Worn Out

To actualize her vision, Marian Sterling worked punishing hours, but her story is inspirational—summoning memories of those suffocating and joyful moments when you find yourself actually going after what you want, and the decent world is sleeping, and nothing seems quite real. “There was this little bench in the sewing studio, and when early morning came, I’d sleep for an hour or two, then I’d get up and do it all over again,” she says.

Lady M is Marian’s haute dresswear line—marked by dramatic silhouettes that should seem silly, but because they are so skillfully structured, they become something quite different: crisp and somber and neatly carved. The looks are immediately futuristic, suggesting architecture, sludgy industrial scenes, and cement everywhere, blanketing all surfaces. But also there’s a layering of past eras: Marian shapes her forms with nipped waists and severely rounded shoulders. (That means shoulder pads, and Marian encountered loads of varieties of them when gathering materials—though none was ever large enough or correctly shaped, so she finally chose some and “glued, molded, or pinned them together.” One dress has “about four sets.”) The designs distantly evoke the charms of ’30s sensibilities—the slightly mannish forms, slouchy and imposing, the hairstyles arranged into swirling piles, the rigid lipstick.

Lambskin piecings embellish the dresses. They recall ’80s futurism and retro electronics, with grids and angles that blend into curves, like mazes from arcade games. In building this texture, Marian used a specialty quilting technique, developed hundreds of years ago, involving fabric incisions, meticulous hand-stitching, and the careful wadding of a specific fibrous stuffing—it’s made of wool and “looks like cotton candy.” As they take form, the shapes swell into firmly sculptured rows that are tricky to work with: “It’s like pinning through gum or something.”

Her past projects include a couture ski jacket, constructed from an Alexander McQueen fabric she bought at Nancy’s Sewing Basket. The print is a darkly gorgeous houndstooth, which appears to be decaying, and which kept spilling apart on her: “Patches of strings were falling out as soon as I would cut it.” The finished garment is at once sleek and wildly voluminous. “I had to use a sleeping-bag zipper,” she says. “I couldn’t find any others that were long enough.” In the next few months, she is traveling to Paris with hopes to exhibit at (capsule), a hot-shit fashion trade show that could change her whole fucking life. She’s got a good shot, too.

Attention, makers of fashion and workers of garmentry: Tell me what you’re doing at marti@thestranger.com.