By Meg, as told to Sheri Radel Rosenberg
I started my business in the East Village in 1994. I was pressing my own clothes in a factory. My rent was $1,700. Everyone on my block was incredibly creative, and there was room and space to try things.
So when people say the 90s are back, I don’t feel nostalgic. I feel like I’m back on my block.
Let me tell you my three favorite moments from that decade: Roxy, Roxy, Roxy—always the Roxy. Accidentally ending up at Madonna’s birthday party at Tribeca Grill. And sitting in front of JFK Jr. at Indochine. Everyone’s coming with their JFK Jr. stories now. He was just around. He was just on the street.
I was living in a basement apartment in the East Village. I’d come out of my little hole in my cute outfit, meet up with my girls, and we were literally living that life. The Sex and the City life—except we were actually doing it.
Sexy, summer, smelly nights. Sitting on stoops. Cigarettes—we smoked in restaurants, in bars. You would have never thought that was going to end. We didn’t eat. We just smoked.
There were a few different versions of the 90s, and you could move between all of them. I did.
I loved the slip skirt, Adidas slide, baby barrette, baby tee look, but I also loved Belgian minimalism and Issey Miyake. I straddled different worlds.
My favorite hack used to be going to Kmart in the East Village and buying Hanes boys’ size-large t-shirts because they had the perfect baby-tee shape. The three-pack world.
But here’s the irony. I wanted to do the baby tee and slip skirt, but I was self-conscious. I had body issues like every girl in her twenties. I would try it, but I wouldn’t fully commit. And meanwhile, I was designing 90s minimalism. Those were my clothes. But I wasn’t wearing them—I was aspiring to something else.
The slip dress, slip skirt vibe should never go away. And square necklines—I hated them for years, they felt so dated. Now I’m like, no, that’s clearly fabulous.
The footwear, though—not good. Dowdy shoes. And if you have bigger calves, as I do, it just makes your legs look heavier instantly.
Besides all of that, the 90s were all about proportion.
My friend Bella said to me, “Can you make a skirt five inches longer?” And that was the shift. It felt strangely elegant, even though it was technically a little dowdy—especially coming out of the 80s, which were all shoulder pads and craziness.
I snuck into a Prada show once. It blew my mind. The proportions just felt right. I still haven’t changed a skirt length since. Anything above midi is a questionable conversation.
And then there’s what I was actually making.
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