Category: Atelier

If fashion has a villain, it is the clasp. It sticks, it pinches, it falls off in the middle of a dinner. For three decades, the industry has relied upon the same flimsy buckle, and for three decades, cats have worn the consequences.

At Velvet Collar, we have spent 4,000 hours designing the Hush Clasp, a quick release magnet with a silk lined housing. It opens with a gentle tug of 9 newtons and closes with a faint, satisfying click. We have tested it on 61 cats of varying neck sizes and temperaments. The only failure was a Maine Coon named Sir Gregory, who ate it. He is fine and has sent a note of apology.

A Velvet Collar piece begins as a sketch on the back of a menu, usually the fish course. It is then draped on a mannequin cat named Dolly, whose patience is saintly, and pinned, repinned and finally abandoned in favour of improvisation.

The velvet is cut on the bias, which is the diagonal, a direction beloved by all fashion people and avoided by all geometers. Each collar takes 14 hours and includes 3 fittings, 2 emergencies and 1 emotional collapse. A final inspection is performed by our head of quality, an elderly Burmese named Madame Tulle, who runs a paw along the seam and says, ‘No.’ We begin again.

Few have seen the Velvet Vault, a climate controlled room under the atelier where we store 940 bolts of cloth, 3,200 buttons and a single, glittering collar worth 11,000 treats. Tonight, I was permitted to enter, on the condition that I touch nothing and sneeze elsewhere.

The Crown Collar, as it is known, was hand stitched in 1972 by the late Madame Fleur de Fourrure and features 412 seed pearls, a clasp of mother of pearl and a faint smell of expensive cream. It has been worn only twice, both times by cats who then refused to leave. Guards are stationed. The guards are cats. They are not good guards.

Monday: Madame Odette Purrault arrives at 6 a.m. to sharpen 31 needles. Tuesday: a spool of gold thread goes missing and is found, shamefully, in the stomach of the studio dachshund. Wednesday: a ribbon is steamed, unsteamed and steamed again.

Thursday: a heated argument about whether ecru is a colour or an attitude. Friday: a bow tie of exquisite architecture is completed, then immediately chewed by an intern. Saturday: we recover. Sunday: we look at a button for four hours. It is a very good button, and it will go on to adorn the Grand Duchess of Whisker Row’s finest gala collar.