T ory Burch and I go way back. Her Reva ballet flats, with the brand’s T logo emblazoned on a medallion affixed to the toe, were a status signifier at my high school, an assignation of class in the mid-’00s. Then, they were everywhere.
Five years later, she made an appearance on the fashion show of the moment, , alongside star Blake Lively, who seemed the perfect avatar for the brand: blonde, magnetic, a little preppy, a little boho, the consummate Upper East Sider. It was an aesthetic of which Burch herself—who lived at New York City’s Pierre hotel and was a fixture on the benefit circuit—was the perfect embodiment. The look was so Tory, a wardrobe made up of Moroccan-inspired tunics paired with crisp white trousers, graphic-print shift dresses, and shorts worn with sweaters layered over collared shirts.
Burch found success almost instantly, as well as the sort of misogynistic undermining that so often confronts women who achieve it. Burch has built one of the biggest and most robust sportswear brands in the history of American fashion. Her label has grown exponentially over the past two decades, thanks to both her eye and her entrepreneurial prescience.
Burch anticipated the e-commerce boom and launched Tory Burch on the internet, rather than through traditional wholesale. She knew how to slowly build the hype with her in-store experiences, starting with a small outpost in the downtown neighborhood of NoLIta, decorated in orange lacquer and chinoiserie. It was all.