CHAPTER 10

The Lion

I have made some of my best friends through my involvement in the Young Presidents’ Organization (YPO). In fact, it’s how I met Mort Feinberg, the contributing sidebar editor of this book; he has lectured at numerous YPO events. The universities are usually held in large venues to accommodate 1,500 participants or more. Leaders from government and every industry present their opinions on current affairs. And although I am always interested in learning about how different business leaders confront various challenges, the most valuable lessons I’ve learned at YPO events have come from going to smaller, more informal forum meetings and cocktail hours. I don’t drink myself, but I do attend these events to fraternize and network. I was always interested in these individuals’ positions as international lecturers and members of YPO. Americans, in particular, have such dramatically divergent opinions on how to administrate and develop a company effectively.

It was through my YPO involvement, also, that I learned about the American fashion industry; because my YPO meetings obliged me to take a handful of annual trips to New York, I extended some of these stays to learn the ins and outs of the industry. Up until the 1980s when Japanese designers began to emerge as world leaders in fashion, there were few, if any, fashion-forward designers in Japan, and many Japanese took fashion cues from the West. The United States, on the other hand, had almost ubiquitous talent. After having worked with Bobbie Brooks, I reasoned that there was a great deal of opportunity in the United States for someone like me—ambitious, motivated, young, and most important, financed by an established textile manufacturing and distribution company. My Bobbie Brooks research had led me to implement a number of changes to Takihyo during the 1970s, since the existing methods we’d been using no longer made sense. Eventually, I became incredibly enthusiastic about the idea of manufacturing an American brand more inexpensively in the Far East. However, I needed to do much more research before I could fulfill my dream.

The first step was to find the right designer and brand with which to launch a joint venture—someone with whom I could see eye-to-eye. I had many ideas that I felt could be implemented across the industry, and I needed someone who would help me fulfill my vision. Timing was also essential to proper execution. I needed to move quickly; otherwise, the opportunity could pass me by. I therefore hired a number of my friends’ American assistants—most of whom were young with fresh eyes and good taste—to conduct some guerrilla research. I thought they were good judges of fashion, and I wanted them to find brands that would give me a better feel for current US fashion trends.

I asked each assistant to take a day or two to shop alone. I wanted them to try on everything they liked. I didn’t have them purchase anything; instead, I asked them to cut the hang-tags for every garment they wished they could own but couldn’t necessarily afford. After a couple days of shopping, the young women brought me back a mountain of data—and the tags proved particularly fruitful. Newspapers, magazines, and my discussions with others in the business had been my main sources of fashion information; the tags my assistants collected offered me a fresh spin on consumer demand. This information allowed me, a foreigner, to feel the pulse of American fashion. Although there were many different design houses represented by these tags, three names were the most ubiquitous—Bill Blass, Roy Halston, and Anne Klein, and in that order. Surely, I reasoned, these designers were doing something better than the rest. So I arranged meetings with each of them in hopes of taking the next step forward.

I first met with Bill Blass, who had already established himself at the time. Having accrued five prestigious Coty American Fashion Critics’ Awards for design, Blass’s work garnered significant attention and he was well on his way to carving a place in American and international fashion history. My intentions for meeting with him were simple: I wanted to establish a joint venture with an American designer brand sportswear house to buy European materials, manufacture in the Far East, and distribute in the United States and Japan simultaneously. However, when I discussed these ideas with Blass, he said he was already overcommitted and couldn’t partner with me. One down; two to go.

I met with Halston next; like Blass, he had a strong following. Some consider Halston one of the first designers to gain international acclaim as a designer. He is remembered today for his dressmaking and styling for some of America’s most influential women: Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Liz Taylor, Liza Minnelli, and Lauren Bacall, to name just a few. Halston was also an icon of New York’s fashion and party scene—and one who had an attitude to match his celebrity status. When I first walked into his office, I sat down across from Halston, introduced myself, and hoped to open a dialog. Halston picked up three oranges and started to juggle. Shortly thereafter, he called in his hairdresser for an impromptu haircut. Needless to say, he was less than serious about our meeting, and I left without forging a partnership.

The last designer with whom I met was Anne Klein, who was in her early 50s at the time. The Anne Klein Company was established in 1968. In contrast with Blass and Halston, Klein had less exposure—but despite her lesser acclaim, she was ahead of the curve as a designer. I liked what I saw of her lines. She had begun implementing mix-and-match and grouped products that were color-coordinated.

The Anne Klein Company had already incorporated separates into its small list of products, but Anne had no explicit reasoning for this line’s lucrative potential. Her preliminary response was that her tacit knowledge appeared to coincide with my numerical deductions. Although a tremendously creative person, Anne was also strong-minded and incredibly rational. She was the kind of woman who knew what she wanted and would work hard to achieve her goals. In this regard, we were very similar; although our means were different, we both aimed for the stars. Our first meeting was the start of a close corporate and personal relationship.

Anne was well on her to way to establishing a brand name by way of implementing some revolutionary concepts in the industry. First, Anne was intuitively aware of the basic sloper pattern-making technique. Whereas runway models are known for their minuscule waistlines and legs that go on for miles, most consumers don’t possess such a physique. Making garments to fit runway models would make sense if everyone were 6 feet tall and weighed 100 pounds; however, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the average woman in the United States is about 5 feet, 4 inches tall and weighs 165 pounds.1 A basic sloper pattern scales a garment’s bust and hip measurements to maintain a standard waist in all sizes. These patterns are drafted from house models—not from the runway models smattering fashion magazines—and are closer to the mean in size and proportion. Therefore, the waist sizes are more in sync with those of most consumers. Despite diet fads and current pop stars’ looks, the female form has not changed very much over time. And fit is incredibly important to selling a garment. The magic of the basic sloper is that despite changes in styles, the sloper will stay the same. And with the right basic sloper, we could make any style fit.

Not everything was so easy, however. All joint ventures carry the possibility of various problems; this venture was no different. After crunching the numbers, I found that the partnership had limited profit potential. Buying materials mostly from Europe, shipping them to the Far East to manufacture, then transporting the finished goods to the United States were costly, especially considering all of the duties that were imposed on the garments. The outlook didn’t look as rosy as I once thought it might.

For a while, I felt that my dream was crushed and that perhaps my business interests would have to remain on the other side of the Pacific. Anne, however, didn’t want the joint venture opportunity to disappear; she saw a lot of potential in what Takihyo could provide. So she asked me if I would buy into the company.

After taking a serious look at the financial figures for a joint venture, I was ready to leave the door open for future collaboration with Anne Klein. She truly surprised me with her offer; I’d had no idea the company was interested in selling equity. Although I was ecstatic, this solution brought other questions to the fore. I had initially wanted to enter a joint venture because I could not devote myself 100 percent to a new company. And I had little experience managing in the United States.

Anne Klein had incredible upside potential as a designer and as a business. The company was making money, but growth was stunted by a lack of fresh capital. Gunther Oppenheim, Anne’s original business partner, put in his fair share. He not only invested money in the Anne Klein Company, but he also managed much of the business. However, I would not have been able to spend as much time on the venture as I would have liked if I were to invest. I would be forced to hire someone to be my eyes and ears, because I would be spending most of my time at Takihyo in Nagoya for the next seven years. I knew that doing this the right way required that I find the right employee.

Selecting the right kind of people for the positions they are to fill is essential to my managerial philosophy and integral for success. Hiring those individuals, however, is rarely an easy task. I have made many good decisions over the years, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t had my fair share of mistakes. I try to implement an age-old Buddhist teaching in management: “the skill in the liberative technique.” Although I may not be able to emancipate individuals from the evils of worldly desire, I believe that I at least can help a person become successful. From what I have gathered, every employee appears to fit into one of four categories—and each category requires its own method via which to make the subordinate an asset rather than a liability.

First, there is the model employee. I believe every employee can be molded and shaped into a person who can be given instructions and execute efficiently; sometimes, however, this takes time and experience. The model employee understands the superior’s intentions and implements directives properly even if there are gaps in the initial explanations. The model employee asks questions when matters are unclear without fear of rejection or demoralization. There is no ego on the job; only reason and the directives provided. I try to challenge and nurture the employees I hire who reach or have reached this point in their careers. I also try to hold on to this kind of person as long as possible.

The second type of employee is one who understands directives but fails in the execution. There are a multitude of reasons why someone may fit into this category; however, the main factor is usually that nothing precipitated from the directions given. In most cases, managers have to handle these employees differently. Perhaps this person isn’t in the right position, or maybe he or she no longer values his or her position. In most cases, the former scenario is easier to handle. Managers can ask employees what they would really like to do and then work together to try to make it happen. The latter, however, is a different story altogether. If an employee doesn’t care anymore about the company—or at least about his or her job—management should likely let that person go.

As a Japanese businessperson, I try my best to adhere to my native custom of lifetime employment. However, if there is no “right” place for an employee, he or she has to go. I have always attempted to put myself somewhere between the American’s ease to pull the trigger and the Japanese view of supporting employees no matter what and continuing to push them to succeed—even if they resist. There are no easy answers to handling this type of employee.

A third type of employee is one who doesn’t understand directions—and fails to follow through as a result. These employees are as easy to spot as the second type; they merely lack the attitude. Therefore, if a manager repeats the same commands in a way that is easier to understand, this third type will most likely execute the task effectively. Sometimes, people need directions framed in different ways for the overall picture to make more sense. People all think and act differently—which is something that we as managers need to take into account when administering directives. More often than not, these employees fear being rejected or having a boss label them as stupid or inept. They don’t ask questions; and consequently, they don’t succeed. Yet once they receive adequate training, these kinds of employees may transform into the ideal, model employee.

The fourth type of employee represents the most dangerous and potentially destructive employee: those who do not understand directives but instead act blindly. Managers need to make sure every employee is on—or at the very least, around—the same page; otherwise, severe damage can occur. This type of employee may initially appear like the model employee; however, he or she usually does not ask the right questions and/or does not see the purpose of the given instructions. Managers may want to give these people increasing responsibility within the company; eventually, however, the false image of this employee’s work is revealed. By and large, once this occurs, it is too late to amend the damage, and managers have to carry forward with whatever losses were incurred.

Of course, there is plenty of gray area, and the different employee types often overlap within an individual. Other problems with these definitions emerge in regard to the difference between those who can be incredibly successful in large corporate structures and those who work more effectively in smaller operations. Van Isaacs, for example, matured as a businessperson in the largest of fashion houses, yet found himself running a small mom-and-pop operation later in life (that I bought from a tailor called the Tailored Sportsman). Isaacs was comfortable as the executive of a large fashion company, but he did not excel when he started focusing his energies on a much smaller operation.

Another stumbling block is culture. In Japan, for instance, there are 17 ways to say “yes” but mean “no.” Nodding—particularly in Western nations—unequivocally means “yes”; but in the Far East, it’s a knee-jerk response to inform the speaker that he or she is being heard. I routinely ask my Japanese employees what my previous directives were and have them repeat in their own words what I have asked them to accomplish. Yet when I have done this in the United States, employees sometimes think I am demeaning or ridiculing them. However, I make sure that if there are any comments, criticisms, or questions to the instructions, everyone acknowledges what they are so that we all can work with one another without any administrative or logistical hiccups.

Although there are always exceptions, the way I have learned to categorize my employees has been largely effective—if somewhat crude. Having a general outline for viewing different types of employees prompts how I change, instruct, and direct subordinates. This overview has provided me with an integrated approach to handling problems—based not only on subjective traits but also on anthropological and sociological ones. However, there’s one golden rule that always holds true: to be effective across international lines, a manager needs to keep his or her ego in check. When employees become defensive and fearful, the environment is not right for them—and the wrong environment leads only to future mistakes, misfortune, and miscommunication. One of the most important elements of management is picking the right subordinates; that way, one has less to manage!

I first met Bob Oliver of Anne Klein at one of the many YPO functions I attended. Oliver is one of the craftiest people I have encountered. When confronted with a problem, he would jump over the fence rather than walk to the distant door. He had a special ability to weigh his options quickly and then take the path of least resistance. Some conservative businesspersons may view Oliver as teetering on the edge of some ethical lines, but I thought his skill set was priceless. In addition, I wanted him to do only temporary work for me.

Oliver made sense as a hire because I needed someone who could argue the price down for my stake in the Anne Klein Company. Although Anne wanted to work with me, she also had a very shrewd fashion-industry guru behind her. Gunther Oppenheim, an original financier for the Anne Klein Company as well as for Dior and other brands, knew how much to invest in designers, and I needed the leverage an outsider could provide without damaging any relationships. As I’ve mentioned before, the 1970s were a challenging decade in Japan; I had to spend a lot of time dealing with the disruptions at Takihyo as well as a great deal of personal loss. I didn’t have the luxury of paying much attention to the minutiae at Anne Klein initially. I could focus only on broad strokes, so I needed someone on the inside I could trust. I therefore decided to temporarily hire Oliver to be my American eyes and ears.

I put Bob Oliver in a position to handle my discussions with Anne Klein and Gunther from the first negotiations. I chose him because of his personality and willingness to take initiative. Oliver was mild-mannered, and I needed to build bridges rather than burn them. Oliver negotiated my concessions for Anne and Gunther while arguing down my price for equity in the Anne Klein Company. I was also spending quite a bit of time in Japan so if a question needed answering, I could trust Oliver to give me the appropriate information to make the right decisions.

1 www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/bodymeas.htm.