A few days after the sponsorship became official, I traveled to the Marie Claire headquarters in New York to give a speech about my journey and what it was like to be published in its magazine. After all that had happened, I felt like I was living my own fairy tale. I had never given a speech in that type of forum, but had always been comfortable speaking about messages I felt passionately about, no matter the setting. I finally felt like I was getting the hang of public speaking. Plus there wasn’t the added pressure of cameras.
I arrived at their headquarters in the Hearst Tower, a high rise in Midtown Manhattan, wearing a sleek black-and-white dress with a blazer. I felt empowered just from standing there. That was the type of place I had always envisioned myself working in—or more like being the boss in!
That day I was a bit too eager and arrived an hour before my meeting was scheduled. As I walked through the corridors people introduced themselves and congratulated me on my success. Some even took photos with me. Who was I to them? I was very confused, but beyond humbled.
Abigail Pesta, the editor of my story, introduced herself. She had ivory skin and very short red hair that tapered neatly around her face. She was very warm and made me feel welcome. I followed Abigail for a tour of the huge, bright headquarters, which had many cubicles filled with fascinating people. Everyone who worked there oozed glamour and style. I was a bit intimidated. As we passed by the offices, more employees stepped out and introduced themselves or Abigail introduced them to me.
Then she took me to the Marie Claire fashion closet, where I got to experience a small taste of heaven. A beautiful rainbow of colors brightened my vision as I stared at all the haute couture garments. This room contained all the clothing, accessories, shoes, bags, and everything else that the hottest fashion designers in the world sent to the fashion editors for photo shoots, editorials, and the like. I stood there in awe for a few moments. I couldn’t believe how many coveted collections of clothing, not to mention Chanel and Birkin bags, were in my presence. I wanted to feel, smell, and try on every single item.
Abigail finished the tour and took me to meet Joanna Coles, the editor in chief of Marie Claire at the time. She began her career in journalism in her native UK and has been aggressively making a name for herself ever since.
I approached her office and saw her sitting there. She was striking. I was dying to take out my phone and snap a million selfies with her. At the same time I was trying really hard to keep my cool and pretend that fireworks weren’t shooting from my head. The entire scene was plucked out of The Devil Wears Prada. Joanna even resembled Meryl Streep. She was fabulous and very classy. Her hair was styled to perfection; I almost didn’t believe it was real.
She greeted me in her elegant British accent and invited Abigail and me into her office. Joanna sat behind her spotless executive-style desk, and we sat in the chairs facing her. I felt blessed to have the opportunity to sit across from such a brilliant woman and honored that she had taken the time out of her busy schedule to converse with me. I also felt very badass just for having the chance to sit my butt in a seat at her office.
We chatted about my experiences, Dar Be Dar, and my personal life. She said if I ever became overwhelmed with running my own swimwear business, she could always put me in touch with a renowned designer I could work with. I was flattered and overjoyed by her trust in me. I felt she believed in me enough to recommend my talent to a respected industry professional. That in itself felt like an accomplishment that no money could buy.
As I walked out of her office, I asked what she thought about my sponsorship with the Miss Universe Pageant. Joanna said, “I think with your story and message, it could be a good pairing.” She offered to write about my new partnership in the editor’s comments section of the upcoming issue of Marie Claire. I was break dancing in my head.
Finally, Abigail led me to the enormous conference room where I would give my speech. It was filled with chairs facing a podium, and it had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a breathtaking view of the New York skyline—it oozed power, and I could feel it everywhere around me. As the room filled with people, I sat in the last row and admired everyone walking in. I couldn’t believe these intelligent, stylish, and authoritative men and women had come to hear me speak.
Everyone clapped as I approached the podium, and I couldn’t hide my exhilaration and the huge smile on my face. After I thanked the audience, I paused for what felt like sixty seconds. Then I told my story and cracked jokes about the stupid mistakes I had made in the fashion industry. It hit me as I was speaking that I had been so busy trying to be a huge success, that I had forgotten about the little accomplishments I’d achieved throughout my journey. That reminder gave me a fresh sense of strength about taking the risk with the Miss Universe Pageant.
Since time was of the essence, I wanted to squeeze as much as I could out of the Big Apple. So I set up a photo shoot for Dar Be Dar’s 2010 resort collection. I used a stunning model from a Miami-based modeling agency and hired a French photographer, Pierre, and three of his assistants through a mutual friend. I had seen their work in Vogue Paris, the French edition of the magazine, and serendipitously, they were in town.
We had to shoot the entire collection in a six-hour time frame because the photographer’s flight back to Paris was later that evening. This was the first time I had worked with such a renowned photographer. Pierre and his team were typical Parisian artists—cocky, loud, and delightfully eccentric. They spoke in strong French accents, and I didn’t think anyone could speak faster than I do, but they did. Pierre looked like he had just stuck his fingers into an electrical socket. His hair was out of control.
For the shoot, we transformed the streets of New York City into our very own studio. We decided to shoot in the heart of Chinatown because of its busy streets and bursting colors. Most importantly, we wanted to incorporate its glimmers of the exotic—the crisply roasted meats hanging in butcher-shop windows, lychee nuts and dried fruits decorating the produce markets, and bakery signs advertising one dollar for the best pork buns you’ve ever tasted. The never-ending rows of fake jewelry and the bands of colorful scarves and garments created a sparkling sight outside the storefronts, which added to the traditional Eastern flavor. One of the best things about art, and fashion in particular, is that the more peculiar the concept, the better. What isn’t exotic about seeing a woman in a bikini stride through Chinatown? So let’s blame the outrageousness of the shoot on art, not the lack of budget and time constraints.
When we arrived, Chinatown was bustling. It felt like a city within a city. Diverse crowds of people filled the streets, and vendors sold everything from knockoff handbags and leather goods to dried squid and fungi. As we walked through the streets, I heard the clangs of pots and pans from restaurant kitchens and smelled the enticing aromas of take-out food. We were offered fake Rolexes and Gucci bags every other block.
We encountered obstacles throughout the shoot but managed to overcome them. For example, where would the model change? Erika and I had stopped by the Garment District the day before and bought a few yards of black fabric to cover the windows of the rented minivan that we used to get around. It transformed the space into the model’s very own fitting room. It was also a great way for people to mistake us for serial killers. Either way, the black fabric did the trick.
How would we glam up the photo shoot? We purchased an array of colorful feathers and accessories to add a Brazilian Carnival flare to Chinatown. And by “array of colorful feathers,” I mean three plush feathers on three long, colorful sticks. There was a bright yellow one, a hot pink one, and a turquoise one. I would have loved to buy more, but who knew feathers were so expensive? Don’t try to understand the fashion synergy between Brazil and China—there is none. The only commonality these two countries share is that they’re both BRIC economies (i.e., at similar stages of newly advanced economic development). We also borrowed a mirror from the hair salon that did the model’s hair to reflect the sun for optimal lighting, since natural lighting was all we had. Sounds just like any glitzy, high-end fashion shoot, doesn’t it?
With all our supplies and enthusiasm we took over the streets of Chinatown in the middle of a hot, steamy June day. Crowds of people gathered around to take photos of the model. She was a gorgeous brunette with long legs and a perfectly toned figure. Her bronzed body looked amazing in my contemporary bikinis, and I was impressed with her modeling capability. This wasn’t her first rodeo.
In the middle of the photo shoot, we were stopped by the NYPD. Just my luck! They requested a permit to show that we had approval to photograph in Chinatown. Since I assumed all the streets on this planet belonged to God, I didn’t have a permit prepared. Erika and I made our pitch and became friends with the officers. They say if you can’t convince them, confuse them. And that is exactly what I did by name-dropping the Miss Universe Organization and showcasing the beauty of my swimwear on the exquisite model.
It didn’t take long for the officers to join in the fun. The difference between the police in Iran and the police in the United States was eye-opening. They took pictures of the scantily clad model and joked with us good-naturedly. They even called in some firefighters who came and joined us. We got some great shots of the model posing in front of the police cars and fire trucks. It was crazy to witness the power of a woman’s physical beauty on the opposite sex.
In the 1970s Vogue magazine did a photo shoot in Iran. The images were full spreads of a stunning model wearing haute couture in some of the most historical destinations in the country. Doing something like that after the Revolution would obviously only be a dream. But here I was representing my country with a French photographer who had worked for Vogue, an American model, in the heart of Chinatown in New York City, creating my very own vision.
A few days after my trip to New York, I was off to Colombia to oversee the production of the newest Dar Be Dar and Miss Universe collections. I had the opportunity to examine the quality of other designers’ swimsuits during Miami swim week, which helped me discover both production facilities that I ended up using.
The Miss Universe Organization requested that I produce two different styles of swimwear. The first was a “fun” style for the contestants to wear throughout their six-week stay in Las Vegas. And the second was a “pageant” style for the night of the event. We worked with styles from my already existing Dar Be Dar Spring/Summer 2010 collection. I would have preferred to design new bikinis, but I didn’t have a choice. We were too short on time.
I was extremely disappointed with the organization’s pick for the “fun” style. The team ultimately chose a plain black bikini with a triangular top. The only touch of gusto was the silver leather piece in the center of the back. I didn’t think this was the wisest choice because it appeared to be a plain black bikini from the front. Next, they chose a purple bikini for the “pageant” style. The bottom had a cutout on one side and the top was a triangular shape. The tops and bottoms of each bikini were covered with more than one hundred silver studs. This would surely hurt my manufacturing budget, but I knew it would look fantastic onstage.
My first stop was in Bogotá to pick out new fabrics. Then I would venture to Medellín to manufacture the swimsuits out of those fabrics. The fabric manufacturer in Bogotá worked closely with the production facility I was going to work with. After spending two days searching for fabrics, I traveled to Medellín to begin the manufacturing process.
Medellín reminded me of Tehran—a city built into the mountains and filled with warm, welcoming people. As I drove down the mountains from the airport, the fresh air brought back so many memories of my childhood.
The small factory was located in an old, three-floor apartment building. The husband and wife team, Miguel and Paola, lived on the third floor, and their factory took up the second floor. A wall covered in threads of every color and hue imaginable (including twenty shades of blue from fully saturated teal to pale, nearly white) always caught my eye when I first walked in. About a dozen Colombian women worked behind small tables, concentrating intensely on their sewing machines.
At the end of the hallway was Miguel’s office. A small wooden desk supported a permanent mess that included what must have been the first computer ever built (perhaps a very old Apple), which I think served more as decoration than anything useful. While in Medellín, I never spent fewer than ten hours a day at the factory. My days were filled with approving patterns, cutting fabrics, sketching, arguing over prices, and, much of the time, waiting for my translator to find the necessary words. Occasionally, I would take naps in the storage area. Paola would wake me up with freshly cut mangoes sprinkled with salt and fresh lemon juice.
Paola was a talented patternmaker and a swimwear expert. She helped me create the patterns for the newest Dar Be Dar and Miss Universe collections. We had to work within NBC’s guidelines, which were given to us by the Miss Universe staff and dictated that the swimsuits couldn’t expose side boob or butt cheeks. It’s ironic how Miley Cyrus could wear booty shorts to twerk on live television, but the contestants couldn’t wear Dar Be Dar’s classy Brazilian and European-style bikinis. We ultimately had to create more conservative swimsuits than we were accustomed to.
After creating the patterns, the next step was to create samples. Miguel and Paola almost had heart attacks when I told them that we needed the samples to fit the body types of eighty-three different women. They were even more aghast when I gave them a six-week deadline. I ordered bikinis in each size (small, medium, large, and extra large) for the “fun” and “pageant” styles, for a total of four hundred bikinis. If the contestants didn’t fit the standard sizes, I would have to alter them on location. I also designed eighty-three different styles of bikinis for the fashion show at the Mandalay Bay resort in Vegas that we had negotiated with the organization. I wanted every contestant to wear a different style. Warning: if you are reading this and you are a designer or aspiring designer, don’t ever do this! The sampling and production costs will be outrageous.
The women in the factory were excited to be a part of the process. Pageants are very popular in South America, and winners frequently seemed to be from there. Their enthusiasm was awesome, which was great, because we couldn’t afford mistakes. I refused to leave the factory until every single style was perfected.
Back in DC, following my productive trip to Colombia, I immediately began to meet with TV channels, radio stations, newspapers, magazines, and blogs. Interviews became routine, and I was comfortable talking to the media. Their questions and comments centered mainly on my excitement about being the newest Miss Universe sponsor. It was a big deal for me as an independent designer to get such a revered opportunity, and I was grateful and humbled to be a part of such an honorable organization that served as an inspiration to women around the world. I invited Joanna Coles along with other renowned editors, stylists, and fashion-industry gurus to my Dar Be Dar/Mandalay Bay fashion show and the Miss Universe Pageant. I also asked the people in my life who I needed to impress the most: my family! They were finally going to bear witness to one of my proudest moments.
In the midst of all the excitement, an executive from Miss Universe introduced me to Christopher Griffin, the president of the MAGIC Market Week fashion trade show. MAGIC is a biannual trade show based in Las Vegas, and it would be happening during my six-week stay there. Designers get the opportunity to showcase apparel, fashion accessories, swimwear, and footwear to buyers from across the globe. This was a chance to get my swimwear in stores worldwide. I was even able to persuade the Miss Universe Organization to let me have Stefanía Fernández, the 2009 titleholder, at my booth for an hour every day during MAGIC.
Erika and I sent out countless press releases, made personal phone calls, and wrote personal emails so we could reach as many buyers and attract as much press as we possibly could. We invited them to stop by my booth to meet the gorgeous Stefanía Fernández, get a chance to win free tickets to the Miss Universe Pageant, and, most importantly, view my swimwear line.
My friends and family were amazed by the Miss Universe opportunity, but they mistakenly believed that the work was all fun and glamorous. Trust me, my daily tasks were far from glamorous, but I knew that after this journey was over I would reap the rewards of all my hard work. Repeating this to myself is what got me through the hard days. This was my third company, and you know what they say: “The third time is a charm.”