thirty-two

That idyllic interlude with Sebastien did indeed give me renewed energy. Luckily, because the period that followed was terribly stressful. I had to put up with infuriating delays, bargain with grasping suppliers, manage a still inexperienced team, deal with unbelievable amounts of admin, be creative at night but supremely organized by day. In short, I was on the verge of losing it. Fortunately, I had an extraordinary support network. Family and friends came to my workshop to offer loud, sincere encouragement. It warmed my heart. I so wanted them to be proud of me!

Claude, my dear Claude, did not let me down either: he had promised to get in touch with his media contacts, assuring me he knew lots of people. That was one thing at least I wouldn’t have to do . . . How was I ever going to thank him?

For now, my baby was becoming ever more lively. The delivery date was fast approaching, which meant it was time to find a name for him. I organized a brainstorming session in the back room of the boutique. Claude had advised me to invite people from a variety of backgrounds to enrich the session—we’d get differing and interesting ideas. So in addition to my team, I asked my hairdresser and my masseuse, who kindly agreed to take part. I told them all about the essential rule for any creative effort: the CQFM. No criticism or censorship; a great quantity of ideas; some fantasy; and ideas that multiplied, one linking to the next. We also had to keep in mind these key points: our target was children from birth to three, and we offered ethical haute couture at off-the-rack prices thanks to our leasing model.

To get our brains working we began by writing down as quickly as possible on a piece of paper all the words that came into our minds. Next we decided to explore more closely the specific vocabulary of early childhood: “Tiny tot, beansprout, stork, pooh-pooh”—we agreed no censorship!—“knee-high to a grasshopper, abracadabra, pat-a-cake, little minx, kitty-cat bambino, peekaboo, pirouette, sweet pea, cradle, this little piggy . . .”

We also wrote down words connected to the worlds of clothes and fashion—“a stitch in time, bluebonnets, nimble fingers, better by design”—and other phrases from nursery rhymes: “Three little kittens, they lost their mittens . . .”

Claude helped us do a positioning map. On the diagram two lines intersected to make four quadrants: the practical world of children; the world of the “enchanted” child; ethical, fair-trade clothing; and fashion for hire. This helped us sort our suggestions, which would make our choice easier.

Then we began the roll call of names.

“‘Fashionimo,’” suggested my hairdresser. “Words that end in ‘imo’ are good, aren’t they? There’s Nemo, Geronimo, or Pinocchio . . . Or how about ‘Minimode’?”

“Good! I’ll put that up.”

“Why not ‘Little Goldfingers’?” said Geraldine, one of my seamstresses.

“Or ‘Stitches in Time’?” cried Lucie, clearly delighted with her bright idea.

“What about ‘Fortune’s Child’?” said Fabienne. “It’d remind people of Destiny’s Child. But I guess they’re not trendy anymore?”

“‘Biomode,’” was my masseuse’s idea.

“No! It sounds too medical.”

“We said we wouldn’t criticize, remember?”

“‘The Bee’s Knees’?”

“Great, but it already exists.”

“Oh . . .”

After we eliminated names already taken, ones that were too long, others that didn’t sound right, and those that were too complicated, we were left with a list of four possibilities: Cuddleeco, Green Bambino, FashionFairies, and Li’l Trousso. They all contained a message and said something about the project.

“Cuddleeco” . . . the name suggested both an embrace between mother and baby and also hinted at our ecological ambitions.

“Green Bambino” highlighted our ethical ideas too, and with “bambino” intimated that we were producing children’s clothes.

“FashionFairies” evoked the alluring world of magic, which we thought would attract people buying baby clothes. The fact that it included the word “fashion” was important as well, because the clothes we created were meant to be stylish.

“Li’l Trousso.” The notion of “trousseau” implied something that was being passed on. A trousseau used to be a precious collection built up over the years, so we felt this name would lend my concept gravitas by suggesting to the parents that they were giving their child something valuable and unique.

The debate raged for a further two hours. Then a decision was made: it would be FashionFairies. We’d done it! Thank god. We could relax at last.

“Champagne!” I declared, almost euphoric with relief and delight.

I had put a bottle in the fridge in anticipation. While we toasted our success together, I wrote the name in big letters on the whiteboard. My imagination was already working overtime to create a logo for my business.