23

It’s Not How Far You Fall; It’s How High You Bounce Back

General George Patton said, “The test of success is not what you do when you are on top. Success is how high you bounce back when you hit the bottom.” I thought a lot about that quote after I was fired from the company for which I had worked for more than 30 years.

Although it wasn’t a surprise to me that I was let go, I was told later that everyone else in the company was shocked. I had been an institution in that company. Everybody knew I had worked my way up from clerk to president and then CEO and also knew I had always had a terrific track record. Moreover, the reaction to the news was awkward, to say the least. I learned a lot about the people I knew: the people I expected would be my greatest allies at that point in my life turned out to be the greatest disappointments, and people I never expected to step up turned out to be very special. I was—and still am—very grateful to them; I’ve never forgotten a single one of them, and with any one of them who needed help since that time, I have tried to be a solid citizen.

That first week after I was let go was brutal. I started calling people I thought I could trust, people I was friendly with in business, people I expected would help. But no one wanted to take my calls. I was really disappointed that some of my closest friends in business avoided speaking with me. Many—I would say all but two—sent me e-mails, though. I have cherished those e-mails to this day. The other two I have no use for. Maybe they were embarrassed and didn’t know what to say to me. I didn’t know what they were thinking; all I knew was that they weren’t taking my calls, and that was very unpleasant. An interesting response to a call came from a headhunter who had become somewhat of a friend. He said, “You’re radioactive. Disappear for six months.” Seriously? I wanted to get on with my life—and my career.

I had devoted a lifetime to that company and had only good memories, and being severed from it really took a toll on me. My life changed in an instant: people used to line up for an appointment to meet with me because I was “an important guy” at a big public company, but now they wouldn’t even talk to me. It was very humbling, and I experienced a wide gamut of negative emotions: denial, anger, and disappointment. I remember sitting in my home office alone, thinking about what I should do next, and I actually broke down in tears. Five seconds later I collected myself and thought, This can’t stand. I’ll figure this out. I had had a great career and was not going to let it end on that note. I wanted to come back and do something of consequence.

By Friday of that first week, the company had filed a statement with the SEC, as required by law, because I was a corporate officer of a public company. That statement made clear that I had been severed from the company but there was no wrongdoing, and the terms of the contract would be honored in full. That changed my situation dramatically. It was like someone had stuck a pin in a balloon: suddenly, all the air came out, and there were no more concerns. I was able to get on with my life because it had been stated publicly.

I thought about what to do next. It was March, and the weather started changing, so I took a trip with my wife, Susie, and my younger son, Jesse (my other son, Jarrod, was working). We went to Las Vegas, played golf, and had a great time. I started to think that maybe I would just retire, but I gave that idea only three minutes’ thought. Then I said to myself that I had had a stellar career, and just because a few people didn’t think I was right for their company, I wasn’t going to let that be the exclamation mark at the end of my career. I just decided, That’s it. I am not retiring. I’m going to come back and try and be as excited about my next opportunity as I possibly can. From there, I started to plan my future.

It wasn’t easy. I had never looked for a job—not since I was just out of college. I had never been fired—publicly fired! I had had a few setbacks in my career and promotions I didn’t get right away, but I always came back stronger. Because I had no experience of being out of work, I had no idea how to approach this situation. You might not have a lot of sympathy for an unemployed CEO, but it was no fun regardless of how high I was in the hierarchy. Like you, I’m human.

I started to craft a plan for my career the same way I would craft a strategic plan for a company. First, I made a list of my strengths and my weaknesses for my own assessment only: I’ll talk about my strengths all day long, but I’ll never talk about my weaknesses publicly to anyone. I don’t think people should call out their own deficiencies.

I realize this is a popular question during job interviews: Tell me about your strengths and weaknesses. Some interviewees try to be coy by disguising a strength as a weakness: they might say, “I’m a workaholic: I put in long hours, and I need to watch that,” which they think every employer wants to hear. In my case—and this is my advice to others—if somebody asks me that question, I answer, “I’m prepared to talk to you about my strengths. If you want to find my weaknesses, we’ll work together and you’ll see if you can find them.” My weaknesses are my business, no one else’s. I’m a positive person, but I’m also a very private person. (I can’t believe I’ve written this book!)

After I made a list of all my strengths and weaknesses, I made a list of all the people I knew and another list of the people I thought they might know if I called them to ask for an introduction. Finally, I made a list of all the companies I admired and asked myself whether anyone on my other two lists might know someone at those companies.

Then I started calling. In 30 days, I made more phone calls than I had in 30 years, following a single strategy: nothing was too big to consider, and nothing was too small. I would leave no stone unturned. I would never look back and say that my ego or pride got in the way of making any phone calls.

I called people I would never dream of working for, not in a million years. I called anyone and everyone and asked whether they were looking for a number two person; if so, I would be willing to work with them. I called the CEOs of companies in which I thought that if I could secure the number two position, maybe I could eventually surpass the CEO and be promoted to the top position. I told headhunters I preferred a CEO position but would eagerly pursue a number two spot.

I called every headhunter who had ever called me about leaving PVH. Over the years I had had offers. I had never pursued any of them (except one), because I was happy working where I was and was doing well. But now it was fair game.

I called everyone I could think of, especially the people I thought were the smartest. I called people I admired about jobs I thought might make sense for me. However, I didn’t prioritize my list. People have asked me why I didn’t make these calls more selectively, for example, by first calling the companies I would most like to work for. If those calls led me nowhere, I could call people at companies the next level down, in other words, companies that I would be willing to work for but that I wasn’t wild about. And if those calls led nowhere, I could call people at the next level down: companies I didn’t really want to work for but that I would work for rather than not working at all. I didn’t prioritize because that didn’t even occur to me: I wanted to open a broad range of thinking, and as mentioned earlier, you never know what opportunity is behind which door. I did wonder, Will I ever work again? Will I ever find something else I’ll enjoy doing?

Making all these phone calls didn’t mean I was going to accept the first thing that came my way (although I was tempted). I was simply very interested in reaching out and seeing what I could learn. I wanted leads. I had been terminated from a company, and that was a blot on my career regardless of the reasons. Many very intelligent and worldly people were telling me that was not the case. Companies make changes. Think about Steve Jobs being fired from Apple. Think about all the baseball managers who are let go from one team and then thrive at other ball clubs. Nonetheless, I was thrown. I had always been in control. I didn’t really know what to do, but I was willing to talk to anyone and see anyone. I had a strategy, and I was working it.

Many of my phone calls led to some very productive meetings. Unfortunately, many of those calls and meetings were difficult, to say the least. In one case, I heard about a company that was looking for a CEO—a big, successful company that I thought would be a great fit for me—and I called the former CEO to ask if he would make an introduction for me. He was friendly on the call and agreed to help me connect, yet later I found out he told someone that I had a lot of nerve to think I could replace him.

In another case, I met with the headhunter who was looking for the CEO of that same company that I thought would be a good fit for me. She disagreed, listing all the reasons I wasn’t right for the job, and she refused to send me on an interview. To add insult to injury, she took so many phone calls during our meeting that we barely had a chance to talk about the position. I found her behavior unprofessional, but that was part of my new life.

I learned about a few positions I thought I was right for that I wasn’t considered for, and that was disappointing. Even worse, some of those companies ultimately hired people who did not do well and even had a deleterious effect on the companies’ success. Their failures looking back didn’t make me feel better; they made me feel worse because I knew what I could have done for those companies. I got some surprising rejections, and I wasn’t getting enough good leads.

Then things started to improve. One of the first people I called was John Howard, an investment banker with Bear Stearns at that time (now at Irving Place Capital), whom I had met when I was the CEO of PVH because he had an interest in one of our brands. At the time, he had an investment in 7 For All Mankind, Stuart Weitzman, and New York & Company retail stores. I went to his office, and we discussed his fashion portfolio. His company had bought 50 percent of 7 For All Mankind. The founder was still there, but he wanted to retire and sell his remaining shares and ownership. John was interested in acquiring the rest of the company, but he needed someone to take a look at it and determine whether the company could grow and expand and whether they could work with the founder for a period of time during the transition in leadership. John thought it might be right for me, and he asked if I would consider flying out to Los Angeles to get a read on the situation.

While all these conversations with various companies and headhunters were going on, I also had a very unusual opportunity come my way that I thought might lead my future career in an entirely different direction. I wrote earlier that I had met many celebrities at the various golf tournaments the company held to promote the Izod business. One of those celebrities was Mark Wahlberg. Over time, we had sought each other out to play together at various golf tournaments, and I had become very fond of him. In fact, I felt comfortable enough that about a year earlier, while we were playing golf one day, I said, “Hey, Mark, why don’t you put me on Entourage? I could play the father of one of the guys. I would really like to be on the show.” He was the executive producer, and even though he probably got asked that all the time, he said if I really wanted to do it, he would make it happen. Nothing happened for quite some time.

Then I played with Mark and he asked what happened. I told him no one called. Let’s just say the next day I received a call from Sheila Jaffe, the famous casting director, who invited me to do a screen test. When Mark Wahlberg and I first started talking about my being on the show, I was the president of PVH and my position was fairly under the radar. By the time Sheila called, however, I was CEO of a public company, and I didn’t think it was appropriate for me to appear on a TV show. When I talked to our company’s head of marketing, he said, “It’s just a screen test; you don’t have to actually do the part. Go do it,” and so I did. A film crew was due in New York, and I tested.

At first, they wanted to cast me as a salesman in a Ducati motorcycle dealership. I had a few lines, it was a fun experience, and I went back to my day job. Then Sheila called again and said the director liked my screen test and wanted me to do the scene in a real episode. I told her I couldn’t be seen endorsing a product that wasn’t mine. I also asked her to thank Mark Wahlberg and let him know it was enough for me that he had followed through. Meanwhile, I was moving on.

Then I left PVH, and I was talking to John Howard about flying to LA to look at 7 For All Mankind, when Sheila Jaffe called again for Entourage. She had a part she thought I would be right for as an attorney representing Jeremy Piven’s character (Ari Gold) in his split from his business partner, played by Malcolm McDowell. She asked if I could come to California to film it. Her schedule happened to coincide with a meeting I had already planned with the founder of 7 For All Mankind, and so I said yes.

They sent me the script and discussed wardrobe, call time, and location address. I was an actor in a hit show! I was to join the Screen Actors Guild that week. I flew to California on Sunday, was scheduled to film the Entourage scene on Monday, and would meet with the founder of 7 Jeans on Tuesday. I was excited because my life was moving forward in some very interesting ways. I thought maybe there could be a new life for me in California: I could work for an apparel company and also be an actor. After all, stranger things have happened, and it’s not impossible for ordinary people to become successful actors.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen for me. Late Sunday night, the production head called about my filming. They had a location problem, and the shoot was rescheduled from Monday to Tuesday. Obviously, I needed to make a decision—either do Entourage or meet with the founder of 7 Jeans. I was disappointed I couldn’t do both; I would have loved to be on Entourage just as a fun experience. But I needed to keep my top priority in mind: I wasn’t working, and what I really wanted was a second act in my fashion career, and so I chose 7. To this day, my sons have never let me live down that decision.

The next day, I met with Peter Koral, the founder of 7 Jeans and a great guy, very cool and a successful entrepreneur who had built his business from the ground up. We really hit it off and had a good meeting, discussing the details of the business and its future. He gave me a tour of his factory and his warehouse, and at the end of the day he said, “Listen, I want to sell the company, and we need someone to come out here. I think you would be perfect.”

When I got home, I wrote up a report for John Howard, and we met to discuss it. I told him I thought the company was quite worthwhile, that I really admired it—both what it had achieved and what it could become. I thought that it could expand its product offerings beyond jeans (bottoms) and that the company’s best days were in front of it. In short, I thought it would be a wise investment.

I was seriously considering signing on to run 7 For All Mankind—although I want to be clear: John and I had not discussed anything in detail yet—when two people suggested I slow down and make sure this was the opportunity I really wanted to pursue. One was my wife, whose opinion I value above all others. She said, “Mark, you should really think about this. You don’t have to jump at the first thing that comes along. I know what you’re going through is hard, but you ought to think about taking your time.” My wife is beautiful: always was and always will be. I thought she too could pursue acting in Hollywood. Tracy and Hepburn, Brad and Angelina, Mark and Susie! That was in the back of my head.

Then a second person weighed in. My wife and I were driving to dinner on a beautiful night, with the top down on our convertible, when my phone rang. It was Jason Binn, the founder of Niche Media, which publishes lifestyle magazines such as Hamptons, Ocean Drive, Gotham, Los Angeles Confidential, and Vegas.* It’s a small world, as they say, and I think John Howard’s investment bank was one of Jason’s partners in Niche Media. Jason was in his early thirties, and I met him when he first started coming into prominence. He had built a successful business, and I thought he was an impressive guy. We have two very different styles, yet we bonded. As soon as I picked up the phone, he said, “I heard you were talking to John Howard, and I want to talk to you before you make any decisions. Mark, you’re a bigger-than-life guy: you’ve accomplished a lot. Don’t come back small.”

That call really made an impact on me. First of all, I was so touched that Jason was a stand-up guy who called to talk to me directly in spite of my being out of the industry. Second, I was impressed that he thought enough of me to give me advice. As I said earlier, some of the people I least expected to show up on my doorstep and do right by me were the most helpful. I never ever forgot that phone call.

At the same time, I had been thinking that 7 For All Mankind wasn’t the right move for me after all. Nothing was finalized; there had only been initial discussions. Also, since I came from a large public corporation that produced multiple brands, if John Howard had said to me, “I’ll bring you in here, and you can oversee everything,” I would have been more interested and would probably be there now. But working in a monobrand company was not what I really wanted to do even though I thought very highly of Peter Koral and the company he had built. I told John Howard that, and he understood.*

For whatever reason, it finally clicked. I realized I had an enormous amount of experience in all aspects of the fashion business. No matter who I met or interviewed with, no matter what subject they raised, I had the answers to all their questions. I’ve always told people, “I don’t know if I’m smart; that’s for others to decide. But I know I’m well trained.” I started to believe again that I had something to offer, that I shouldn’t think about what had happened at the end of my time at my previous company; instead, I started to think that the best part of my career was in front of me. And I became convinced that I should wait for the right position to come along.

* Today, Jason is the founder of DuJour, a powerful new concept in luxury online and print magazines.

* Later, when I received the job at LVMH and Donna Karan and it was announced in the press, the first person I called was John Howard to thank him for his interest in me. What he said, I’ll never forget: “Mark, when I read the article, I didn’t understand why you would want to get involved with that problem. Then it occurred to me that if you were unsuccessful, no one would be surprised, but if you were successful, what a statement!”