The Mrs.

A tribute to my mentor and friend, Linda Dresner

As reminded by the Artemis II a few weeks ago, we are all on a floating ball in space, until our time is up. All we can hope for is that we make an impact, and leave the world more beautiful than we found it. I can’t think of anyone else who achieved this more than Linda Dresner.

Growing up, I would pass by the windows of Linda Dresner’s eponymous store at 299 W. Maple in Birmingham, MI and stare in the windows. Exaggerated, dark silhouettes showcased on a single rack- often only one piece, signifying its importance and beauty to be able to stand on its own. I knew from a young age that this store was different, and that I had to know the woman behind it.

When I graduated college in 2012, I was working in advertising sales at a local magazine. I would often be walking around Birmingham, pitching prospective clients, passing by the giant windows of Linda’s store, admiring the simplicity, yet bravery, of the clothing. An admiration became a slight obsession, and I felt a calling to be a part of it.

In the winter of 2014, I started calling the store constantly. I would ask to speak to Linda, who was very chicly, “with clients”. I wanted to introduce myself, and see if I could come in and meet her (after years of working with her, it turns out I could have just walked in and said hello, she was always on the floor). I placed a near-weekly call, until one day, Linda picked up the phone. I was shocked and not prepared to give whatever pitch I had laid out in my head. I told her I was an admirer of her store and a recent fashion merchandising graduate. Without pause, Linda said “we are having a photoshoot tomorrow, would you like to come assist?”. Following her example, I did not hesitate to say yes.

Linda was looking for a muse for the Fall Collections shoot, and we quite literally chased Shelbie down in the mall. She turned out to be a model and was the focus of many photoshoots over the next few years.

I took a “sick day” from work to attend the photoshoot. Right after we had gotten off the phone, I rushed to my local Target to pick out something “professional but chic”. I landed on a cropped black pair of polyester-ish pants, a white who-knows-what-fabric blazer, and a silky, multi-colored camisole. I remember feeling embarrassed that I was going to be wearing Tar-zhay to the shoot, but maybe if I put my own touches on it, no one would know.

When I opened the doors to Linda Dresner the next day, I was greeted with bright lights from the camera’s flashes. When my eyes adjusted, there she was. Cuffed, baggy jeans, sandals, bodysuit and blazer with a blue bandana holding her dark, wiry curls. We introduced ourselves to one another, and the first thing Linda said was “you look so cute!”. I relaxed. While the windows of the store had always intimidated me with their severe beauty, the woman behind those displays was warm and welcoming.

We moved through the photoshoot, and I recall the model’s hair being teased into a large puff, to go with a basic Haider Ackermann ribbed long sleeve shirt and a Junya Watanabe patchwork skirt. While I watched in awe, I said “I wish I could look like that!”. Linda replied “why can’t you?”. My world burst right open.

It seems simple- you can be anything you want to be! But fear and self-doubt often get in the way. We make up rules for ourselves in our head about what we should look like, and how we should dress. What will others think of us? But the radical notion that on any given day we can decide differently, changed my worldview.

A few weeks later, I got a call from Linda. She asked if I would be interested in working in the store. I quit my job a week later and started working as a sales associate at Linda Dresner. I was immediately immersed in the holiness of the space. Clothing as art, art as furniture, the religious nature of the clients to Linda. The space was sacred, and so was Linda’s work.

I learned about the history of the designers- Comme des Garçons, Yohji Yamamoto, Junya Watanabe- all of which Linda had been one of the first American clients of. I learned about the textures of Dries van Noten, the simplicity of Alaïa, and the importance of then-newcomers like Vetements & Sacai. I studied the archives in the basement of Celine, Greg Lauren and Maison Martin Margiela. It was a fashion education that could not be found in books or universities. It was a look inside Linda’s brain and her heart. It was life altering.

Photoshoots were some of my favorite days in the store, but just watching Linda style a mannequin was an education.

I loved working in the store. The other associates were truly a cast of characters. All were women 50+, some of whom had worked for Linda for over a decade, including Linda’s beloved sister, Tishia. The seamstresses (who were always in the store, a rarity these days) were old school and could deconstruct couture and put it back together. At the time, I thought we were just having fun. Looking back, being exposed to these women in my 20s helped make me who I am today. Their confidence, wisdom and originality impacted me at a formative time.

Linda only went two places to buy in later years- Paris and New York. Linda had a fabulous assistant buyer, Douglas (Dougie, to Linda), who lived in France but had worked in her iconic store on Park Ave. in New York City. One season, he was unable to make it to New York, so I volunteered to coordinate Linda’s schedule for her with all the showrooms. I mapped out the easiest and most logical schedule, confirmed with showrooms, booked cars and dinners. When it was done, I presented her with an itinerary, and boldly asked her if I could accompany her. I even offered to pay for my own plane ticket. Linda said “don’t be silly, you’ll fly with me”.

A few weeks later, we landed in New York. I stayed in a hotel around the corner from Linda’s apartment in Central Park South. Each morning I would walk over to get her, we would have espresso and head to our appointments. I had studied buying in college, but the real experience was beyond my wildest dreams. Days of looking at the newest collections, deciding which client would like which pieces, dinner with Linda’s friends who affectionately called her “The Mrs.”. She was singular.

Linda was meticulous and smart, but ultimately let beauty guide her decision-making. When we went to Marc Jacobs, Linda had not bought there in a few years. They fell at her feet when she walked through the door. We were swept away to a large table with flowers and lunch and champagne. The showroom manager came over and said “Marc is so honored that you are here today, Linda”. Linda smiled and poured herself another coffee.

After that trip, I started traveling with Linda to Paris, too. It was a life-changing experience. I learned so much about the world and fashion just by being in her orbit. Each showroom greeted her like family, because she was. She had started a lot of these designer’s careers. She had taken the risk on so many people in the name of beauty, for the sake of art. She was brave and bold and sure. She could look at a piece, name the customer it should be worn by, and she was never wrong. It was her job, her superpower, to make women see themselves the way she saw them, which was always a higher version of themselves.

On a buying trip in Paris

Linda was my boss, my mentor, and then my friend. We would routinely sneak out of the store to catch an afternoon matinee at the Main Art Theatre. I would pick her up from her house before work sometimes, where she would offer me an omelet and yes, an espresso. Linda’s granddaughter, Lauren, said it best in her eulogy a few weeks ago at Linda’s funeral: “she romanticized the mundane”. Lunch at the store was baked salmon and couscous, served on beautiful platters every day, accompanied by a “simple salad” made by Linda. Every lunch ended with coffee in small glass cups and chocolate. Always chocolate. She never did anything sloppily or quick, it had to be beautiful. And it was.

Linda’s family so kindly welcomed me with open arms. I attended her granddaughter Samantha’s wedding (and got to see the beautiful moment of Linda crying during Sam’s wedding dress fitting in the store). Linda and her daughter-in-law, Rena, came to my bridal shower, with a tulle Dries van Noten skirt I had loved, as a gift. Many celebrities came to shop over the years, but Linda was never more excited than when her granddaughters and Rena came into the store. Her family was her world, and she was theirs. To the world she was Linda Dresner, to them, she was “Bubs”.

We had countless dinners, hours looking at fashion magazines and Vogue.com. We dressed mannequins and ate trail mix out of a Ziploc baggie in her Goyard tote. We laughed. She was so funny. She was one of the loves of my life. She could have lived to be 150, and her loss would still feel like a gaping hole in the world.

Food was part of Linda's art- whether it was a beautiful lunch or a frequent trip down the candy aisle at CVS. "We MUST have chocolate, it's good for us!"

Linda shaped the way we shop- or at least should shop. It should be intentional, enjoyable, beautiful. It should be slow and romantic. She didn’t chase trends or fads, she chased beauty, knowing clothes would come alive on the right person. While customers of her Park Avenue store included Jackie O, Carolyn Bessette Kennedy and the Olsen Twins, it was the average woman coming out of the fitting room, transformed, that made her feel alive.

She changed my life, and countless others. Her belief in you was more validating than any award or accolade. She made you want to be brave. When I ultimately left the store to move to Las Vegas for my husband’s job in 2018, Linda said “I can’t believe you’re leaving me here!”.

On a rainy morning a few weeks ago, when I held her hand for the last time, I thought to myself “I couldn’t leave you if I tried”.

Linda front row at Comme des Garçons in Fall 2011.

For a full history of Linda Dresner and her stores, please see

The New York Times.