients (Bartender Magazine ranks it the #2 bar in the world, below its London location) and 2. Mystery: Hidden behind a door on an otherwise unremarkable stretch of Eldridge St; strict call in advance reservations only policy; and an (until recently) unpublished phone number.

To my surprise and delight, in spite of their venerated position, M&H’s manual describes a “Remains of the Day”-level dedication to pursuing virtue through humility and service. From unobtrusively keeping the table clean, to maintaining  a dry napkin under each cocktail, to minimizing the overall interruption of the customer’s experience, Petraske views his bartenders not as mixologists or Bar Chefs, but instead as craftsmen whose everyday standard should be “offhand excellence.” To that end, the service manual suggests bartenders “pass through the customer’s field of vision regularly, making yourself available to her signal, be it by eye contact or gesture.”   The manual emphasizes the idea of “touch” as it relates to the experience, encompassing the height of a counter, the flick of a wrist, the tone of a voice, the weight of an especially plush napkin. All these tiny things, physical and immaterial, produce a signification of being taken care of, that makes me want to come back.

Open since 2001, Milk and Honey recently decided to simultaneously reveal its phone number and turn itself into a members only club. Out of the seven tables available, five will be reserved for members who pay a $300 annual fee to receive priority reservations and reduced-price cocktails. It will be interesting to see how this policy evolves and how they maintain their commitment to service—I consider this development a respectful tip of the hat to M&H’s devoted following, who have long had issues with the hype and slavish phone number mongering M&H has generated for so much of its history.

It’s a simple recipe for a thoroughly unwholesome meal: one McChicken sandwich placed between a Double Cheeseburger’s two patties, both ordered off McDonald’s popular Dollar Menu for a grand total of $2.16. Crudely christened the “McGangBang” by Daytona Beach customers in 2006, the sandwich has steadily earned a voracious following. Today, McDonald’s diners consume the McGangBang both online and off, ordering the absurd sandwich from befuddled employees, while documenting their experiences via Flickr, YouTube and, yes, even Twitter. And yet, the way McDonald’s opts to address this public relations pickle will prove to be even more interesting than how their customers are customizing the dollar sandwiches.

To date, the company has issued a single statement on the McGangBang, using a typical smile, deflect and evade approach:

“McDonald’s loves to hear from our valued guests, especially when they customize and create meal combinations to fit their personal taste preferences – no matter how unique! Whether it’s requesting an Egg McMuffin without cheese or a Big Mac with extra secret sauce, McDonald’s is proud to satisfy our customers’ requests and provide them with a variety of great-tasting meals every time they visit our restaurants.”

Is it just me or is ordering a sandwich named after a group sex act slightly different than asking for “an Egg McMuffin without cheese?” (Unless I’m unaware of some naughty new move!)

Oddly enough, I first heard of the McGangBang the same day that I watched a young boy on YouTube teach the world “How To Smoke Smarties” — yet another reconstitution of a defenseless manufacturer’s product. After crushing up the classic sugary candy into a powder and holding it in his mouth, the child demonstrated how it appeared to seep out like cigarette smoke. His instructional video has over 350,000 views and countless copycat posts, mainly by kids.

While folks have always reconstructed meals for their own amusement, food companies can no longer expect such experiences to remain either private or temporary. As fast and fleeting as the internet is, it also acts as a permanent public record for consumers’ every little experiment. Whether McDonald’s likes it or not, the McGangBang has already left an indelible mark on their brand.

No matter how unsavory the publicity is, McDonald’s must respond. Second only to pushing their products is pushing their message, and such an easy entree to the public conversation is a rare gift. Sure, it’s not in their best interest to capitalize on the name “McGangBang,” but they damn well ought to seize on the energy and enthusiasm behind it. A few ideas:

• Create an open contest for the best new sandwich created using only existing menu items. Put the (least rude) submissions up for an online vote, and offer the winner a limited menu run.
• Design a secret “off-the-menu” menu comprised completely of existing items, remixed a la In-N-Out e.g. Chicken McNuggets served with Big Mac Special Sauce or a Quarter Pounder with a layer of French Fries inside. Make no formal announcements. Instead, simply inform employees of the new offerings and wait for word to leak out.
• Rename the McGangBang something more palatable yet rich in innuendo e.g. the McOhYeah, the McLovin’ or the McNasty. Inform employees to expect orders for the “McGangBang.” Prepare them to respond with a simple one liner, “Oh, you mean the Mc____” Subvert the crude name with a new name of your own choosing.

In short, McDonald’s cannot do nothing. The challenge is unusual, but it could be far worse. Kids could be smoking McNuggets.

- Johnny

For a comprehensive background on the genesis of the McGangBang, click here.

One would think that a biker gear store would be on a little side street in Alphabet City. Newly opened NYC Motorcycle Federation disproves this theory, defiantly sitting on 6th Ave and Downing next to the hip 10 Downing restaurant and across from celebrity-ridden Da Silvano’s. Gleaming vintage bikes and racks of worn leather jackets are juxtaposed with an illy cafe counter, and a signboard outside the store that cheerfully announces “Refueling station. The best espresso you have ever had”

It makes you curious about the espresso-imbibing NY biker community. To find more, I visited MF’s site:

While I cannot claim to be intimately acquainted with biker culture, I’m not sure that the phrase “outlaw couture” would roll off the tongues of your traditional Harley-rider. But it’s a new world, and who says you can’t mix Italian espresso with rough and tumble, free wi-fi with rebellion, or energy-efficiency with an engine’s roar?

Rumor has it that  the store was conceived by the talented duo behind fashion-technology-super-trendy DDCLAB. Whether or not this concept hits the mark with bikers, I must admit that I already enjoy their coffee and wifi… and a leather jacket may be next.

This weekend I walked past the John Fluevog store in Soho, and was struck by their “Buy Better, Buy Less” promotion. In a time when shopping has ground to a halt and 70% sales are the new 30% sales, retailers are looking for new ways to connect with skittish consumers, an especially tricky thing for the luxury industry. One beacon of hope in high-end retail is the concept of buying higher quality, more durable goods, but fewer of them. While not an original thought (just ask your depression-era grandparents about the wastefulness of the past decades), durability has hardly been the backbone of the retail sector, or of pop culture as we know it. In fact, planned obsolescence is key to most business’ long-term strategies.

The “Buy Better, Buy More” wave of green products and free-trade-everything, has been followed by the harsh realities of the economic collapse. So while counter-intuitive from a traditional business perspective, I wonder if culturally, the time has come for companies to redefine their relationship with consumers on fundamental level: asking people to consume less. One viable way to do this would be to offering a more durable product, but augmenting revenue with service/maintenance add-ons. Fluevog for example, could offer re-soling services by cobblers who are experts at working with their designs, thus adding another year to your shoes. Skeptics will balk at this idea, pointing to the direct decrease in replacement shoe sales. But it’s a new era, and perhaps customer loyalty, the knowledge that resources are being maximized, and fresh revenue streams will become necessary differentiators. In most cases, keeping your customers may better than losing them all.