Editor's Letter
What does it really mean to have great style?
What does it really mean to have great style?
As a designer, it’s a question I return to often. And each time, I find myself thinking about the women who shaped my sense of style and what it was about them that truly influenced how I dress and build a wardrobe.
Style lives at the intersection of what we wear, how we wear it, and, most importantly, our sense of self. It’s about how connected we are to our bodies, our desires, our vulnerabilities, and our power. I’ve also long believed that our wardrobe choices reflect our values and identity. But over time, I’ve come to see how nuanced and often contradictory great style can be.
Take, for instance, the elegant simplicity of a uniform. I deeply admire women who commit to consistency in their wardrobes, allowing their presence, not their clothing, to speak first. My aunt, Perla Servan-Schreiber, decided over 40 years ago to wear only white. She remains one of the most refined and intelligent women I know. Then there’s artist Michele Oka Doner, my former mother-in-law, who once fell in love with a single dress silhouette and had it made in every color and fabric. To this day, she wears only that shape. For both women, clothing isn’t a distraction it’s a reflection. A quiet power. A distinct approach rooted in deep self-knowledge. The kind that comes from doing the inner work.
And yet, I’m equally inspired by women whose style couldn’t be more different from mine, women who express themselves boldly, joyfully, and without restraint. I think of Dolly Parton, my favorite performer and one of the most soulful musicians alive. Her look is something I could never fully understand and yet it makes perfect sense. It’s electric. It’s infectious. It’s authentic. And it’s entirely in sync with who she is.
Over the years, one thing has become increasingly clear: I’ve always been in pursuit of distinction and the celebration of that difference. Isn’t the journey of life, after all, about uncovering our true nature and learning how to express it? To allow it to shine in our work, our relationships, and yes even in the way we dress. Finding your distinction can feel daunting, but it’s also profoundly rewarding.
While CO is rooted in minimalism, there’s always something in the fabrication, the construction, or the silhouette that quietly says: don’t fuck with me—I know who I am. There’s something punk about that kind of distinction. And I’m endlessly drawn to it.
As a teenager in the 1980s, while most of my classmates wore matching denim and sweatshirts, I was obsessed with Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink, a girl who hunted down vintage and made it her own. I was thirteen, and it felt revolutionary. When she walked down those high school hallways looking nothing like the other girls, it struck a chord. I went home, cut up all my clothes, and through those missteps and experiments, I discovered both my style and my sensibility. There’s something symbolic in cutting up your old self to discover your new one. It takes courage. It takes a little inner punk.
Around that same time, my mother would take me vintage shopping every Saturday with her best friend, Lianne. They were always searching for that one piece no one else had and I remember the thrill in their eyes when they found it. The joy wasn’t just in the rarity, but in the resonance: in finding something that felt like an extension of who they were.
In college, I observed the sorority girls with a mix of admiration and resistance. While they wore sexy, sporty clothes, I walked around in oversized vintage blazers. In my twenties, after moving to Los Angeles, broke but curious, I sold and traded vintage to uncover pieces that felt rare and personal. Each discovery brought me closer to the woman I was becoming. Later, as a film producer with a bit more means, I made pilgrimages to Barneys and invested in Comme des Garçons and Yohji Yamamoto, the same designers my mother had worn a generation earlier. The true punks of fashion.
I wasn’t chasing trends. I was chasing uniqueness. I was chasing identity. Clothing has always been central to that search. I had to take risks. I often got it wrong. But I always came back, sharper, clearer. That process shaped my individuality in style, and in life.
When I launched CO, that pursuit of distinction was at its core. I wanted to create a brand defined by craftsmanship but also by silhouettes that reflect a woman’s inner punk. I’ve always gravitated toward unconventional volumes and shapes. A subtle don’t fuck with me. Never overt. It doesn’t need to be. But when the jacket is just a little too big, the pants a touch too long, the pocket slightly off-center, or the dress falls with unexpected ease what it quietly declares is: I am my own woman. I know exactly who I am.
That, to me, is great style.
Stephanie