Where's Don Draper when you need him? Proof it took time to choose a name.
For my inaugural post, I thought it might be appropriate to explain why I chose Black Cat for my business name. Why not Mint Car (90s!), Red Wagon (30s!) or Pink Popsicle (50s Barbie Dream House!)? The truth is it took me months to choose Black Cat, and I still have the stacks of napkins, envelopes and scratch paper from business naming attempts both drunken and sober to prove it.
In 2005 most of my pieces were the full-skirted dresses that housewives wore to do the laundry, grocery shop or refill their Valium (in other words, today's formalwear), so the name obviously had to evoke the past. But I knew that as finances permitted I would transition into rarer specialty garments, which meant the name couldn't be cutesy or no one would take me seriously. Whatever name I chose, it had to have some chops and stand the test of time.
One particularly frustrating afternoon as I was brainstorming on my laptop, my massive black cat Bear decided--as cats will do--to drape all 17 of her pounds across my keyboard and smear nose jelly on my computer screen. "No Bear," I said. "Kjgfffe3 is not a business name." And I put her down on the floor.
She would have none of it.
One particularly frustrating afternoon as I was brainstorming on my laptop, my massive black cat Bear decided--as cats will do--to drape all 17 of her pounds across my keyboard and smear nose jelly on my computer screen. "No Bear," I said. "Kjgfffe3 is not a business name." And I put her down on the floor.
She would have none of it.
The one and only: Bear
Back on the laptop she came, this time sitting on the keys and facing me directly. "Maaaaaah!" she declared and slowly blinked her huge yellow eyes. Down on the floor she went again, but not for long. It took three more rounds of keyboard sitting before I checked her food bowl for a clue as to her behavior. Usually any action that suggested she might get fed prompted Bear to sprint toward her bowl, stopping a few feet short so momentum and the tile floor could do the rest. But not this time...and besides, her bowl was full. Instead she remained perched on my computer, blinking and--I swear--smiling like the Master in Bulgakov's famous novel. And finally I got it.
When I returned to my laptop to type the name for the first time, I set Bear on the floor and this time she stayed. The letters looked good together: the capital "C" fit nicely beside the terminal "k" and two of the initials were the initials of my first and last name. Notoriously chic, black cats exude elegance, attitude and mystery, all of which were appropriate qualities for the kind of woman I wanted to dress. Moreover, my years rescuing cats had taught me that black cats were typically the last to be adopted, the "misfit toys" whom no one wanted. What a perfect company name for a misfit gal who restored the castoffs of fashion history into beautiful swans. The name stuck and a decade later, it still fits me like a vintage size 10.
Bear was my best friend and faithful companion for 17 years, and the day she died a piece of me died with her. As close to a daughter as I'll ever have, she taught me that sometimes the answer I can't seem to find is right in front of me. Drooling on my laptop.
When I returned to my laptop to type the name for the first time, I set Bear on the floor and this time she stayed. The letters looked good together: the capital "C" fit nicely beside the terminal "k" and two of the initials were the initials of my first and last name. Notoriously chic, black cats exude elegance, attitude and mystery, all of which were appropriate qualities for the kind of woman I wanted to dress. Moreover, my years rescuing cats had taught me that black cats were typically the last to be adopted, the "misfit toys" whom no one wanted. What a perfect company name for a misfit gal who restored the castoffs of fashion history into beautiful swans. The name stuck and a decade later, it still fits me like a vintage size 10.
Bear was my best friend and faithful companion for 17 years, and the day she died a piece of me died with her. As close to a daughter as I'll ever have, she taught me that sometimes the answer I can't seem to find is right in front of me. Drooling on my laptop.
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