If you find yourself in Fitzroy, take a wander down George Street. Here, if you’re as keenly observant as I, you may come across a bright blue door, decorated with buttons of all shapes and varieties. Push against it, and you’ll come to realise the bejewelled facade is but a taster of the merchant’s offerings, for you will have entered the world of Jimmy Buttons.
For more fashion news, shoots, articles and features, head to our Fashion section.
I came to this realisation five years ago when, for the first time, I found myself shuffling in between boxes of buttons, beads, ribbons, buckles and chains. Sequins spilled out from high shelves, and among the chaos of rhinestones and feathers, I saw a girl crouched down, rifling through a bucket of trimmings.
As I went to pay for my finds, Jimmy himself peeked out from behind the counter, his nose barely grazing the benchtop. After insisting that I pay in cash, he pointed towards the mess of long blonde hair that was still huddled in the corner.
Leaning in, he whispered, “Do you know who that is?”. I shook my head. He took my receipt, covered it with his hand and scribbled something down, before folding it closed and sliding it to me saying, “Before long, you will know.”
I left and opened Jimmy’s note to find a name: Karla Laidlaw.
Now, it seems everyone in Melbourne knows that name. Starving university students, It Girls and It Gays, butch lesbians and their male counterparts, straight men with artistic proclivities – all can be found wearing Karlaidlaw’s signature Spider Pants. Her web extends far past Melbourne’s Inner North, with a sprawling fanbase drawn to the singular vision of one woman.
At 31, the designer boasts two brick-and-mortars: her North Melbourne flagship and studio, and a shop front in Fitzroy. The Karlaidlaw range spans 10 product categories, from bags, bottoms and bomber jackets, to KL-branded playing cards. Her 40,000 social media followers have just become privy to the extension of her accessory line, now including belts, beanies and bras.
It’s at this moment in her journey that I visit her North Melbourne studio, located just off Errol Street. Her hair is much shorter than the girl I remember from Jimmy Buttons, and her smile is disarming in its warmth. I follow her to the back of her studio, passing through a room packed tight with industrial sewing machines, manned by an all-female team. “Can I get you some tea?” she asks.
I sit there, taking in the rolls of fabric and pattern paper resting against shelves crammed with stock. Sketches and swatches hang from the walls, while pencils, pens and pins sprawl out over her desk. Who is this person?
“Who am I, as a person?” she repeats, as if to gather her thoughts. “I guess I’m quite a friendly person, I would say. I’m curious, I’m quite kind and I don’t stress too much, and I like to have fun. I also work hard.” She responds like a true workaholic, a title she freely accepts. “I think the sad truth is, when I ask myself, ‘Who am I?’, I’m only just starting to figure that out again.
“I’m actively trying to hang out with my friends and hang out with my family because I’m finally ahead.” The studio is a season in front, working on Summer ’25, set to be completed by June. “I’m finally not chasing my tail anymore,” she tells me.
At this moment, a seamstress peers around the door frame. “We’re gonna hem the pants that are on the table at the front.” Karla instructs: “All of them. They’ll have the inseam on the notes.”
She turns back to me. “Did I ask you if you wanted tea?” Another visitor passes through the room. “This is Miles. This is my rock,” Karla says, brushing the man’sarm. She is, naturally, referring to her partner of eight years. “We’re married – without a ring.” Speaking over her shoulder to Miles, who rummages around the kitchen, Karla muses, “I’m trying to describe who I am, but I feel like I’ve been so attached to the brand for so long.”
Miles interrupts: “You’re your mum.”
“My parents are in the rag trade. So I’ve grown up around it,” Karla concedes. “I’ve always wanted to be a fashion designer. My great-great-grandpa started Hard Yakka.” Indeed he did – in the 1930s, just a suburb over in Brunswick, working out of his parents’ house to create workwear. The term ‘hard yakka’, of course, refers to the Aussie slang for ‘hard work’.
In 2019, Karla followed in her family’s footsteps and launched her own brand, working out of her mum’s garage. “From six in the morning to nine at night, I was just making Spider Pants. It was crazy.” That same tenacity, inherited as much as it was self-forged, has shaped her path ever since. “I know I’m good at this thing,” she says, gesturing to the stacks of clothing. “So there was a confidence that I backed in myself.”
That’s not to say she hasn’t made mistakes. “If you make a mistake, you cry in the shower for a little bit, then you get out – alright, we keep going.” She speaks with self-assuredness, humble yet firm in her achievements – a quality not taught in schools. “I didn’t actually get into RMIT [one of Australia’s top design schools]. Look at me now.”
When I ask about her design practice, Karla beams. “My process usually starts with fabrics. I love sourcing and drawing. We were just overseas looking at samples. But I go to Jimmy’s all the time for trims. Jimmy is a Fitzroy legend, he has helped me get to where I am.”
There’s a sentimentality in the way Karla describes Jimmy – a spiritual kinship. “A trade of a sandwich or some of Nonna’s lasagne will help sweeten a deal. He’s an old-school trader, which reminds me of how many older generations operate, and I feel at home when I’m there.”
I overhear a distant voice in the hallway, it draws closer and explodes into the room: “The star has arrived!” It’s Manola, Karla’s mother.
“I love your top,” she says to Karla, who, naturally, is wearing her own design. “Can I get a discount?” This self-proclaimed Italian drama queen is as witty as she is tender. Speaking about her daughter, she tells me, “We’re different but we’re the same. It’s hard to explain.”
Their bond is obvious. “We’re quite close. We believe in each other, for a start,” Manola says. Last October, the pair partnered to produce a limited ready-to-wear range presented at Melbourne Fashion Week, a collaboration that Manola tells me was a natural process. “She allows me to be me. I allow her to be her… then, bang, magic happens.” She continues, “I’m a thousand years old and I’m still learning.” She pauses. “Have you been offered tea?”
Manola is steadfast in her advice: “Be you. Do it with conviction. Don’t let the noise dictate you. Because as soon as you believe in yourself, the world is your oyster. A lot of people feel they’ve gotta be in the cliquey group, and you’ve got to look a certain way, be a certain way. It ends up being robotic, but if you do you, people just wanna be around you.”
“You’re not trying to sell to the ‘scene’, they have to decide what’s cool,” she asserts. And the people have spoken. In Clifton Hill, I spot two girls wearing matching Circus Pants, albeit in different colourways. In Carlton, a young woman in Karla’s Tiger Pants. In Melbourne city, a couple have the Orto Hoodie nestled between their bodies as they hold hands. When I ask each about their purchase, the verdict is unanimous: she’s a “cool designer”.
Reflecting on her daughter’s success, Manola stutters, “I, I, I, I’m just blown away. I always believed in her, even from those humbling days in the garage… You just gotta keep striving, keep striving.” Hard yakka.
Karla, a designer who has come to define this moment in Melbourne’s sartorial history, is not just a product of her time. She’s the inheritor of something much older and far deeper – a self-assuredness beyond her years. She speaks the language of the rag traders as it has been taught to her. Karla’s relationship with Jimmy is one example of her appreciation for the work and wisdom of past generations; the relationship she has with her mother is another.
In Karla, there’s something quintessentially Australian – a promise this country has used to motivate laggards and go-getters alike: hard yakka. The sweat and care that shape her practice and person don’t speak to her contemporaries, they echo her predecessors. It’s a survival instinct: succeed by the skin of your teeth, have a fair crack and “If it fails, it fails.” She didn’t fail, she is succeeding. And in doing so, Karla Laidlaw serves as reassurance that even today, hard yakka can pay off.
This article was originally published in Fashion Journal issue 197.
Find Karlaidlaw here.
This article Karla’s Web: Behind the allure of Karla Laidlaw and her ubiquitous Spider Pants appeared first on Fashion Journal.
2025-06-06 04:32:00
#Karlas #Web #allure #Karla #Laidlaw #ubiquitous #Spider #Pants
Source link
