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As with
many planet-friendly products, the price of an Ekologic
garment is a bit higher than a comparable, mass-marketed
knit cap; they retail for $46 to $68 locally at Mimi &
Lena and Matisse. For more information, e-mail info@ekologic.
com; the Web site (www.ekologic.
com) should be fully functional beginning in October.
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Kathleen Tesnakis gestures reverently toward rows of wool
scraps that are neatly arranged by hue. "These are my paints,"
she says. Dismembered sweaters are her medium, and hats and
mittens her art.
For three years, Tesnakis had been selling what one might
call wearable art on the festival circuit--think Saturday
Market. Now her haberdashery company, called Ekologic, is
represented in more than 55 stores from Tokyo to Cleveland.
Last month, Tesnakis secured 40 new store accounts at the
Style Industrie trade show in Manhattan. Business, suddenly,
is booming.
Tesnakis, 35, rosy-cheeked and petite, commandeers Ekologic
from the charming attic studio--a space cluttered with spider
plants, yard-sale furniture and two big Rottweilers--of
the Northeast Portland home she shares with her husband
and business partner, Charles. On a Tuesday evening in August,
Tesnakis, wearing scuffed Steve Madden platforms and a cropped
green sweater, was positively giddy as she divulged the
origins of Ekologic. It all began in India.
Tesnakis spent her childhood on the subcontinent, where
she developed an appreciation for color. From marketplaces
festooned with jewel-toned bangles, saris and bindi powders
to summers spent on a houseboat in Kashmir, Tesnakis says,
"the whole experience instilled a sense of color in my blood--and
a necessity for it as well." As a teen, she attended the
esteemed Interlochen Arts Academy in Michigan to study not
design but theater and voice.
After college (Syracuse University), Tesnakis went to New
York to work as a colorist at Scalamandré, a fabric
distributor and restoration outfit. "It took me eight hours
to mix my first vat of paint, but I soon became a master
color mixer...by learning to separate myself and create
shades outside my palette," she recalls. In 1990, the couple
relocated to Portland at Charlie's behest. A born-and-bred
New Yorker, Charlie was intrigued by Oregon's boom of green
businesses and the prospect of a less frenetic lifestyle.
Problem was, in Stumptown Kathleen's career and creativity
faltered. "I almost lost my soul working at an insurance
company. I quit my job and started making bags," she recalls.
A friend encouraged her to sell the lush backpacks and handbags
at Saturday Market, which, in addition to vending at fairs
like Folklife and the Oregon Country Fair, she did for two
years, all the while looking for true inspiration. "I knew
the bags weren't my thing; they were well-made but only
half the story. It wasn't my heart," says Tesnakis. She
began felting, experimenting with, of all things, juggling
balls, when in one furious February afternoon three years
ago, she started chopping up sweaters and churned out eight
raw, nutty hats. That May she continued doing shows and,
this time, brought the hats. The response was huge, and
Tesnakis attributes the evolution of her products to feedback
garnered on the road. "I designed the shapes after people's
faces and asked individuals why so many women felt dumb
in hats," she says.
Looking at some of her early hats, floppy berets and caps
with five-foot tails, one can see how well the kinks have
been ironed out. Today, Tesnakis's line includes nine hat
styles and two mitten styles and is available at boutiques
like Girlfriends in East Norwich, N.Y., and Santa Monica's
chi-chi Fred Segal, which just placed a reorder after nearly
selling out of hats in one week. The hats look good on men
and women. They are soft and can be adjusted--pulled snugly
over the ears, folded up to expose a hidden detail, or worn
loosely to accommodate big hair. So far this year, Tesnakis
has sold about 1,000 hats. She expects to sell about 1,000
more by the end of December, bringing in $65,000 in total
sales. She hopes the revenue will double in 2000, as Ekologic
expands into scarves, clothing and home furnishings.
Tesnakis' ascendance might be due to good karma. Like the
company's name, which signifies reverberation, the headgear
and mittens echo the past lives of thousands of sweaters,
though Kathleen's environmentalist ethic is relatively newfound.
For Kathleen, recycling old sweaters allowed her "to create
the best product" and also cut back on garbage. She buys
sweaters in bulk at an undisclosed local warehouse. Once
a month, with the aid of studio assistant Hillary Hopkins,
she picks through 1,000 to 1,500 pounds of pullovers and
cardigans. Last year, this allowed Ekologic to reclaim 1,000
pounds of textile waste, and she's confident that more than
a ton will be salvaged by this year's end. Every scrap of
wool that isn't used in the studio is recycled as furniture
stuffing.
Not just any old sweater will do, however. Tesnakis accepts
only garments made from 100 percent wool or a wool-angora
blend. She especially covets lambswool, merino, felted wool
and cashmere but is indiscriminate when it comes to style
and color. "I like it if the quality is there and it strikes
me; I look for funky texture. I use every color, because
when it's put together with something else, it can be really
smashing," says Tesnakis.
Though Ekologic's recent upswing has been meteoric, Tesnakis
has yet to cut herself a check. She feels sure that milestone
will come in October. With her quick smile and ebullient
laugh, she is convincing when she says, "The long way around
is often the best way."
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Willamette Week | originally
published September 15,
1999
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