One Runner’s View: A Moving History (Part 2) November 21
by Ellen Wessel
Next year will be Moving Comfort’s 30th anniversary. Last week at The Running Event Conference and Trade Show in Austin, Texas, Elizabeth Goeke and I had the slightly surreal but extraordinarily joyful experience of being honored by independent running retailers, several of whom had been our customers for nearly as long as Moving Comfort has been in existence: Super Jock ‘n Jill in Seattle, WA;, Track Shack in Orlando, FL;, Gazelle Sports in Grand Rapids, MI; Bob Roncker’s Running Spot, Cincinnati, OH; First Place Sports, Jacksonville, FL.
Together we have witnessed the migration of the women’s market from the edges to the solid center of the running industry. In the late 70’s women might have been 10-15% of the customers shopping at running stores. Today we are frequently more than 50% of the buyers. Elizabeth and I were very proud to stand before our peers having always had women as 100% of our customer base.
March 13, 1977 is Moving Comfort’s official birth date. In 1977, there was no women’s marathon in the Olympics. Title IX was just 5 years old. Elvis Presley supposedly died. On March 13, we put $75 down on a Singer sewing machine so we could fulfill orders from our teammates in the Washington RunHers, an all-female running club founded in Fall 1976.
I’m not proud to say that not only didn’t we have a business plan, I wasn’t even familiar with the concept of one. Like everything else I’d plunged into, including running, I wholeheartedly believed that what we were doing made perfect sense so why waste precious time developing a blueprint? We didn’t stop to consider that it would be wise to think about where we were going. No one else was making women’s running clothes, we were women runners, and we had lots of friends who were women runners. There was demand and no supply. Knowing how or if we could make a profit was beside the point. We had a mission. We put one foot in front of the other and found answers as questions arose.
The starting point for the world’s first-ever women’s running short was a commercial pattern for women’s Bermuda shorts. This at least gave us the appropriate proportions for the hips and waist. We were on our own from there. Our shorts were appropriately short. And we added what would become a signature detail—a buttoned back pocket large enough to carry id and tp. (Long runs rarely went uninterrupted by visits to the bushes.)
We got our first fabric from the same place as the patterns—the local sewing shop. Buttons and thread, ditto. We bought what we needed for the custom orders—a few yards at a time of soft, lightweight fabrics, mostly nylons and polyesters, standard buttons, a few spools of thread.
That was fine when we were doing custom orders one and two at a time. But then those running shops found out about us through that ad in Running Times and requested the catalog that didn’t yet exist. Pulling the catalog together was not a problem. Filling the orders was. We had to find a more practical, profitable source for raw materials and we needed more hands to sew the garments.
My step-father represented a large textile mill. He made his living selling fabrics to manufacturers. He got us in the door, enabling us to meet directly with the mills. We had no idea how truly puny our business was until we went to New York City to shop for what we learned were called Piece Goods (fabrics) and Trims (buttons, thread).
Twenty-six year old me made the trip, appropriately dressed for a first job interview—pumps(!?), skirt, shirt, jacket and briefcase in hand. I placed an order for 100 yards of terry cloth[sic]. This was huge. I visited a button wholesaler. I thought it would impress the salesman that I was in the market for, say, 1000 buttons. People in the rag business don’t talk in units, they talk in dozens. Who knew? I was encouraged to take my business down the street to Woolworth’s (a once enormously successful and ubiquitous chain of five and dime stores that closed its last U.S. locations in 1997).
When the truck showed up with the 100 yards of fabric, I learned another thing: Truckers deliver piece goods to the street. They don’t stop to help the young ladies haul the fabric up a flight of stairs to the apartment.
Assembling a network of sewers was another necessity of growth. We placed an ad for home sewers in the Washington Post. We got four, so widely dispersed that it took a full day of driving to get to each home. Our routine was thus: We’d cut several layers of fabric at a time on the kitchen table. Using plastic sandwich bags, we created individual kits with cut pieces of fabric, a button, waistband elastic and our woven label with our brand name and our logo, a little running girl stick figure who was our mascot for about 15 years. (As a heat-transfer label, she had a tendency to lose a leg, arm or lock of hair after repeated laundering. Lacking integrity, she got cut from the team in the late 80’s.) At the beginning of the week, I’d spend the whole day delivering the little kits. At the end of the week, I’d make the same all-day tour, picking up and paying for the finished garments.
In 1980 we were manufacturing in South Carolina. By the mid 80’s we were doing much of our production in Pennsylvania. In the late 90’s, Central America. Today, most of Moving Comfort is produced in Asia. Product integrity hasn’t changed, nor has Moving Comfort’s mission to make clothes that inspire women to get fit and stay fit. Speaking of which, now that I’m in my 50’s, I’m finding that I have to work out even harder and definitely smarter than I did in my 20’s, darn it. No matter how much effort it might take to get through a workout, though, there’s no other feeling as satisfying as having done it.