Sandy Liang hates Fashion Week. She hates the hype and the parties and the pressure, the murmurings about how so-and-so made an appearance at such-and-such. “But when my show is happening, I’m like, ‘This is all worth it,’” Ms. Liang said.
Since the 28-year-old designer launched her namesake label and first collection five years ago, she has turned ’90s nostalgia and comfort — not typical staples of the fashion world — into one of New York’s most sought-after small brands. Charli XCX wore a Sandy Liang jacket at a concert this summer. Brie Larson calls Ms. Liang one of her “go-to” designers. Lena Dunham, in head-to-toe Sandy Liang, recently exclaimed on Instagram that she finally understood the appeal of sweats.
Her clothes have been called childlike, girly and even “gorpcore”— the kind of stylish camping aesthetic characterized by her signature fleece jackets. Ms. Liang describes her brand as playful. “I feel like fashion is too serious,” she said.
Ms. Liang started her company immediately after graduating from Parsons School of Design and now oversees a team of five from her studio on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. She designs three collections a year, usually around 40 to 50 pieces, that have included items from SpongeBob SquarePants T-shirts to oversized babydoll dresses, asymmetrical glitter skirts and gray sweatpants with gingham ruffles. Next year, in New York, she will open her first retail store. We caught up a few days before her first official runway show in September.
Thursday
8 a.m. I get up, put on The Daily and just let it play while I’m getting ready. I used to have really bad anxiety from waking up and immediately scrolling through my phone, so now I try not to look at it until I leave the house. I stare at my fish tank and just kind of do nothing. I’ve tried to meditate but I can’t, so instead I’m just purposefully trying to zone out. I think it helps to have a bit of clarity before the day starts.
9:30 a.m. I walk to my studio, which is just two blocks from where I live in New York. It’s actually my dad’s old storage space for his restaurant (Congee Village), where he used to keep unused refrigerators and chairs and things. I made my first puffer jacket here — I remember I ripped a pillow and there was down all over the basement.
10 a.m. My casting director and the rest of my team start to arrive. Normally I cast my own shows, but it’s a lot of organizing and checking in and emailing call times and I kind of can’t handle it anymore. This season is also my first runway show, so we wanted to “elevate” things a little bit. What does that even mean? I don’t know.
I hired this young, talented guy to cast the show and a stylist, too. I think it’s important to relinquish control and let somebody else advise me when they’re good at their job. They take photos of the models and give them funny directions like, “Don’t look at me, look at a spot on the wall.” I try not to laugh.
11:45 a.m. One of our sponsors for the show delivered 200-something gift bags to the studio and we’re so confused. This is not the venue for the show! Now there’s a flood of peach-pink bags everywhere.
12 p.m. Somebody tagged me on Instagram in a post of this other brand promoting a new style, which is basically two of my fleeces combined into one. The colorway is pulled directly from mine. I’m used to dealing with it and know there’s legally nothing I can do. Still, it does hurt to see these bigger brands just rip us off.
2 p.m. I’m starting my first jewelry collection, and picking names for the pieces is one of my favorite parts of being a designer. It’s one of the few times where it’s purely fun. I usually pick names based on what I’m into at the moment. For fall/winter 2019 I was watching “Gilmore Girls” (for the third time) and so I named my fleeces Milo, Rory and Dean.
3 p.m. More watching models walk. The stylist is pulling looks for me, too. You would assume a designer should be able to style their own collection, but stylists are amazing. They just think differently. She layers one of my dresses over a long-sleeve shirt and it’s automatically cooler.
6:30 p.m. I get home and immediately put on sweats and a T-shirt and smush my face into TimTam, my dog. I turn on the TV — I love TV and I love unwinding in front of the TV.
9 p.m. My friend gave me a sauna bed, which is basically a sleeping bag that’s a sauna. I get in and watch yet more TV — “Succession,” the best show ever. I want to burn all of my clothes and dress like Shiv Roy.
Friday
10 a.m. I have a call with Instagram — they’re doing a feature on me for their @shop account. I’m sure there is some sort of Instagram agenda that I’m not privy to.
2 p.m. We’re building plywood latrines with plastic display boxes for the show. I’m always talking about nostalgia as a source of inspiration, so I’ve been collecting childhood relics of mine to put inside the display boxes. Nostalgia is the only true happiness I know of — you were never happier than when you were a kid.
4 p.m. I work on my line sheets. This is how buyers buy the collection — right after the show, literally the day after, buyers come to the studio and we hand them a line sheet. They review prices and look at when items will ship and make their orders.
Saturday
10 a.m. My boyfriend and I go to Blick, an art supply store, in search of a specific shade of Sharpie. I love it here — I used to come here all the time when I was building my portfolio and applying to schools.
12:50 p.m. Lunch with my friend Danny Bowien, the chef and co-founder of Mission Chinese Food. We have this collaboration with Resy, the food service app, coming up. I’m always down to collaborate; I’m sick of designing clothes. Making something from nothing is the most satisfying thing in the world — whether it’s a sweater or a couch or a dog harness. I love a piece of paper and a pencil and someone telling me what they need.
4:30 p.m. Back at the studio with matcha and coffee. This isn’t typical; I try not to work on weekends. We’re testing hair and makeup looks on the models.
6:20 p.m. We start to figure out the run of show, basically the order in which the models are coming out, and it’s like a math problem that isn’t fun. I realize I didn’t order enough shoes because I didn’t account for the number of guys we have walking in this year’s show. Usually the models share shoes, but men have bigger feet. We place a last-minute order with Vans.
We have to order the models according to who can take off which pair of pants the quickest, because I only make one sample of each item. You don’t know which samples are going to make it into production. My favorites always get cut! That’s how I know I did my job as a designer, when my favorites get cut. They’re not meant for the real world — buyers have to buy what’s safe and practical. I try not to think about it too hard; there’s no equation to it. Everything changes so quickly in retail and you just have to go with your gut.
Sunday
10 a.m. I bring my dog to the studio today.
1 p.m. We’re done with the run of show and it’s a huge relief. I start making the cards that will hang in front of the model’s looks so they know what they’ll be wearing. Danny shows up unannounced with sushi, which I really appreciate, and helps me cut out more cards.
3 p.m. The rest of my studio team arrives. We pack up the collection in numbered garment bags so it’s faster to unpack and repack.
5 p.m. Everyone leaves the studio. I’m like, eff this! I need to treat myself! I haven’t showered so I decide to get a manicure and pedicure.
9 p.m. I’m usually eating with my family in Flushing on Sunday nights, that’s our weekly tradition, but tonight I’m at home. My dad hates when I skip it, but he gives me a pass this time. I decide I should figure out what I’m going to say tomorrow after the show. I always know what the inspiration is, it’s inside of me, but it takes me some time to verbalize it.
Monday
9 a.m. Everybody is at the studio packing everything into a U-Haul: clothes, steamer, shoes, our board with the looks, the rolls of fiberglass insulation that we’re using as seats. It’s the most packed U-Haul you’ve ever seen.
10 a.m. We arrive at the venue and start to unload. It looks like that scene in “A Bug’s Life” where the ants form a chain and pass the grain down. Next season we will hire people to do this!
12:30 p.m. We’re organizing the dressing area, steaming all of the clothes and laying out shoes so that everything is in order. Hair and makeup arrive, the models arrive, everyone starts to get ready.
3 p.m. First rehearsal. The models aren’t in their outfits but hair and makeup is done. They practice walking so they know the layout and pace. The production team comes over to me and is like, “We need to talk.” And I’m like, “Oh god, oh no, what’s wrong?” But it’s just that I need to prepare myself to go onstage at the end of the show.
4 p.m. Backstage, I change into one of my dresses, plus custom Vans. I’m assigning jewelry and just kind of making sure everyone is good to go. I see people that aren’t changed yet and whose hair isn’t done, but I know it’s really important to stay calm. It’s hard to explain how you’re feeling when everyone is there for you — hustling, running around and going crazy all for my show.
4:30 p.m. Show starts! Everybody is seated and the music starts flowing. They start sending out models. The stylist is lint-rolling and fixing people up until the last second.
It was my first true runway show and I don’t know why I waited so long to do one. Honestly, it was the easiest and best thing ever! After all the looks are out, there’s one final run of show and then I’m up. I run out and wave. I’m thinking, “Who do I make eye contact with? Do I curtsy?” The whole show is over in probably 10 minutes.
7 p.m. I get to walk home alone and it’s surreal. I’d been texting, calling, yelling, surrounded by people since like 8 a.m. I sit on my couch for a second and have some water. I think the show went well; I try not to think too much about it.
7:30 p.m. I’ve only eaten a packet of almonds and some dried mangoes today. I’m starving, and go across the street to my friends’ house for dinner. They basically order the whole menu from this vegan taco place. Then we all walk to Short Stories, a bar nearby. There’s a giant bottle of tequila. At some point a pizza gets delivered with my name on it. I eat, go home, shower and pass out.
Interviews are conducted by email, text and phone, then condensed and edited.
