Welcome to a new chapter in my life: Tala Raassi, CEO.
Wow, a business owner. I felt like I was following in the footsteps of my father and rebuilding my family’s entrepreneurial legacy. The role of CEO brought me countless sentiments and responsibilities. On top of that Eric was counting on me to make his investment worthwhile. I was experiencing a high like I never had before, but at the same time I was scared. There was no going back now!
The first step was to register my company. I researched how to legally set up a company online and then registered my new T-shirt line as Tala Raassi, LLC (limited liability company). That was the easiest step. The next part involved using some of the investment to purchase material and start creating T-shirts. Spending money was always easy for me, but this time I was really terrified. The future of my newborn business was based on this investment.
I wanted to be as resourceful as possible, so I turned my bedroom into my workshop and “hired” Maman to help. It took me several weeks to produce fifteen styles, and Maman was instrumental in helping me create them. She was much better at sewing than I was and obviously there was no charge for her labor. My poor mother has helped me with so much throughout my life and has never asked for anything in return. She is and always has been full of strength. I think she wanted me to follow my dream so badly because she never really got to follow hers. She saw bits and pieces of herself in me.
Each T-shirt sold for around fifty dollars, and I made a twenty- to thirty-dollar profit. Despite that, my expenses were adding up so quickly that in a few short weeks, I had already spent more than $5,000 in material and equipment.
I needed to get some exposure before I ran out of money. All my friends and family had already bought my T-shirts, and it was essential to find more customers to generate a better cash flow. I decided to advertise the birth of my brand by hosting a fabulous fashion show in DC. At this point in my life, I thought you were only a real fashion designer when you had real runway shows, models, celebrities, and all the other glamorous things that outsiders associate with the industry.
I had never hosted a fashion show before and still had a lot to learn. I watched a myriad of them on television and the Internet, but hosting your own is quite different, especially if you’re preparing for it solo. I knew influential people in the nightlife business. (Let’s give a round of applause to my years of partying.) I got in touch with a friend who promoted the hottest DC clubs, and he loved the idea. Who wouldn’t want a bunch of hot women strutting down a runway at their club? We settled on Pearl nightclub, one of the most popular venues at the time. My target market would be there—young, good-looking, international college students who could afford a fifty-dollar T-shirt.
The crowd was perfect, but the logistics on-site couldn’t have been more imperfect. The venue was enormous. The only way for all the guests to see the models was to create an L-shaped runway that started from the bathrooms, passed by the bar, went around the table service area and ended at the entrance. Welcome to the world’s longest runway. I convinced the club manager to purchase a red carpet and ropes to glam it up. Despite what seemed like miles and miles that the models would have to traverse in high heels, my vision was beginning to take shape.
Hosting trunk shows to sell jewelry in Tehran had taught me about the effects of “word-of-mouth marketing.” So I personally called, messaged, or emailed every single person I knew and made sure they were aware that if they weren’t in attendance on the night of my fashion show, I would never talk to them again. This is how I created my guest list—by force! Then I used social media as my second tool for publicity and marketing and began arranging the details for the show.
My budget was a massive: zero dollars. I wanted brand exposure without spending a dime. This was going to be my inauguration as a professional at making people do things for me for free. I realized that I had what club promoters hunted for on a nightly basis—stunning women and a large crowd, which is ultimately why they covered all the costs for the event. I approached college students from George Washington University, American University, and Georgetown University and eventually found ten fit, good-looking girls who were willing to model in the show for nothing. So far, so free!
I made all the bartenders, cocktail waitresses, promoters, and managers wear “I am with Tala Raassi” black-and-white T-shirts as a marketing tool to promote the line. They all agreed to wear the T-shirts, but I’m pretty sure they weren’t thrilled about having my name plastered across their chests. I mean, who the hell was Tala Raassi to them anyway?
On the night of the fashion show, I arrived on-site early. Although I have never been married before, it felt like it was the night of my wedding. I was so anxious. I sat in my car outside the building until one of the managers came to open the door. The lights were off as I dragged my skidding suitcase across the quiet, bare venue to the back room. The place was so empty that I could hear my voice echo when I chatted with the staff. After helping place all the ropes and the red carpet to create the extended runway, I went to the storage room and started setting up for the action.
That night my problems seemed endless. An assistant like Andy Sachs from The Devil Wears Prada would’ve really come in handy right about then. Three models backed out at the last minute, but I remained calm (even though I was having mini panic attacks on the inside). My two best friends and Samira, my cousin, filled in.
Samira is a gorgeous, tall, thin brunette, and at first she was reluctant to walk the show because of her father. She didn’t think he would be pleased with her walking around a club half-naked. And she was right: if my uncle ever found out that she wore booty shorts in a nightclub with her butt cheeks hanging out, he would’ve killed us both! But I knew once she got out on the runway she would work it. Leave it to me to corrupt all the Raassis, one kid at a time. After I assured her that her father would never find out, she agreed to do it.
Working with what you have takes resourcefulness and a dash of imagination. The girls showed up at 8:00 p.m. to get ready in Pearl’s glamorous storage room—complete with trash bags, boxes, ropes, and unused club inventory. I used the boxes as chairs and the ropes as clothing racks. I hung my designs up with their “name tags” (pieces of paper with the models’ names written on them in permanent marker). I did the girls’ makeup and told them to blow out their hair with big, loose “Victoria’s Secret” curls. I saved money, but prepping ten girls was a challenge, even for me. Despite the somewhat grungy aspect of the venue, I felt that this was the beginning of something awesome.
A sea of enthusiastic guests had packed the club by 11:00 p.m., and the show was scheduled to begin at 11:30. The front row was filled with club promoters, horny college boys, and a bunch of other sloppy drunks. I assumed all the guests had showed up for my big debut, not just to see hot girls and drink until they couldn’t see straight. Where were the fashion editors, buyers, “it” girls, and fashionistas? I’m sure Ms. Wintour was devastated that she didn’t get an invite to such a lavish affair.
The promoters had the genius idea of giving the models a bottle of Grey Goose as they got ready. By the time the show started, there wasn’t a drop left in the bottle. Their blood-alcohol level didn’t bode well, especially given their strappy sky-high heels. I was afraid they were going to trip and fall or throw up on the never-ending runway. All I could do at that point was wish for the best.
When it was finally showtime, I peeked my head out from the storage room to get a glimpse of what I had worked so hard on. It felt great watching the girls wear my designs on a runway for the first time. My creations had come to life under the club lights. A sense of pride overtook me, and I desperately wished that my family was there to see my first runway show. I wanted to make them proud.
After the last model strutted the runway, the DJ announced my name and welcomed me for the last walk. I held on to Samira’s hand tightly and walked out, with the rest of the models clapping behind me. An electrifying power rose up through my body with each step down the runway.
I waved to my friends and the rest of the crowd. It was beyond amazing to hear everyone cheering and shouting my name. The crowd merged together into a sea of faces, and for a moment they could have been anyone. I could have been anywhere. I had goose bumps all over my body as I envisioned myself walking the runway during New York Fashion Week, surrounded by an audience of celebrities and fashion icons. That day couldn’t come soon enough.
Given my budgetary limitations, all the models looked incredible. The venue was packed, and I had very positive feedback. Unfortunately, the show didn’t generate much money or press for my line. But on the upside, the show ended up being pretty popular with the guys around town. Many of them got in touch with me asking for the models’ contact information. Perhaps if a career in fashion didn’t work out, I could become a madam or start a dating business.
It became very clear to me that it wasn’t about getting an investor or hosting a fashion show anymore. Runways and word-of-mouth advertising just weren’t going to cut it. I needed to figure out a way to sell my products to people outside my social circle and a real strategy for the bread and butter of my business. It would have to begin with a better production process—one that would be more cost effective, have a faster turnover time, and still produce high-quality products. I couldn’t make everything myself or with the help of Maman anymore.
To jump-start this new plan, I put all my energy into finding the right facility for making high-end T-shirts. I contacted everyone I knew (social media to the rescue!) and quickly realized that most of the factories that I needed to work with were either in Los Angeles or overseas. I had always wanted a jet-setting life, but this was different. I didn’t have a lot of money left, and it surely wouldn’t cover the cost of traveling. I needed a way to get to these places without drying out my bank account. I had no choice but to get creative.
Imagine that you have to cross a body of water and in front of you are stepping-stones. Some of the stones are close together, which makes it effortless. But then you look down and notice that the next stepping-stone is farther away, and there is no going back. Your options are to stand still, paralyzed with fear forever, or to challenge your inherent capabilities and remember that fear only has power over you when you doubt yourself.
I thought about a friend of mine who worked for an airline company at Dulles International Airport. She was always traveling around the world on discounted buddy passes. But buddy passes were only available for airline employees and their families. I figured I could either pay full price to visit these factories and run out of money for production, or apply for a job with the airline so that I could go for free.
I didn’t know anything about the airline industry, but that didn’t matter. I would just have to jump to the next stepping-stone and figure it out! I got a job at the airport and was given an airline uniform with a hat. I put that hat on knowing that in life you have to wear many different hats. And even though this navy cap with a silver metal airplane glued in the center wasn’t the kind I wanted to wear, it was the one that would get me closer to my goals.
I created the freedom I needed to explore my options further. You just have to do what you have to do, even when it’s scary!