Kornia Emmerich

Korina Emmerich is a Brooklyn-based designer whose work is inspired by her Puyallup Tribal heritage. She is a social justice advocate who uses her work to fight against systemic oppression and is a proponent of the slow fashion movement. Her Split Shot mask, Keta Fisher Hat and Yakima Coat are on display in the Fashion In/Action: Dressing For Global Unrest exhibition and she is the keynote speaker for the exhibition symposium on February 21.

 Leia Pellot is a M.A. student with NYU’s Costume Studies graduate program. She is a Co-Curator and Project Manager for Fashion In/Action: Dressing For Global Unrest. Her interest in fashion history has guided her research into contemporary fashion systems as well as her thesis work on the iconography of Puerto Rican nationalist Lolita Lebron.

 Leia Pellot: I’d like to start by thanking you for agreeing to participate by lending your work and being our keynote speaker at the Fashion In/Action Symposium. Your Split Shot mask was the first of your designs that I discovered on Instagram and I was struck by the beauty of the work you produced. I was also impressed by the attention and care you put into producing each piece by hand. Pendleton® fabric has an interesting history, as a non-Indigenous company whose products have become a big part of Indigenous culture. 

You use a lot of Pendleton® fabrics in your designs, including in the Split Shot Mask; how does this history speak to you creatively? How do you want it to speak to the people who purchase and are interested in your work?

Korina Emmerich: Thank you for having me and for including my work in the exhibit. It’s been an honor to work with you all on this initiative and bring attention to imperative issues through the lens of dress.

My work is an amalgamation of lived experiences as well as rooting into my own histories and drawing from my visual arts background. My use of Pendleton® fabrics, while more recent, has now become a cornerstone of the EMME Studio visual. When I was growing up in Oregon, Pendleton® blankets were everywhere. We had them all over my house - some gifted, some won through powwow raffles. While the company itself is not Indigenous owned, the blankets have become a sort of pan-Indigenous cultural indicator. They’re prevalent on the powwow circuit, in your Auntie’s house, and are often shared, gifted or traded within community. My first Pendleton® blanket was gifted to me upon graduating high school and still lays on my couch to this day.

The Pendleton Woolen Mill was originally opened in 1895 in Pendleton, Oregon. Weaving blankets and robes inspired by Native trade blankets, the Bishops, a white settler family, saw a market in creating these blankets and selling them to neighboring tribes. The mill’s co-option of Indigenous designs, skilled weavers and its support of local wool shepherds going back generations has solidified their 150-year-long success. It should also be noted that the jacquard weaving craft itself was directly taken from Indigenous nations in Oregon and used to mass-produce and acquire capital from those same neighboring nations.

Today the blankets and designs have become synonymous with the visual identity of Indigenous people. And its history does not come without controversy. While they’ve maintained a sort of symbiotic relationship, many Indigenous creatives have called attention to the company’s vapid cultural appropriation, by taking symbols, art and ideas from Indigenous people without immediate credit or compensation. Indigenous people who choose to use Pendleton’s pan-Indigenous cultural indicators walk a fine line between representation and appropriation. I don’t want that conversation to be dismissed, because it’s something I unpack daily in my own work.

It wasn’t until the ‘90s that Pendleton actually began hiring Indigenous creatives to partner with. And they have since implemented initiatives to support Indigenous communities, designers and share profits, most notably to the American Indian College Fund and The National Museum of the American Indian.

So the question still remains, why do I personally choose to use Pendleton fabrics in my design? As we’ve watched non-native brands from Lindsey Thornburg to Opening Ceremony profit the use of our traditional work, be it inspired or not, there is a sense of reclamation in being an Indigenous designer working with these fabrics that are still so prevalent within our communities. I have the opportunity to create pieces for all people. We’re at a time when so many consumers are asking, “Can I, as a non-native person, wear this?” The resounding answer we give is YES, because the design is not rooted in ceremonial practices or tradition. If it were, I wouldn’t sell it to you. I wouldn’t sell it to anyone. I wouldn’t sell my traditions for capital.

Also as a child of the Pacific Northwest, there is a sense of pride working with these materials that are hand woven in my home state from local wool shepherds. The company is committed to sustainable and renewable practices and recognizes the inherent circularity of their product. Something that is extremely important to EMME Studio.

LP: In an interview with Elle Magazine it’s mentioned that the Split Shot masks are meant to draw attention to Indigenous issues, notably the polluting and destruction of Indigenous lands. 

Can you tell us more about the meaning of these masks and their design?

KE: The Split-Shot facemask was originally designed as a part of the EMME Studio Anadromous Fall collection in 2019. 

The collection was a commentary on the relationship between Womxn and Salmon and the connection of all beings and the effect of colonial systems destroying these connections. The mask draws attention to biological warfare and pollution destroying Indigenous lands and our health. It was also commentary on the Rise of protest and anti-pipeline demonstrations being held throughout Turtle Island.

The mask’s purpose has since transformed dramatically due to the Covid-19 pandemic. Initially marketed as protection from the elements, the demand increased overnight as we were advised to wear masks daily. I was ill prepared for the influx of orders that suddenly came in. Especially in this time of quarantine, when I was a one-person-show, running everything from web design, to cutting, sewing, production, shipping, etc. I have since had the financial ability to hire two employees; a dream that at one time seemed unattainable. Keeping up with demand has been overwhelming, but I am so grateful for the patience and understanding of my customer base—as I have always been very open about being a made-to-order, slow fashion designer. 

LP: Your work is rich with history and artistic meaning. Additionally there is often an activist message that is prevalent throughout your designs, such as in the stand it takes against white supremacy and the destruction of the planet, to name a couple of key issues. In what ways do you feel fashion can do more to advocate for positive change?

KE: I speak often that fashion is more focused on the commodification of diversity, rather than creating actual inclusive spaces from the top down. White supremacy deems “representation” as some sort of appeasement to the masses. Seeing POC faces on magazine covers and fashion campaigns is just the continued exploitation of people of color for profit. Our representation is simply becoming tokenization at this point. When whiteness and the white experience is the standard for this industry, the only actual change will happen when we diversify the rooms we work in, and the people we work for. And diversity is not limited to race and gender.

We tend to throw around these words like “ally” and “advocate”, when the reality is, you don’t get to choose if you’re an ally. That title is not self-appointed.

When we break it down to playground rules the fact remains true: your “actions speak louder than words”. We’re at a time when brands and corporations are finally starting to be held accountable for their actions, while their words are a stunted faux-enlightenment driving their own hypocrisy to the systemic problems they have created. I suppose I speak more toward the Industry, than to “fashion” as a tool to express ourselves non-verbally. If we take fashion outside of the confines of “industry”, then yes, I believe fashion can be a tool to advocate for positive change. The fashion industry itself has a lot of unlearning and relearning to do. 

LP: You’ve used your voice and platform to bring awareness and push back against social injustice well before 2020. Was there a defining moment that inspired you to activism?

KE: No. The unfortunate reality of being seen as “other” in a society that centers whiteness as the norm, activism is not always something you choose, sometimes it chooses you. While I am obviously mixed Indigenous (Puyallup) and white, the question, “What are you?” has been prevalent throughout my life. While I cannot imagine or even deign to understand the lived experiences of other people of color, my whiteness has also made me extremely palatable in these conversations or on these platforms. That is never something I choose to deny or turn a blind eye to. And the accountability I hold for both sides of my ancestors is mine to unpack internally, as well a willingness to consent to scrutiny in the public eye. With that said, the desire to live and thrive in an equitable world is always something I knew I had to fight for because I have those two sides living within me showing me how vastly different the opportunities and advantages are gained from one community to the other.

Activism is now just a buzzword and is still a title I am uncomfortable with. Why do we have to be called ‘Activists’ when we simply are demanding the just, equitable and humane treatment of all living things? 

It was clear at a very young age we, as Indigenous people, had zero representation in our history books. I played devil's advocate in every American History class I was forced to sit through, correcting people when they would say C*lumbus ‘discovered’ America. Our only representation was a paragraph on the “Ghost Dance”, a prophecy to end white expansion, which was in the text to incite fear and disdain for the Natives, teaching children that it was god’s will for white men to massacre an entire race in the name of “Manifest Destiny”.

So I made it a point that every presentation, that every paper, that every elected work I had the privilege of pursuing was to teach my fellow classmates about Indigenous histories and experiences. This culminated to our High School Indigenous Student Union hosting the first ever intertribal powwow on school grounds. I was taught to recognize my privilege as an “urban indian” and worked as a teen in Tribal Outreach programs, working in a food truck at powwows to raise money for others' education. I attended culture classes and expanded my learning and unlearning of who I was outside of institutionalized education. I have always volunteered, marched, and listened to my parents (who were teachers and nurses) discuss the gross inequities of their labor and what they could and couldn't provide for their students and patients. I believe if your eyes are open, you don’t choose to be an “activist”. My call to use my voice and body to protect and educate is something that has been passed down to me through generations. 

LP: Fashion has been leveraged for activism and various political statements for decades. Do you think the events of 2020 will continue to impact the fashion industry in ways that we haven’t seen before? If so, what is different about this moment? 

KE: There’s no doubt in my mind that 2020 will be a historical marker for a myriad of societal and global changes, including permanent changes within the fashion industry. The calls for accountability will echo through the coming years. We will not go back to what was considered ‘normal’, because we are living in a time of great transformation, and we are moving forward in numbers too large to ignore. 

LP: On an Instagram post you made a comment that ‘Buying is not doing”. This seems especially poignant at this moment in time where consumers seem to be more politically minded with how they spend. Can you elaborate for us on what you mean by this?

KE: This call to put your money where your mouth is has good and bad outcomes. Over the years we’ve seen the rise of the Slogan Tee, i.e. ‘The Future is Female’, etc., with feminist slogans being the most problematic as they often favor that of white feminists. When you mass produce a feminist slogan on a t-shirt, where is your support for the underpaid garment workers, who are majority young women, making those shirts? This is another fine line, because, yes, supporting small POC owned businesses is important to our economic sovereignty, but you need to do your research. Are proceeds to your BLM tee donated to the cause? Is the slogan mask you bought helping communities in need? There’s been this huge uptick in commodifying these movements. We see the term ‘slacktivism’ everywhere now, with the reposters and slogan tee clad self-appointed “allies”. But what is the work you’re doing once you put your phone down and turn off your selfie camera?

The bottom line is buying a tote bag that says “Save the Planet” will not save the planet. Buying a mass-produced shirt that says “Black Lives Matter” will not stop police violence and murder. This co-option of movements for aesthetics is not enough to create lasting change. And I could argue that it’s just creating more waste. I mean, I have about 80 tote bags from “sustainable” companies. We don’t need more stuff. We need more actions. And the truth is not all activism needs to be public. Sometimes it’s as simple as checking on your neighbors and making sure they have what they need to get through the week if you are in a position to help.

To elaborate I am teaching a class on Fashion & Resistance with the Slow Factory Foundation on March 12th at 12pm EST and will be unpacking these conversations more in depth. You can sign up here:

https://slowfactory.foundation/open-education

LP: You have talked about how important it is for there to be transparency in your work, and about the importance of slow fashion. The pandemic has accelerated an emerging shift in what the average fashion consumer thinks is worth spending their money on, in what appears to be a collective pivot away from fast fashion. In your opinion what can artists/designers do in order to maintain this momentum and to keep consumers engaged?

KE: Education and transparency is key to keeping people engaged. Sharing sustainable practices and continuing to unveil issues and work to revise them in the public eye. In this digital age the demand to create content is overwhelming. I find myself completely exhausted at times between the work I do publicly and the work I do outside the majority's gaze. While the goal is to dismantle the problematic fast fashion business model I would never shame someone for buying fast fashion. Not everyone has the privilege to choose where they spend their money. But we need to remember that fast fashion has only been around for a very short amount of time. We have the opportunity to create a better system if we commit to positive change. We also need to acknowledge that these issues are systemic, and we should not blame the people for the choices that are provided to us by corporations.  

LP: The pandemic was challenging for creatives and makers in so many ways, but it also presented unexpected opportunities for creativity. Many found themselves with more free time to dedicate to their craft, or to investigate new skills and passions. How did the pandemic impact you as a designer? Has it made your commitment to slow fashion more or less challenging?

KE: At the beginning of the pandemic I was working multiple jobs to stay afloat while trying to maintain my clothing line and continue the work I do in community organizing. When NY went on lockdown, I, alongside millions, was suddenly unemployed from my stable income working in the service industry. I use the term ‘stable’ loosely in this context. I think there’s this misconception that people who work in fashion have some sort of wealth to fall back on. This has not been my reality.

There has always been this trend of “fake it ‘til you make it”. As designers, we owe people so much more than that. I would watch people come up in fashion and continue to surpass me because they had the privilege of capital and went the route of outsourcing for cheap labor. When I had my collection at Lord & Taylor in 2016 I was working nights to foot the local production bills while struggling to pay my rent and bills. Prioritizing my pattern maker over my refrigerator. While it was ethical, this was not a sustainable business model. I had to pull out of working with department stores, because I couldn’t get my costs low enough to compete with the mid-level contemporary market, simply because I was paying fair wages locally. What, at the time, felt like a complete failure, was actually teaching me to stay true to my commitments to slow and ethical fashion. I have always said the success of one should not be to the detriment of many. I began focusing on made-to-order direct to consumer, relying on customers' purchases to fund the supplies for their garment.

It’s been said that your failures are simply preparing you to be a leader in the new world. I wonder now if this statement could be true. Because once the pandemic hit, social unrest was in the news daily, and as a society we began unveiling the gross inequities of labor, healthcare and so much more, and my voice suddenly held some sort of value. On top of that the Split Shot mask I had designed in 2019 was suddenly in demand and I had to figure out how to produce hundreds of orders almost overnight. At this time there are two of us handcrafting the masks, me in my home studio, and an incredible stitcher based in Brooklyn who works with us remotely. This demand has never made my commitments to slow and sustainable production waver. I work best in limitations and am committed to working with all natural fibers, low impact dyes, and upcycled materials. I am still trying to figure out how to scale this growth, but luckily time is something I have on my side when you are a slow fashion label.

LP: What advice would you give to a designer who wants to do more to embrace slow, sustainable fashion in their own work?

KE: My first piece of advice is to focus on the why before the what. Because regardless of whether we’re participating in sustainable initiatives, we’re still just creating more stuff. The reality is that the market is extremely saturated, and with sustainability becoming a buzzword, it seems to be more of a marketing tactic than a movement. In the coming years running a sustainable business should be the standard not the exception to the rule. I would also suggest that you continually hold yourself to a higher level of transparency and accountability, ensuring you are staying true to your mission. 

The best piece of business advice I received was: “find a spot you can stand on that no one can push you off of.” That’s the ultimate authenticity.

LP: Can you tell us more about what you're working on now? What can we expect to come out of EMME studio in the future?

KE: I’m a supporter of the one-step-at-a-time mentality. My next step is completing the new collection with the working title “Misshapen Chaos of Well-Seeming Forms” which is going to unpack first contact with settlers and the contentious representation of the American flag.