The Conspiracy Theory

Northern Liberties' new clothing design co-op is not the ladies auxiliary.

by Meredith Lindemon

"The motherfuckers didn't drill the holes," sighs Susan Morris.

Her business partner, Rachel Breeden, picks up the directions. "They say they might not have drilled the holes? What the fuck?"

INFILTRATING THE CONSPIRACY: Inside Philadelphia's newest design co-op. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

Morris and Breeden are trying, without much luck, to put together a display case to go into Northern Liberties' Conspiracy Showroom, a clothing and jewelry design co-op.

Angela Ricci, who until this point has been running around spackling holes like a jackrabbit with a crack habit, drains a can of Red Bull, zips over and, in minutes, the jewelry case is nearly assembled.

With that problem solved, Ricci suffers a Red Bull crash, and has to run out for pizza.

A seemingly accidental string of circumstances spawned the idea to start this co-op, where clothing and jewelry designers can sign a contract, pay $195 a month and 5 percent of their sales, and keep the rest. The beauty of the co-op arrangement, compared to consignment, is that it gives the designers the ability to create their own space, and doesn't force them to produce a large amount of the same product that may or may not sell.

The right group of people came together at the right time — in the wrong place.

In September of 2005 Morris and Ricci started as vendors in the damp, smelly basement of Antiquarian's Delight, selling Morris' reconstructed garments and Ricci's handbags. Both felt that the basement, while not the ideal place for a group of talented designers to sell their items, was a great way to get like-minded people together. It also was strangely conducive to the growth of mushrooms.

Morris put an ad on Craigslist calling for designers, screened the 12 respondents, and from that list chose Breeden and Typhaney Bennett — the co-Conspirators in the Showroom — as well as Lisa Kelley and Rose Greene. "I picked them based on their willingness to commit — that, and their stuff was the best," she says. "Things usually happen like that, or at least you hope they do."

In April of 2006, Bennett contacted the Austin, Tex.-based Craft Mafia, and by July, had founded Philadelphia's local chapter. Back in the storefront, Morris, Breeden, Bennett and Ricci are working in shifts, desperately trying to get their store together for its Nov. 10 opening party (it opened to the public on Nov. 11) — scheduled weddings, full-time jobs and booked honeymoons be damned.

Morris paints and Bennett lays tile. As Bennett scrubs tiling glue off her arms with a brush, they bicker over covering a chair in "monkey fur." Bennett nixes the plan, but days later, the chair is not only covered in brown faux fur, but it has rather foppish feathery plumage. The place is painted, the dressing room is decoupaged in old patterns and glass balls hang from the ceiling.

This is a strange, strong-willed grouping of personalities often at odds with each other. And while it had the potential to be disastrous, it actually works. Morris throws out half-cocked ideas that come off beautifully. Breeden puts things together, stays optimistically calm and keeps everyone on an even keel. There's a smattering of husbands, a boyfriend and a drunk freelance production assistant who slaps paint on the walls and drinks Miller High Life. Bennett is the de facto leader of the group and the marketing (and tiling) mastermind.

Though Conspiracy hadn't opened, Bennett got the Greater Philadelphia Tourism Marketing Corporation involved and now will have their store logo in an upcoming holiday shopping campaign with stores such as Matthew Izzo and Sugarcube.

It may seem strange that a bunch of Philly DIY-ers are being used alongside boutiques offering some of the best merchandise in the city. Perhaps this is because the Conspirators demand more than the average knitting circle. They also demand it from the designers they let into their space.

Brooklyn-based Antoinette Indge, of Unsungdesigners.com, was approached by the partners. "I was attracted to the idea of being a part of a cooperative space, run by designers for designers," says Indge. "My clothing is handmade in limited quantities and the styles sometimes evolve over a season. Conspiracy gives me the chance to be more creative and responsive."

Says Caroline Bean, media relations manager of the GPTMC, "I like that Conspiracy Showroom gives an opportunity to a range of emerging Philadelphia artists and designers."

As far as the idea of "crafting" goes, the Conspirators hope to change and transcend the ladies-making-doilies stereotype.

Morris studied sculpture at the University of the Arts and now works in theater wardrobe. Ricci is also a UArts grad with a B.F.A. in printmaking; she pursued postgraduate studies in fashion design at Moore. Bennett has taken jewelry classes and metalsmithing workshops, and has been working with natural materials for the last three years. Breeden started sewing in 2004, made screenprinted Ts for the Concerts for Kerry and customizes watches.

"I'm tired of looking at handmade stuff where someone just glued something on a T-shirt, and calls themselves a designer," bemoans Morris. "Make the damn T-shirt!"

"Because there are now so many people out there throwing things together, it makes it a little harder for the people that put in the extra work." Bennett says. "We aren't promoting ourselves in this boutique as crafters. We are promoting ourselves as artists and designers. We don't plan on making things that, frankly, suck."

(m_lindemon@citypaper.net)

Conspiracy Showroom is open Thu. to Sat., noon to 8 p.m. and Sun., noon to 6 p.m., 901 N. Second St., www.conspiracyshowroom.com.