Why you actually care about “Made in the U.S.A.” (and yeah no, it’s not “jobs”)

We’ve all heard the reasons to buy “American-made,” from both companies that sell “made in USA” products to organizations that simply tout them. The biggie, of course, is “jobs” (also meaning: “the U.S. economy” overall.) But in addition to that, advocates like Made In U.S.A. Forever say reasons to buy American-made include benefits like: ethical working conditions and wages, environmental and safety standards, trade deficits, politics…

And look, all of these things — the jobs and the safety and, yes, the economy — are important. Clearly. They’re right up there with poverty, hunger, clean drinking water, human rights, healthcare, education, animal rights, environmentalism, gender equality… and any amount of other really important, Huge-Ass Problems.

And that’s precisely the problem.

Of course most of us know that all of these things matter, and of course most of us care. But we can’t make all of the Huge-Ass Problems our personal mission. Some of us may choose to take on one or two in our lives, but overall? We’re all just trying to get through the day here, and we can’t make every Pet Passion our own personal problem. We just can’t.

So you really can’t be blamed when “jobs” and “wages” and “trade deficits” sound a little too abstract when you’re being expected to pay 2 or 3 or more times as much for a pair of shorts or a crop top. You’re totally abstracted from those benefits. Beyond a vague sense of responsibility and pride, none of these reasons directly benefit you as an individual. They don’t improve the actual product itself— or your experience with it.

But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t tangible, direct reasons that you actually do care about U.S.-produced and American-made. Ways in which you yourself actually benefit.

For instance, here are two:

1. Closer proximity = better understanding.

And better understanding = better products. 

Face to face communication

We all understand the benefit of in-person conversations. It’s the reason consultants work on-site with their corporate clients; the reason it’s rude to break up over text. Even U.S. retailers who use overseas factories still know this, and spend a lot of money flying back and forth between continents to periodically check in on production.

The more face-to-face time the retailer is able spend in person with both the consumer and the manufacturer, the better their end-to-end understanding — and the better the product.

Domestic production means that a retailer can, in theory, hear face to face feedback directly from customers in the morning and talk to manufacturers in person about it by afternoon. When there are changes to a product, it can bump up against each end faster, meaning the product is better sooner.


Communication aside, there’s contextual awareness. Traditionally, manufacturing has required obscene amount of explicit and overly-thorough documentation in order to produce anything. A lot of this is CYA, but much of it is also because manufacturers are so abstracted from consumers — and vice versa.

All things being equal, who do think would better understand winter coats — someone from Alaska or Arizona? Who would require explicit, written explanation on waterproof seams, and who would intuitively understand the importance?

Maybe the coats turn out exactly identical in quality. But then: which is at higher risk of incurring additional communication and/or rework costs to get there?

2. Closer proximity = tighter turnaround time.

The standard lead time for overseas production is roughly 3 months. It can take up four weeks for shipping alone. That means that, all things running smoothly, every product runs the risk of being “3 months behind.”

This doesn’t matter as much for industries that either a.) don’t change (like American flags or little red Radio Flyers), b.) change slowly (like appliances) or c.) where all the players decide together, ahead of time, what the will consumers get (like fast fashion.)

The problem becomes a bigger deal, however, in two areas…

Early technology.

In situations where iteration speed is everything — namely, prototypes and early releases. Where getting a product to market, getting feedback, and getting the thing reproduced as quickly as possible is the entire name of the game. It matters to the players — the companies themselves — and it matters to you, the consumer, because the faster they can iterate on the thing, the sooner you get to have it made well.


Where the product isn’t manufactured until you order it, often produced directly to your own spec. Much of what we consume now is mass-produced and eagerly awaiting us on shelves (brick and mortar or e-commerce warehouses), so we don’t really care that it took 3 months to get there. This timeline, however, will matter a lot more as we move toward mass-customization, when we are no longer abstracted from production times and those 3 months are really felt.

The more direct input we get to have in a product and the more a product directly reflects it, the more important the difference between 3 days and 3 months will be to us, the more communication and context will influence quality, and the more we’ll care about how close or far away it’s made.

Why clothing sizes aren’t standard.

…and why the solution to “fit” is something else.

Chances are, you’re frustrated with the way clothes fit. Most all of us are.

Sizes aren’t consistent from brand to brand; sometimes even garment to garment within a store. It’s the number one complaint from consumers in the apparel industry, and the number one reason garments (especially those bought online) are returned. It’s one hell of an elephant in the room, and the industry isn’t addressing it.


The main reasons:

#1: There are no standard sizes in clothing because there are no standard sizes of people.

Especially women.

As designer Elizabeth Hawes put it: “There are no size 14 women in the world, nor are there any size 16. There is no wholesale dress which fits any woman who buys it. No two women in the world have the same proportions, width of shoulder, length of arm, height of waist.”

In a 1927 New York Times article, one retail executive said, “I don’t know who the mythical size 36 is who forms the basis of sizing, but average, tall, short, thin and plump women come into a department store and the 36 size fits none of them.” Not because the size was “wrong,” but because there is no “right” shape of woman.

Textile Clothing Technology Corporation conducted a study called SizeUSA, for which they installed body scanners at 13 different locations across the country and, over the course of about a month, scanned the bodies of almost 11,000 people between the ages of 18 and 80.

Fashion industry expert Lynn Boorady, in her analysis of the data, said that in trying to find an average hip girth for a 28-inch waist — today’s size 6 — she discovered a 12-inch spread.

Problem is: there can only be one “size 6” in the store.

So retailers have to decide what their “size 6” — its hips and bust and height — looks like, and odds are: it’s not you.

#2: “Size” is more than just size. It’s style and strategy.

In choosing what their “size 6” looks like, brands deliberately target specific demographics, and they craft their garment proportions accordingly. To fit anyone, they can’t fit everyone (see above), so they pick a niche body type woman.

In a 1986 New York Times article, Lisa Belkin observed, “The Laura Ashley woman is different from the Liz Claiborne woman, who is different from the woman whom Calvin Klein envisions.” Lenore Smith, a designer of women’s evening gowns, agreed: ‘’Fit is a type of identity.’’

There are brands out there who only want tall, thin women wearing their stuff. There are others who shoot for hourglass, and still others who target stout petites.

Expert patternmaker Kathleen Fasanello writes: “Detailed sizing information is considered to be proprietary information.” Much more closely-held and secret even than designs.

Why? Because finding a brand that fits us — in the sea of so many that don’t — keeps us coming back.

Freelance writer Julia Felsenthal admits: “My sense of brand loyalty is as much about the way a designer’s clothes fit as how they look. I do pretty well with J.Crew sweaters, Urban Outfitters jeans, and Frye boots — because those have become, after years of trial and error, my brands. If these companies suddenly changed their sizes to adhere to some synthetic average of the American female form, I’d feel annoyed — even indignant.”

This “brand loyalty” through sizing is anything but accidental. In an industry that is largely perfect competition, apparel companies need every edge they can get in convincing you to call them “your brand.”

#3: The vanity sizing race

We can’t blame only the manufacturers here. We as consumers are rather caught up in our body image and we’ve let it influence our identity, so we delight when we fit into a “smaller” size. Manufacturers know this (our body image preoccupation being partly their doing.) But when one started vanity sizing, the rest of them — again, the industry being pretty much perfect competition — had little choice but to follow suit. And we, the consumers, chase after them all.

The solution:

First, it’s not a matter of “one average” — of forcing “proportion compliance” and demanding each size be consistent across brands.

If you suggest that all sizes fit exactly the same from store to store, then I ask of you: which “size” is it? Based on what? Waist? Hip? Bust? If we pick one of these measurements, are brands free to fill in the others?

If we lock down waist but retailers are free to choose everything else, women will still have to move up or down a size across brands according to differences in bust and hips.

If we lock down waist, hips and bust, what happens to the increased number of women who are now left out? You’ll make it easier only for this precisely-proportioned woman to shop, at the cost of making it impossible for everyone else.

So it’s also not a matter of a “better average” — redefining what each “size” means.

A lot of people point to research on bodies as the solution. From the first formal undertaking by the U.S. government in the 1940s to the recent innovations in body scanning, we seem to think a fix will come in better understanding our shapes. Like the issue is “bad” or “insufficient” data — measuring the wrong women or too few of them.

But no amount of research on body measurements is going to fix the sizing problem for everyone, especially if we think we’re just going to chuck these findings over the fence at manufacturers.

Even if each manufacturer responded by updating each size to better reflect a “more accurate average,” it’s still only an average. And with such a wide spread of shapes, still very few people are going to measure exactly that.

It’s also not a matter of “more averages.”

We once came up with 27 “better” sizes, and we still ran into sizing problems.

In 1941, statisticians Ruth O’Brien and William Shelton published findings from a nationwide survey in which they took 59 distinct measurements of almost 15,000 women. They proposed a system based on a single measurement of the upper body and combined that with a height index (regulars, longs, and shorts), and a lower body girth index (regulars, stouts, and slims).

As many of us know, this still isn’t perfect. For example, even “longs” or “talls,” which are usually fitted to 5’7”, are still too short for any women over that. (At 5’9”, everything “tall” — jeans, tops, dresses, skirts — is still 2 inches too short on me.) The problem is worse for all those women who are even taller. And the problem exists in “shorts” and “petites” as well (though, fortunately for them, difference there is that they have the option to have hemlines altered.)

Worse, in addition to not solving the problem, adding more and more sizes makes for a manufacturing and inventory nightmare.


It’s a matter of fixing the manufacturing model.

We won’t get satisfaction in sizes — through standardization or accuracy or increasing the number of them — because “sizes” exist first and foremost to satisfy the mass manufacturing model — not us.

Mass manufacturing is a machine where profitability is only in economies of scale. The more you make of a single item, the more money you make off of it. And with each size being it’s own “item” (when it comes to patterns and cutting), the fewer sizes you make and the more you produce of each, the more money you make off them all. Mass manufacturing necessitates making the least number of discrete sizes as possible to still induce sales.

We will never get a satisfactory solution to our biggest complaint in clothing — and therefore will never get good clothing — in the current mass manufacturing model.
With all the ranges and variations of our bodies, good fit is found in clothing that’s manufactured explicitly for you, from your unique measurements. And this requires a different manufacturing model; one where profitability doesn’t require multi-thousand item runs of a single size.

It means “fit” is measured not as cookie cutter parameter sizes, however defined and redefined or standardized, but rather in the way you gauge it: as fitting you.

What makes the perfect sheath dress

There’s nothing quite like a great sheath dress. While other silhouettes are sexier or more playful or on the breaking edge of trend, it’s the sheath that we come back to.

Dependable, complementary, tried and true. The perfect sheath dress is like a good best friend or the man we marry. Having withstood the test of time, they can be relied on to make you feel great in almost any situation.

The two primary things that makes the perfect sheath dress perfect:

1. It’s versatile.

It can go wherever you’re going. The perfect sheath dress fits just about any day of your life, lends itself to any occasion and can be called upon for any event, dressed up or down.

…But it doesn’t steal the spotlight. It bolsters the right kind of attention for its wearer while remaining unmemorable itself, slipping unassumingly away enough that you can wear it again the following week.

Specifically, it:

  • Is timeless, not trendy
  • Is a versatile color, especially black, navy or gray
  • Is light on or devoid of ornamentation and style details
  • Can be worn year-round, from all-season fabric
  • Can be worn with or without a cardigan or blazer
  • Wears as easily in the office as it does out for drinks or a formal day event
  • Pairs easily with a wide variety of accessories, other garments, and any bra type

2. It makes you look and feel good.

Aesthetically, a great sheath dress is balanced. It’s certainly feminine, but it is neither temptress seductive nor little-girl cute. It’s polished without pretense, classy while comfortable, business-ready but beautiful. It is a subdued sexiness; a self-assured “less is more.”

A great sheath dress:

  • Is made from fabric that is structured but forgiving, with a good weight and pleasant texture.
  • Has a good balance of skin on the upper body. Either sleeveless with a modest neckline, or sleeved with a scoop or v-neck
  • Has a knee-length skirt (the knee is the narrowest part of the leg above the ankle and a hemline here makes for a beautiful, elongated leg. Skirts much shorter or longer cut across wider parts of the leg and make it look shorter and more stout.)

On top of this, however, the best sheath dress has the most important factor in making you look and feel good:


A sheath dress that’s made to fit…

  • Is flattering. It follows the lines and curves of your unique body, rather than arbitrarily cutting in places your lines aren’t (such as an ill-fitting, displaced waist seam)
  • Skims and highlights the figure without being too tight or showing it off.
  • Is cut and constructed comfortably, especially around the arms and shoulders

Fit is the most important factor in a dress that will make you look and feel incredible.

After that, it’s personal preference.

Once you satisfy the fundamentals and have a dress that can carry you anywhere and make you feel beautiful, it’s down to things like: sleeves or no sleeves, pockets or nah? Other colors, different necklines, etc… these are the things that make a perfect sheath dress perfect for you.


It’s not you. It’s our clothes.

photo courtesy of Dr. Shem

Almost every woman has at least one area of her body she blames as the reason she can’t find clothes that fit. “My boobs are too big;” “my butt is too big.” Or “I have no boobs” or “no butt.” “My torso’s too long,” “my thighs are just huge”… “I’m too short,” or “too tall,” or “so broad-shouldered.”

Something doesn’t fit properly and it’s like women think to themselves: this garment was made by professionals who know what they’re doing, while my body was made by some fluke whim of bio. This probably fits everyone else just fine! It’s me and my build that’s to blame.

But that just isn’t true. In reality, that garment fits hardly anyone. Because in reality, it was never meant to.

There are countless combinations of human proportions — waists and busts and hips and thighs and shoulders and heights — that might accompany, say, any single “size 8” (whatever that means), but there can only be one “size 8” in the store. Retailers have to decide what their “size 8” looks like, and odds are: it’s not you.

You might be thinking, “yeah, that’s because they cater to ‘that body type’ that looks great in ‘everything.’” But I’m telling you: no matter what type you think it is, no such body exists.

Just for example: retail models may look tall and thin, but tall women in real life are up against the fact that retailers actually cater to the average shopper, who is more like: “average height.” So everything is a sad several inches too short if you’re tall. (I know this because, at 5’9”, every dress waist hits me in the ribs, every skirt is a mini, and I didn’t meet a proper inseam til college. High-water flares was my signature middle school look.)

Every figure has a retail-apparel Achilles heel. Anyone who claims otherwise either knows their way around theirs or hasn’t found it yet.

This one-proportion-fits-all approach is a flaw of the mass manufacturing model. Less than a hundred years ago, wealthy women dropped their dressmakers and the rest of us tossed our sewing machines in favor of newly-available “off the rack,” and we’ve been shopping that way ever since. We’ve figured out novelty and low prices, but we’ve lost clothing that actually fits. We rendered malleable fabric into static, sized garments and go around trying to cram ourselves into them, feeling bad about ourselves when they don’t fit.

But our function in life isn’t to fit into clothing — it’s clothing’s function to fit us; to serve a basic need so that we can get on with our lives.

Clothes should be subservient to people, not the other way around.

Clothing is a dependent variable to the independent variable that is our body. It is a real and actual impossibility to expect every person to fit into one of ten sizes. But it is only reluctance that prevents retailers from offering more.

I see no real reason why clothing can’t fit properly, and at an attainable price point. There’s nothing except their own legacy operations and priorities preventing clothing manufacturers from producing clothes unique to each figure, created using each person’s measurements.

Your butt and your boobs are not “too” big or “too” small. You are not “too” tall or “too” short. You have a human person body with a perfectly-human human person shape. And your clothing should be made accordingly.