Erik Charlotte VonSosen has always talked of her craft in a nonchalant fashion.
I’ve often witnessed this whenever I see the L.A.-based designer. We go somewhere, maybe a crowded house party or a flea market, and someone strikes up a conversation. They may be a stylist, an industry insider or simply a courageous flirt, but a compliment on what Charlotte is wearing is inevitable. Sometimes she’s wearing a tightly laced corset, a wool minidress or a methodical two-piece set. But either way, she quickly responds to the flattery with a return compliment, an unpretentious, “Thanks, I made it,” and moves the conversation forward.
Though ever-changing, Charlotte’s stylistic instincts were clear from early on in our friendship. Her brows are almost always freshly bleached. A Victorian cameo typically clings to her neck as a choker and her industrial ’90s Jean Paul Gaultier handbag punctuates her daily wardrobe.
Erik wears all original Erik Charlotte.
A few years ago, we took an art class together where she created an entire corset dress to simply use as a canvas. (The rest of us had settled for paper.) For our final critique, I offered to help lug her sewing mannequin across campus. As I fought gravity and refused to let the white fabric drag, my gut was telling me I had a front-row seat to what was developing into an undeniable, fashion-forward vocation.
Once the 24-year-old designer began sharing her clothing online, a little over a year ago, things started to change. With her Art Deco fireplace as a backdrop and an iPhone perched on a tripod, she stunned the internet with her outlandish silhouettes, statuesque poses and high-fashion innovation.
Her avant-garde exaggerated ruffles, engulfing puff sleeves and sporadic seafarer motifs have since been fast-tracked into the world of celebrity stylists, red carpets, music video sets and the stages of touring musicians. Emma Chamberlain, Christina Aguilera and Richie Shazam alike have been crowned with Charlotte’s signature sailor hats. The musicians Marina, formerly of the Diamonds, and Rebecca Black have both ordered custom looks — Marina put in for a brocade corset and taffeta bubble skirt to wear on Coachella’s main stage, and Black indulged her sailor-bride fantasies at the American Music Awards.
Many understand Los Angeles fashion as a scene that depends on fast trends and lengthy lines outside of sneaker stores. But as a born-and-raised Californian, Charlotte wants to satisfy the sprawling city’s need for extravagance.
Making clothes “feels like a calling or a necessity … my relationship to it is almost primal. I can’t imagine doing anything else. The thought of not being able to sell or make clothes is devastating. I know it sounds like it’s not that deep, but it is for me,” says the L.A.-based designer.
“I don’t think I should have to move to make the rest of the fashion world or anyone feel more comfortable. L.A. has so much untapped talent that’s hiding because people think fashion in L.A. is a monolith of hype and trends,” said Charlotte.
I pick up Charlotte from her off-Wilshire apartment, like usual. She’s wearing overalls, half undone, oversize glasses, her golden hair tossed up in a messy bun with a stuffed sketchbook in hand. We set out to go fabric shopping at Fabric Planet in Venice. She’s on a mission to create an all-white lace look, complete with a bonnet, puffy sleeves and feathers, for her own creative fulfillment.
Cerys Davies: When you are making something for yourself, how does your creative process start?
Erik Charlotte: I will only start drawing when I have an idea. Sometimes a building I saw or someone on the street will catch my eye. I let the thought marinate for a few days, or I’ll write it down in my notes. Or an idea will come to me really quick. And then, if I don’t have my sketchbook, I’ll sketch it here.
Surrounded by bolts of fabric, she whips out her phone and swipes through a series of finger-drawn sketches in her notes app.
I only have a couple minutes to sketch before the idea changes. It needs to be as pure as possible. Sometimes, I’ll even get out of the shower to sketch something.
Sipping on jasmine tea, Erik lounges in her Paris Texas heels.
“This has been my dream for a really long time. I’m in this dream, but I’m in the dream with a map. I have a general sense of where I’m going,” says Charlotte.
CD: It seems like you have a constant flow of ideas coming out of you. How do you know when it’s done living in your sketchbook?
EC: Once it becomes the most exciting idea. There’s always a couple things on standby.
The look [we are shopping for] has a lot of elements that I’m familiar with, like the puff-sleeve job, the bonnet and the inclusion of feathers. It’s all elements that I’ve already attempted and really liked — so, I’m Frankensteining them.
She lands on six different kinds of white lace, with plans to layer them. An employee comes up to double–check that she only wants one yard of each pattern.
I’ll give myself a challenge: One yard of each and they’re all really different textures — maybe each sleeve puff might even be different.
I like when things are so different that they can’t be replicated. Honestly, [with my work] things really can’t be, because there’s always tiny splotches of blood on my corsets’ lining. It’s such a physical labor that I’ll break half my nails or my hands will be full of cuts.
She opens her hands up to me, revealing Band-Aids and well-formed callouses.
For some reason, I can only cut with my left hand. I do everything else with my right hand.
CD: Have you always been like that? Ever since kindergarten?
EC: Yeah, they thought I was ambidextrous. But I could only use my left when using scissors. It’s strangely helpful, because I can position fabric and then cut it perfectly.
CD: That’s hilarious. It’s almost like cutting fabric is innate to you.
We continue to circle the racks with no real goal — looking for something that strikes up inspiration. Charlotte lands on a fabric with a white background, detailed with fine line drawings in blue.
EC: I’ve always wanted to do something with this, but Moschino has something similar. I don’t want to be too matchy-matchy.
CD: Is that something you think about a lot?
EC: I am influenced by a lot of people, but I don’t want to ever create something that looks exactly the same as something else. I get kind of paranoid sometimes because there’s always a billion things in my head. I actually have this whole crusade against Pinterest. I never use Pinterest, and I don’t do mood boards either, which is uncommon.
I want what I create to be translated exactly from the way I see things. If I were inspired by a fountain or a landmark, I wouldn’t be looking at pictures of it. I’m inspired by what it looks like in my brain. That’s what I’m putting on the page. I’m not looking at pictures of it and going back and forth. I’m thinking, what’s my mental recollection of this?
We keep doing laps around the store. She digs through the scraps and dreams of making a swimsuit. She grabs a zipper and spool of thread. Her eyes linger on the shelves of silks. A gray plaid sticks out. In the blink of an eye, she’s handing it to an employee and asking for six yards. She has a vision of making it into a skirt and wearing it to the bar that very night.
EC: Now I’m feeling a bit over budget.
The original budget was $300.
CD: What’s your final guess?
EC: I think it’ll be around $360, just because of the silk.
The final total was $359.61.
We make the journey back to her rent-controlled apartment. Every inch of the couch is piled high with pinstripe bustles and mountains of sailor hats. She lays out the plaid and begins to craft her outfit for the night. In between pinning every inch, she tells me about how her grandma taught her the sewing basics at 15, as she had dreams of being a drag queen.
CD: Do you consider yourself to be self-taught?
EC: For sure. It manifests in my technique studies, because I don’t know school-taught techniques. A lot of times people will ask me how I did a certain thing, and I don’t have an answer for them.
CD: Does being self-taught ever cause any tension within yourself and your work?
EC: Sometimes I get insecure about it. When a stitch isn’t working, or I mess up the seam, I’ll delegitimize myself a little bit and think I’m a fraud because I’m having people pay me for this. But sometimes it can be a real learning opportunity.
CD: How do you think your roots in drag culture informs what you create today?
EC: It’s where I get my affinity for exaggeration. I love an exaggerated silhouette. I always pattern my corsets with an exaggerated hip shape, because that’s the drag definition of what femininity looks like. I don’t think it’s my definition of femininity anymore, as a trans woman, but having that exaggeration still live somewhere in my work is a testament to drag culture. It’s how I spent my teenage years.
There are also so many queens who don’t know how to sew and can still do a whole re-creation of a Met Gala look with hot glue. In drag, you can do so much with such little material or proper experience. There’s no guidebook on what to do. I bring that same approach to fashion.
Erik’s apartment doubles as her working studio space. From the pictured porcelain doll pin cushion to the wall of fabric shopping receipts and the layer of thread coating her living room floor, every detail encapsulates her stylistic aspirations.
CD: Thinking back to your drag days, did you ever think you would end up as a designer?
EC: Not really. I was really set on doing drag. When I first moved to L.A., all I wanted to do was perform. But once I started my transition, I realized it wasn’t drag that I wanted. It was the womanhood and the power. The whole reason I was still doing it was because I loved being able to make the clothes. It was the only excuse I had to wear the clothes and keep presenting feminine. So, when I transitioned, I didn’t need an excuse. I could just start making what I wanted to and it didn’t have to be a costume anymore.
CD: How do you think your relationship to creating clothes has evolved since then?
EC: It almost feels like a calling or a necessity. Before it really felt like a hobby, I was so focused on getting my degree and trying to figure out how to be a person, but now my relationship to it is almost primal. I can’t imagine doing anything else. The thought of not being able to sell or make clothes is devastating. I know it sounds like it’s not that deep, but it is for me.
CD: Is it fair to say you’ve been reaching your goals faster than expected?
EC: I can’t believe that this is all real. It’s crazy — this is all stuff that I make in my apartment. But on the other hand, my vision for what I want has always been so clear in every decision that I make. Everything is really intentional, from the stylists I work with to the types of jobs I take on.
This has been my dream for a really long time. I’m in this dream, but I’m in the dream with a map. I have a general sense of where I’m going. It is definitely surprising and not what I would have expected, timeline-wise. It’s insane to be 24 years old and think that I need an assistant. But I don’t dwell on the surprise. Instead, I just take it in stride and keep aiming higher. It’s not even out of necessity per se, but more out of desire. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with dreaming a little bit bigger.
This story originally appeared on LA Times
