Life right now is shades of gray accented with black.
To counter that, Betsey Johnson’s memoir offers a splash of hot pink.
The clothing designer radiates whimsy and fun — qualities, naturally, in short supply now. While no one is saying ignore the pandemic, reading this is a welcome diversion.
Johnson defines upbeat. “Betsey,” written with Mark Vitulano, is relentlessly sunny. She has no complaints about an idyllic childhood, and the bitchiest she gets is refusing to name one of her three ex-husbands.
What comes across is a talented optimist. Her business plans would probably give hives to MBAs, but Johnson is a magnificent example of what can happen when your passion is fueled with hard work.
If it sounds simple, maybe it is. Maybe everyone makes it too complicated, but the axiom of listening to that inner voice and staying true to your talent has worked for Johnson. A trendsetter in the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s with bright colors and cheerful patterns, Johnson took chances and had fans from Julie Christie to Madonna.
Born in 1942 in Wethersfield, Conn., she recalls being fearful, likely a result of being a toddler during World War II. Her love of design and sewing came naturally as Johnson’s mom made the family’s clothes. Her mother didn’t like to sew, but so many people made their clothes then and had far smaller wardrobes.
“Every year she’d make matching back-to-school dresses for me and my sister. They were always plaid and had little puff sleeves and sashes and bows. She later also sewed all of my dance costumes, and I started to help. I had no idea that this would become my life’s work.”
For all of the memoirs that recount fathers who crept into daughters’ rooms at night, mothers who guzzled booze and horrendous home lives, Johnson’s story makes “Father Knows Best” look sordid. Some people, though, do have happy childhoods and love their siblings. She grew up with victory gardens and a white picket fence.
Her biggest childhood crime was pinching cherry Life Savers from Woolworths. Even being part of the hazy, crazy downtown scene of the 1960s and 1970s, Johnson presents a very strait-laced person, albeit one in starched crinolines, striped tights, and wild prints.
It seemed as if Pratt Institute was perfect for her. Johnson moved in for her freshman year in 1960, but discovered she wanted the college experience of the 1950s. She wanted to be a cheerleader, in a sorority, and instead was with artsy students in Brooklyn who did not get her.
“These kids were so pretentious and full of themselves that all of them were convinced they were going to be the next Picasso, and I hated that. I just wanted to do my art and hopefully make a career of it someday.”
The best part of Pratt was her roommate, a home economics major (this really was 1960) who worked as a hooker by night. She was expelled, and Johnson transferred to Syracuse University, where she was happily a cheerleader and studied fabric design and illustration.
Her senior year led to a crucial career break. A devoted reader of Mademoiselle, Johnson entered a contest to work on the magazine’s college issue. Besides traveling for the first time to London, Johnson wound up working for an editor who would become an influential champion.
Admittedly, Johnson was not thrilled with being assigned to the fabric department. Yet she recognized it was an opportunity. She understood how important materials and patterns were then.
“People still did a lot of home sewing back then, and all of the major stores had fabric departments as well.”
Among the lessons to take from Johnson is that an assignment she didn’t want turned out to be intrinsic to her career. She learned to track down information about fabric, including where the Yankees bought their pinstriped material.
In a fifth-floor railroad apartment under the Brooklyn Bridge, Johnson began sewing blouses as a way to supplement her salary. Now a staffer at Mademoiselle, she was surrounded by others who loved fashion.
Johnson found a material she liked and created short-sleeved, body-hugging sweaters with a velvet-trimmed scoop neck.
“They were adorable, if I do say so myself,” she wrote.
As soon as she wore one to work, she had plenty of orders. She would stay up all night sewing. An editor took a fancy to Johnson’s creations and recommended her for the critical next step. She was in on the launch of what would become one of the fashion scenes of the 1960s.
Young as Johnson was, she was a mainstay at Paraphernalia, a boutique that sold clothes for the current season, breaking from the tradition of selling ahead. Her clothes were bold, feminine and engendered excitement.
Have you ever met anyone wearing a Betsey Johnson dress who did not volunteer what it was? Her fans were like vegans or people who do CrossFit; they must let you in on the secret.
From Paraphernalia, Johnson gleaned vital business lessons. When she realized the store had not considered who its customers were as it expanded nationally, she took note. Johnson later designed each of her stores, painted the walls, decorated the windows and chose the sales help.
This personal touch ensured that the clerks got her sense of humor. She planned it all with a friend over bottles of wine at Café Un Deux Trois.
Fashion shows are created as events and hers were. For her autumn 1995 line, rocker Steven Tyler and Isabella Rossellini strutted the catwalk. The celebs modeling changed over the years but what stayed the same was the famous ending to her shows — Johnson cartwheeling onto the catwalk and landing in a split.
Johnson recounts a life of taking chances. After hatching an idea some might dismiss as kooky, she ran with it. She may downplay her business acumen, but she figured out early who to trust.
Well, she figured this out better with friends than with lovers and husbands. For a woman whose business is based on her taste, she wound up with lousy guys.
Johnson moved in with her first husband not long after meeting him. The first and second husbands were whirlwind romances. She wed, despite glaring problems, including substance abuse.
The third husband sounds heinous, and she stayed in that abusive relationship for years. The man had her do weigh-ins to make sure she wasn’t too chubby for him. And, he roughed her up immediately after the wedding ceremony.
With her first husband, Johnson had a daughter, Lulu, with whom she had a short-lived reality show.
A breast cancer survivor, Johnson initially wanted to keep that private, but then told her story. That proved her a serial survivor. She never fell into the drug-soaked decades that did in many. Johnson succeeded in an industry infamous for ravaging people. There were three lousy marriages and one terrible business decision.
She and her long-term business partner eventually sold to hedge fund financiers who destroyed the company. Old pal Steve Madden bought her label, XOX Betsey, and kept her as creative director.
Now living in California, Johnson, at 77, remains optimistic. “Maybe I’ll end up on a whole new path,” she writes.
Who would doubt her?
