It's probably not very uncommon for the daughters (and even sons) of baby-boomer hippies to try their hands at sewing at some point in their childhood. It certainly wasn't uncommon at my sleep-away camp. There, girls spent many a rest-hour camped out on the grass next to the bunk, cutting up rejected clothes and bolts of cheap cotton printed with flowers and stripes, and stitching them back together to approximate tank tops, belts, dresses, and bags. Thus it was back in 1996 that I put together my first bag- a horrid conglomeration of tiny beige flowers and black, blue, and white stripes.
A few years later, I found myself in possession of a big bag of designer fabrics-- small samples of Knoll, Maharam, and Unika Vaev patterns, scraps from old upholstery projects, some corduroy, some drapery- the rejects from an interior designer's office, cleared out to make room for the year's new collections. Many of the nicest pieces were no bigger than a square foot, too small to do much with (I had no experience with quilting), but big enough to piece together into a cute little tote bag.
And thus my interest in purses was born.
Previously, most of the bags I'd owned were of little interest to me- items of function and not much more. Usually they were plain black or brown leather or pleather, fastened with a zipper and had a single interior pocket. Though I have a huge appreciation for leather, I think that bag designers have traditionally limited themselves in its employ. And the few bags that aren't made of leather are either plain black fabric (boring!) or are plastered with logos: Gs, Cs, D&Bs. They bring to mind a talentless charades actor who shouts "sailboat" when his partner doesn't understand his frantic hand waving. Style shouldn't be dependent upon a prominently placed label or a gauche fabric pattern full of logos. The ideal for me is a bag that has a distinct personality without shouting its name, that functions so well, that is simply so appealing that people want to use it because it makes them happy, not because its label might impress someone else.
A person's bag is like a personal filing cabinet: full of all the things they will need until they next return home. But it is also an accessory, an opportunity for a person to say something about his or her unique identity. Thus, it is not only important for a good bag to have plenty of pockets, allowing the owner to file their things away into different "folders" for easy organization, but also for the bag to be interesting, visually appealing, and unusual.
This metaphor is one that resonates with me, as someone with a particular interest not necessarily in fashion design but in items of function such as furniture and accessories. These interests led me to discover the abundance of gorgeous modern textile patterns designed (often by the most talented architects and designers of the century) to adorn furniture and walls, that has been woefully under-acknowledged by the fashion industry.
This is the compound vision behind generica: to create a line of tastefully stylish bags using modern upholstery that offers consumers numerous options in terms of size, shape, colors, patterns, and functionality so that every person can choose the bag that best suits them. These bags are not designed to solicit a "my sister has that bag!" comment, but rather: "Wow, I've never seen anything like that! Do you know where I can get one?" And perhaps the response: "Well, this specific bag is sold out, but I know where you can get a similar one..."