Jogbra – Lisa Z. Lindahl

June 12, 2016

Once Upon A Fraud

My mother, in her wisdom, would intone:

“Horses sweat, men perspire, women glow.”

Give me a bathing suit and point me towards ocean surf. No boards please. That was, still is, my idea of being “active.” But in my mid-twenties, living in Vermont, there was no ocean nearby. I started jogging, and found my land-based equivalent of active joy.

My running never grew into a desire to compete. Rather, running connected me to the natural world – put me back into it and became, frankly, one of my first spiritual practices. It is totally ironic that this practice spawned my financial success and exposure to the grit of the business world.

The deeper irony is that for me to start running at all was out of character, at least historically speaking. While I remember enjoying recess and dodge ball in elementary grades, by the middle grades at the girls’ school I attended I was self-conscious and uncomfortable in gym classes. Perhaps many girls were; my best friend was. But then there were those “jock” girls who relished gym and understood the rules of field hockey and were eager to get out on the tennis courts. They intimidated me. It seemed to me I was somehow less for not getting the whole sporty thing. When possible, I opted for Beginning Bowling as my gym class choice.

I didn’t like to glow.

So avoiding gym classes, playing around in the summertime ocean, doing some body surfing, and climbing the occasional tree was my idea of “sports.”

Until I discovered the meditation of running. Then my world did change. My body and I became more intimate. We glowed, we sweated, we gloried. When I started running I tried to jog around an indoor track – a whole quarter mile. And it was tough! The day I actually made it all the way around I felt like I’d won an Olympic medal! I was so proud of myself! When I eventually settled into a 30 mile a week routine over Vermont trails and back roads, well, I’d found not my sport, but my practice.

Fast forward a few years and many logged miles to my invention of the sports bra and creation of a business around it. Because I was clear that the Jogbra was athleltic equipment, not lingerie, we were selling it in sporting goods stores around the nation.

Sporting goods stores!?

Before taking my bra into such places to sell it, I had never been in one ’til I had to buy running shoes. And then I didn’t hang around. Heck, all I needed to do my thing was shoes and, yes, a comfortable bra. The sporting goods industry was as foreign and intimidating to the woman I had become as those long ago gym classes were to my girlhood self. But even more so. To me sporting goods stores were rank with the culture of competition; everytime I went into one I felt I was in a totally alien environment. Yet I smiled and played the part. And I sold sports bras.

One day, back in 1988 or so, I found myself at a very large national sporting goods show. My little company was quite successful by then. I recall walking around the noisy, people-filled convention center. The aisles were lined with booths aggressively selling everything from athletic clothing to fishing rods, from dart boards to health drinks. Every athletic shoe manufacturer was there. The place was a bustling mosaic of color, people and commerce.

And I wondered: How the hell had I ended up here? I felt a complete fraud, with little in common with all these enthusiastic jocks and jock-ettes. The choices that brought me here mostly made sense at the time, and in many ways still stood the test of time. But…?

The ironies were not lost on me. They are not lost on me still. One of the most authentic aspects of my self, the meditative runner, had spawned this persona of sporting goods queen. Bra Lady. And it follows me to this day.

The further irony is that I can no longer be that runner. Both my knees blew out. I’ve found no activity – not bowling or body surfing – that fulfills me as running did. I miss it to this day.

But I no longer feel a fraud. Years ago I read an article, in Psychology Today I think, that purported that many who gain rapid success feel “like a fraud;” that somehow they are pulling off an illusion that could be “found out” by others. I know I felt that way – I wasn’t a jock! Then, after a bit I wasn’t even a runner anymore! Egad!

The article made sense to me, explained and alleviated my secret guilt. Eventually I left the sporting goods industry; having launched the sports bra I was done. The altruistic young entrepreneur evolved. I am still learning how to accept and integrate all the disparate bits of my ever-evolving self: artist, businesswoman, spiritual seeker, and bumbling, glowing journeyer.

March 29, 2015

Women’s History – Jogbra, another chapter

(The following is a continuation of a blog written on March 1. If it is difficult to follow the story below, it might be helpful to read March 1 first…)

Before Women’s History Month 2015 ends, I thought I’d contribute another chapter in the Jogbra story. So often I get asked to tell this tale. And while the whole history is written, it hasn’t yet been published — too many of us are still living! LOL

early Jockbra - JBI file photo — Early “Jockbra”

Sitting around on my living room floor with Polly at the end of that summer in 1977, I recall brainstorming about what this new invention might mean, what to do next, how to proceed. We dismissed two options right away: sewing the garments ourselves and in effect starting a manufacturing biz (Polly especially was against this, having seen a few such operations in NYC), and selling the product design outright to a bigger company, sure of a difficult/bad deal from double-crossing sharks preying on us naive artsy types. (I was against this, having seen my father go through such a process). Subcontract out the cut & sew part and go into biz ourselves with the sales and marketing end? Then maybe sell it mail-order? Polly was indifferent about this as well. She wanted to design costumes. Business was not her forte. She’d been happy to help me bring the design into reality, but was not prepared to go into a business around it. She was clear.

I was enthusiastic, already marketing in my head — thinking of a new kind of business, a new way of business, a women’s business. Hinda was there for this conversation. Unlike Polly she was as enthusiastic as I was. She had always been athletic; although not a runner, she was into yoga and quite a skier. She got the potential for this product. I looked at her anew. In an aside, I asked Polly if she’d mind if I asked Hinda to join us, officially. She shrugged, saying no, fine, fine.

By women, for women was envisioned as our tag line. We wouldn’t do business like men. We’d be cooperative not competitive, inclusive not exclusive. We weren’t lingerie (said with a sneer), Jock Bra was serious athletic equipment! We’d… we’d… . You can imagine the scene. Naifs.

Earlier in that year, 1977, I had completed my Bachelor’s degree through the University of Vermont’s Evening Division — “Continuing Education” or “Adult Ed” by other names. Also working part-time as an administrator in a not for profit residential treatment program for adolescent drug abusers, “full” time as an artist/artisan (stained glass at that time; it was the 70s after all), taking varied courses at night, and oh yes, I was married. I loved learning/school and was very excited to have been accepted into the University’s Graduate Degree program in Educational Administration. I had started grad classes at the same time Polly and I were designing Jock Bra prototypes.

In retrospect, that period of time was my personal “perfect storm” brewing. By the next summer of 1978 I knew my marriage was over and divorce was on its way. I had no driver’s license. Epilepsy made that difficult at that time. After Polly and Hinda had left Vermont, after the kerfuffle with my brother-in-law, I’d formed a corporation around the Jockbra, and distributed equal shares to Polly and Hinda, too. I figured perhaps my new bra might be a nice little mail-order business on the side to help finance grad school while I found a real job I could walk to, continued with my studies and figured out how to make this new single life work. And frankly, I was frightened. I had been told all my life that if I had a grand mal seizure while alone I could die. Oh, weeeelllll. Stuck up over my desk I had a hand-lettered sign: PERSERVERE

Jockbra-soon-to-become-Jogbra trumped all that, both plans and fears. Well, the fears got suppressed. The plans got re-made. What’s the saying? “Life is what happens while you’re making other plans.”

Hinda was stuck in South Carolina the summer of ’78, so I mailed her the precious prototype. (I was worried that in my chaotic divorcing state it might get lost in the proverbial shuffle, and frankly she had not yet “earned her shares” so to speak). On a bicycle ride one day she noticed a sign for a start-up cut & sew operation. She took them our prototype bra and asked how such a garment might be mass-produced, and what it might cost. Changing the original design somewhat (me going “Yikes! What?”when I found out) they came up with a garment that could be manufactured for a reasonable cost. Hinda’s Dad generously fronted the money for the initial production “run” of the first athletic supporter for women and I opened us up a corporate bank account in Vermont. We were moving forward.

But it seemed in some areas of the country, South Carolina in 1978 among them, “jock” wasn’t such a nice word; and so Jogbra was born. I think 12 dozen were manufactured and sent to me in my Vermont apartment. My living room became the warehouse, my tiny dining room the office. A small ad in a running magazine of the time showed the product and listed my address as the contact point. Let’s remember: this was before computers and websites. The orders started rolling in. OMG. (It is interesting to note that we used that factory for years and, in fact, built our businesses together.)

Meanwhile Hinda’s stay in South Carolina was over. She drove to NYC and stopped in to visit Polly, where she bought the majority of the shares I had issued to Polly. When I learned of this I was surprised. I knew Polly did not want to be active in the company. But sell her shares to Hinda? Later she said Hinda inferred that I was not going forward with the biz, and that cinched it for Pol; she certainly wasn’t going to do it if I wasn’t. But I was. It was not a good way to start our partnership. I wondered what had happened to the “for women by women” and the attendant ethos we had espoused the summer before.

One of the first orders was from Macy’s department store. Only a “sample order” (what was that?”)….How are they packaged the buyer asked. I scrambled to figure out packaging with our new help, an advertising and marketing agency. But this order, among other things, reinforced my thinking re our marketplace: we did not want to sell into department stores. We were athletic equipment, not lingerie; and the sort of game they wanted to play was beyond our ken in those early days. Brilliantly, we had chosen to sell into the independent athletic stores that were springing up everywhere. Many fun and funny stories there about trying to sell a bra to the proverbial jocks who ran those stores. But that’s for later because…

First, of course came financing. Financing? Yikes again. Money for packaging, more fabric, a bit of communication to let the world know we existed — advertising and some p.r. maybe. Somehow I knew to go the Small Business Administration. One thing to be said about the two of us: we weren’t shy about asking questions. Hinda decided that I should write the business plan the SBA said we must have before they could help us get a loan from a bank. “Why me?” I asked. “Because you’re in school and used to writing papers. Just think of this as another paper.” I looked at her to see if she was joking. She wasn’t. The truth was that neither of us had a clue, and she wanted no part of it. At least I had taken an accounting class once. The SBA sent me a many-paged form to fill out and I began. Privately I titled it “Financial Fairytales” because, really, how the hell did I know how many bras we were going to sell in Year 1, Year 2 and Year 3? Or what the production costs would be each year. Or what percentage of sales we’d spend on marketing and advertising? Hell, I’d never even heard the term “CGS” before. So, I made it all up. “Educated guesses?” Maybe. I liked to think.

It was a damn good “paper” and got us our loan. Really, writing a business plan with financials was just an exercise and a test. An exercise to make us think through many aspects that we otherwise might not have, and a test of our intention, sincerity and dedication to our proposal. Pretty smart hoop, actually. (And years later I found myself teaching aspiring entrepreneurs how to write a business plan. Of course.).

Can you believe it? Two inexperienced women with a bra, in Vermont — and the loan officer said yes. I think he was just aghast by our ardent hutzpah. It didn’t hurt that the Vermont SBA had minority quotas to fill for their loan applications, Vermont had very few minorities at the time, and (drum roll) women constituted a minority. Really. Who knew?

A “perfect storm.” Facing a major life change, from a marital partner to a biz partner. Confronting mythical and real fears. So many of my assumptions were being challenged, my life was changing radically, I had to choose between pursuing graduate school and this nascent-but-wildly-growing business. I had to move. I spent one lunch hour finalizing a divorce. I had to petition for my drivers license and learn how to drive. Running, my joy and my coping mechanism for so many years was beginning to fail me (knees blowing out). And then, how to deal with a business partner who, it turned out, I knew not at all.

photo by Lisa Z Lindahl — First promotional T-shirt

March 1, 2015

Women’s History Month & Me

Two things have occurred recently that bring me to the page today: March being Women’s History Month and the Smithsonian Museum of American History contacting me about my role in that history.

Really?! Well, yes — but it is so very nice to have the Smithsonian recognize it!

“…the sports bra revolutionized women’s sports more than any other development besides Title IX.”

And one of my claims to fame, as they say, is that way back in 1977 I invented the very first sports bra (it was called a Jogbra at the time), and founded the Company that marketed and sold it. Of course, I was only 10 years old (kidding, kidding). Many years later we sold our entrepreneurial success to a big corporation.

Since there are so many urban — and suburban — legends about how this woman’s Horatio Alger story unfolded, I think the occasion of Women’s History Month and the Smithsonian’s active recognition of the sports bra’s influence in said history is an opportune time to tell the early history of the birth of an idea and its transformation into a thriving business that facilitated the entry and performance of women in sports.

The 1970s were the beginning of the fitness “revolution” in this country. At the time I was in the vanguard of those who were “jogging.” Logging about 30 miles a week I found myself with an annoying and private problem: uncomfortable and sometimes painful breast movement while running. One day my sister telephoned me, complaining of a similar concern and distraction, asking me if I had any solutions. I told her of wearing a bra one size too small, of wearing nothing, of cutting runs short. We bemoaned our predicament. Then she quipped: “Why isn’t there a jockstrap for women?” We laughed uproariously. “It would just be on a different part of the body,” I said between laughter hiccups. Today she claims I went on to say “I think I’ll do that, make one of those.” I don’t remember. What I do remember is after the call, sitting down and thinking that it wasn’t such a silly idea; why not a “jock bra?” What functions would such a garment have to fulfill to make me and my sister happy, comfortable? I sat down with pencil and paper and made a list.

Polly is my childhood friend who grew up to become a successful costume designer (6 Emmys to date). In our 8th grade sewing class she got an A and I flunked. She and I would try to cut gym classes together. Neither of us liked the silly gym uniforms they made us wear back then; we were artsy, not athletic. Field hockey!? Yuck! So imagine her surprise when in my 20’s I became a jogging fanatic. Which she discovered when she took a costume design job in my town and rented a room in my house for the duration of the job’s run.

So it was up the stairs I went to Polly on that early summer day. “Pol, can you make me a bra for jogging? Here’s what it would need to do.” She rolled her eyes at me. She explained that bras were engineered, not just designed and draped, as they had to support as well as cover. I didn’t take no for an answer, and so embarked our summer of making prototypes.

We weren’t having luck. One day, my then-husband decided to crash our design meeting and cheer Polly and me up. He came in the room wearing his jock strap over his head and around his chest upside down, declaring loudly “Here’s your Jock Bra, ladies!” We laughed and laughed. I took it from him and imitated what he’d done, pulling the jockstrap over my head, its cup embracing one of my breasts. Stunned, I looked at Polly. “Polly. Look — the straps could cross in back. Two cups. Wide rib band… might work!”

And the first working prototype was born the next day when Polly sent her assistant, Hinda, to buy 2 jockstraps. Polly cut them up, sewed them back together, cup next to cup, and I went running in it later that day, with Hinda jogging backwards in front of me to see how much I bounced. So, yes. For all those people who ask me if it is true that the first sports bra was two jockstraps sewn together, the answer is: yes.

My report on that prototype: best yet. But the fabrics were awful. One of my most important design criteria was that the bra not chafe. Polly booked a flight to New York to shop better fabrics for our new baby, asking Hinda to watch over the costume shop (and her job) while she was gone. We were excited. Returning about a week later, Polly had a then revolutionary new fabric in hand: poly/cotton/lycra. She’d also found acceptable elastics and thread, no easy task I learned. Who knew there was more than one kind of thread? Polly sewed up a final prototype and I went for a run. What I did know: it was a winner.

The summer was drawing to a close. Polly finished her job and decamped back to home in Manhattan. Hinda went off to teach in South Carolina. I had my prototype, the precious prototype. What next? I called my brother-in-law, my sister’s then husband, for business advice. He contacted one of those “we’ll market your invention” companies and signed a contract with them. I got all huffy. He wasn’t me! He had no authority to sign the contract! He’d given them money. He got all huffy. Oh dear. I paid him back the money and tore up the contract. Thanksgiving that year was a bit sticky. I could have left all this bit out of my story, but I think that it is important to note mis-steps as well as good steps. Life and progress ain’t all roses.

An attorney friend suggested I incorporate, using the share issuance as a way to acknowledge Polly for her help. But I knew Polly would not want to leave her path and go into the Jog bra biz. She’d said so. And Hinda had been very enthusiastic. She hadn’t been cutting gym classes growing up. And she was a skier. And she knew how to sew! So I incorporated and issued myself, Polly and Hinda shares in the fledgling business.

At this point one might say “and the rest is history”… stock ownership kerfuffles, seizures, pregnancies, Brandi Chastain, Playtex Apparel, Sara Lee, Champion Sportswear and all. That is, alas, missing out on some of the most important and dramatic parts, not the least of which is the significant role that Hinda came to play. Or the personal growth that occurs in learning to run a business; all the great employees who grew with us — such stories! Learning to operate within a partnership; to run a women-owned business selling women’s products in a male-dominated industry: sporting goods. To learn what it takes and what it means to sell a business that was “your baby.”

Or what happens to and for three women over the course of three decades as the result of one idea — the right product at the right time. But this is a blog, not a book…so

Happy Women’s History Month!

And here’s a challenge for my readers: Does True Beauty show up in this tale?