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"-=-=-=-\nYou may have noticed a certain type of ad on Facebook or, if you take\nit, the New York City subway, in which an everyday consumer item is\npresented in minimalist splendor: mattresses (Casper), rolling suitcases\n(Away), tampons (Lola), razors (Harry’s). Catalogue companies and the\npeople on infomercials have been doing direct-to-consumer marketing for\nyears, but these ads hail from a new generation of startups, companies\noften backed by venture-capital money, that want to use the methods and\npractices of Silicon Valley to “disrupt” regular old consumer goods.\nTake Casper’s Web site, which explains that its mattresses were created\nthrough an “obsessive” process involving “two dozen beta models” and\n“A/B testing.” Consider also these companies’ tendency to present\neveryday events—sleep, packing for a business trip, the onset of your\nmenstrual cycle, stubble—as time-wasters requiring only the right gadget\nto be dealt with.\n\nOne of the startups to pioneer this formula was Everlane, a mostly\nonline clothing company that sells “modern basics,” the kind of\nno-nonsense staples one associates with J. Crew and Gap. Everlane came on the market in 2011, selling cotton T-shirts. Since then, it has\nexpanded into everything from sweaters to accessories and has reportedly\nsought to raise investment at a valuation of more than two hundred and\nfifty million dollars. This month, the company launched a denim line. A\nspin through the Web site reveals neutral colors and very little\npatterning beyond the odd sailor stripe. Prices are moderate\n(thirty-five dollars for a micro-rib turtleneck), and shapes are modern\n(high-waisted pants) but not trendy. The names assigned to each item—the\nCity Anorak, the Cotton Turtleneck—conjure a utilitarian approach that\nprioritizes efficiency over all. Here is a wardrobe you could buy on\nyour iPhone from the elliptical machine.\n\nEverlane was started by Michael Preysman, who, in 2011, was a\ntwenty-five-year-old peon at an Internet investment firm, researching\ncompanies like Facebook and Yelp. Preysman dreamed of starting his own\nenterprise, one that made *stuff* rather than software, and he saw an\nopportunity in retail. Clothes are cheap to make, but they’re subject to\nmarkups after they leave the factory floor—wholesalers, retailers, and\nvarious middlemen all take a cut. As Preysman [told *Business of Fashion*](https://www.businessoffashion.com/articles/founder-stories/michael-preysman-on-iterating-everlane-and-fixing-fashion-retail) last year, “A basic, high-end T-shirt costs about $7.50 to make, but\nsells for about $50. It was like, Holy shit, there’s a real discrepancy\nthere.” Choosing the direct-to-consumer model, he focussed his\nadvertising campaign on what he called “radical transparency.” If you\nclick on Everlane’s Cotton Box-Cut Tee, which goes for sixteen dollars,\nyou’ll see that the shirt hails from a factory in Ho Chi Minh City,\nVietnam, and that it cost eight dollars to make. A photo essay documents\nthe inner workings of the factory and attests to its ethical practices.\nA diagram breaks down the company’s costs—material, labor, transport.\nEverlane’s price, therefore, represents a hundred-per-cent markup, but\nthe company notes that a “traditional retailer” would probably charge\nforty dollars.\n\nThe T-shirts are straightforward and reasonably priced, although you\ncould save more money by shopping at, say, Old Navy. In some ways, the\nmost radical thing about Everlane was its marketing. When I met him\nrecently, Preysman was in no way offended by this observation.\n“Marketing has a negative connotation, but I think of it as—what a\nreally great company does is figure out, What are the customer’s needs?\nAnd then giving it to them. And then telling it to them,” he said.\n\nWe were at a table in the back of Everlane’s showroom in SoHo. Preysman\nonce swore that he would never open a physical store, but, like other\ne-retailers, including Warby Parker and [Amazon](https://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/amazons-brick-and-mortar-bookstores-are-not-built-for-people-who-actually-read), the company is now\npursuing a hybrid model so that customers can try things on. (Everlane,\nwhich aimed never to have excess stock, has also reversed its “no sales”\npolicy. Since 2015, it has had discounts; customers are asked to pay\nwhat they think is fair.)\n\nPreysman, who is now thirty-two, with a beard that gives him a\nthoughtful appearance, was dressed in Everlane: jeans, white sneakers,\nand a navy-blue T-shirt. The look was clean but unremarkable, which is\nthe point. “We’re not a fashion company,” Preysman said—nor would\nEverlane want to be. “It’s really, really hard to compete in the apparel\nworld.” Large e-commerce companies can respond to microtrends with\nincreasing speed and ease. “Amazon’s going to run the price down to the\nground. Zara’s already done that.” The woes of the retail industry are\nwell documented—Urban Outfitters and [J. Crew](https://www.newyorker.com/business/currency/why-j-crews-vision-of-preppy-america-failed) are among the companies failing to compete with the giants—but, even in this brutal landscape,\nPreysman sees an opening. “Where people are winning is with item-driven\nbusinesses,” he said. An item, as he defines it, is a singular,\nnon-interchangeable thing: a Casper mattress, a Canada Goose puffer\njacket, a classic sneaker by Vans or Adidas. “It’s a thing that you can\nbuild an entire company around.” Is a cotton T-shirt an item? Preysman\nsaid that it can be. “I just don’t think that’s an item that people are\nnecessarily looking for today.”\n\nInstead, for the past few years, Everlane has been trying, through an\niterative process, to turn sweaters and jackets into items. We took a\nspin through the showroom, which, to me, looked like a store that you\nmight find on any SoHo street corner: racks of dresses and shirts and\npants, tables displaying leather clutches. But Preysman explained that\nthere were subtle innovations. For example, a regular apparel company\nlike J. Crew churns out seasonal, “story-driven” collections—say, a\nrocker-inspired look for fall—a process that leads to excess inventory\nand selling corduroys when it’s still eighty degrees outside. Everlane,\nby contrast, rolls out new pieces one at a time, hoping that each will\nbecome a year-round classic: the Cotton Box-Cut Tee Dress ($25), the\nSlouchy Chino Pant ($58). Rather than designing to evoke a look or a\nfeeling, Everlane creates its clothes for specific “use cases.” Walking\nto a rack of women’s clothes and removing a Long Slip Dress ($88),\nPreysman said, “We ask, Is she wearing it to a wedding? On the weekend?\nIs it work? Is it leisure?” He acknowledged, “Outerwear companies have\nbeen doing this for a long time. Like, Hey, you’re going rock climbing?\nHere’s *the thing* you need for that.” Everlane’s use cases are pretty\nmuch always daytime pursuits—errands, the office—never, say, date night\nor clubbing. “Then you’re playing in shine, frills, low-cut tops,”\nPreysman said. “It quickly devolves into fast fashion.” This means\nleaving opportunities on the table. He shrugged. “You do not get laid in\nEverlane.”\n\nDespite plenty of buzz, the verdict still seems to be out on Everlane.\nThe company has super-fans (and almost four hundred thousand Instagram\nfollowers) and many people I spoke to expressed an appreciation for the\nidea of “radical transparency.” But the clothes themselves often\ngenerated a mixed response. A twenty-six-year-old industrial designer\ntold me that she’d bought a silk blouse from Everlane because “it’s\nbasic and not ridiculously expensive—like Theory, but cheaper.” But she\nhad complaints about the fit: “It didn’t fit around the chest and hips\nand ass area,” she said. “If I had the money, I’d choose Theory.” I saw\nwhat she meant when, at the showroom, I tried on the Japanese GoWeave\nV-Neck Cocoon Dress ($98), which is made from the wrinkle-resistant\nfabric triacetate, which Everlane calls GoWeave. The dress was sturdy\nbut lightweight, and would be perfect for, say, a trip to the grocery\nstore. But the shape was nondescript—more like a small bag than cocoon.\nIt’s not that I’m hoping to get laid at the grocery store—but, I\nwondered, do I have to completely close off that possibility?\n\nPart of the problem might be Everlane’s design process, which, in the\nearly days, the company tackled with the same Silicon Valley “question\neverything” mentality that it had applied to distribution and pricing.\n“I had no idea how clothes were made,” Preysman said. He and his team\nemployed something like the Lean Startup method, making T-shirts, and\nthen other clothes, through trial and error. This resulted in some\nmemorable mishaps: a turtleneck sweatshirt “that actually looked like a\nturtle with a neck” and a rainproof jacket that trapped sweat because\nthe waterproof fabric was sewn inside-out. A happier accident was the\nBox-Cut Tee. Due to some pattern-making confusion, the company produced\na batch of T-shirts that were two inches too short. It then decided to\ncut off another two inches; the shirt is still a women’s best-seller.\n\nFor a brief period, Everlane had a creative director—in 2015, it hired\nRebekka Bay, of COS and Gap, but she left this past February. Since\nthen, Preysman said that Everlane has reverted to a more “democratic”\ndesign process that includes input from every division—marketing,\nmerchandising, operations. Preysman described it as more\n“customer-focussed.” He said that the lead designers travel to San\nFrancisco for regular meetings. “It’s a team sitting around the table\nlooking at color and fabrics and saying, ‘Hey, is this the right thing\nfor us to do?’ Or I’ll grab someone on the design team and say, ‘What do\nyou guys think of about this?’ ” His description made me wonder if, for\nall of traditional retail’s woes, the process of designing basics might\nhave been one thing that didn’t need disruption.\n\nThen again, perhaps originality is overrated. In the showroom, Preysman\ndrew my attention to a square zip wallet ($98) in a muted peach color. I\nhad seen one strikingly similar, made by Comme des Garçons, in electric\nblue ($210). Both were made in Spain. Everlane introduced pouches and\ncross-body bags last year, and they seem to be on their way to achieving\nitem status. Whereas fast-fashion outlets such as H&M and Zara mimic the\nlook of designer shoes and handbags but make the products in China with\ncheaper materials, Everlane does the same thing with nice materials, and\noften uses the very same European manufacturers. When I tried on another\nbest seller, the modest Day Heel ($145), which looks a *lot* like the\ncoveted pump made by the New York-based designer Maryam Nassir Zadeh\n($385), they felt like designer shoes: the heels and soles were sturdy\nand solid, and the leather was so soft that they could have been\nslippers. Was it a radical reinvention—doing to work shoes what Apple\ndid to flip phones? No, but they were great for the office.\n\n"
<https://www.newyorker.com/culture/on-and-off-the-avenue/how-everlane-hacked-your-wardrobe>