Regalia Handmade Clothing: History

A Not-So-Brief History of Regalia Handmade Clothing and designer Mark Hughes Whenever I hear the inevitable question "How did you learn to sew?", I always tell the story of how I begged my parents for a Barbie doll to sew clothes for, but received a G.I. Joe instead. Later my parents found me improvising a skirt for him out of his parachute, twirling Joe to study the movement of the fabric. Soon I was presented with a Barbie and there was no stopping me. One Christmas I took my doll to the family farm gathering where my Grandmother let me play in her quilt scraps. As she watched me making tiny detailed dresses for my plastic muse, I heard her say to my mother, "Marie, someday that boy's going to do something with that talent."
I haven't put down the scissors since. I spent most of my adult life as a Costume Designer in professional Theatre, and eventually opened a costume studio in Little Rock. But as I entered middle age the excitement of Theatre didn't measure up to the workload, so I sold my business and fled to the mountains of Northwest Arkansas. Here I lived simply in the woods and waited to see where my life would go next. I began to make costumes for state parks to use in historical reenactments, as well as custom bridal gowns.
For studio space, I shared an old department store that was located on the town square- the most wonderful place to be in the summer when the farmer's market is in season. A friend of mine, who managed a boutique called "Kokopelli", encouraged me to design a line of clothing that she would carry in her store. Her advice was "make it comfortable and simple with one good detail". She would call to tell me whenever someone bought one of my garments.One day I answered the phone to hear her scream, "Eleven! All to the same woman!"
When Kokopelli placed their Spring 2001 order, I was sewing as fast as I could, but not able to keep up. I looked up from the machine one day to see a young girl with a pierced nose and lip ask if I had any work. When I asked her if she knew how to sew she said, "only canvas awnings at the sign shop". I was so behind I said "close enough, sit down." Tonya turned out to be a quick learner with "the gift" for sewing, and within six months was irreplaceable.
In 2001 I decided to turn my studio into a boutique and Kokopelli had announced their closing, so the timing was perfect. The small store caught on and I enjoyed a brisk business for several years. My repertoire of garments went from twelve to sixty. Many new ideas took shape- I launched this website, began to do "Trunk Shows" in friend's homes, and I returned to wholesaling the clothes to stores in other cities.
As the business grew, I had less time to do the part I really loved, the designing and sewing. More and more work had to be farmed out to local stitchers, and although Regalia Handmade Clothing was no worldwide operation, I often found myself wishing I could just slow down and enjoy the craft again. My partner and I had bought a farm in the country, so the commute to town didn't seem to make sense anymore. In the Fall of 2004 I closed the shop, packed up hundreds of yards of fabric, and waited for the dust to settle.
For a year and a half I worked out of my home studio-filling wholesale orders for stores in Little Rock and Michigan who carried my line. I did lots of trunk shows but soon realized I was not spry enough to load bins of clothing in and out of people’s living rooms very often. As much as I loved the creative process in the country I began to ask “If art happens in the woods and no one sees it, is it art?” The missing element was the woman trying it on and telling me what she thought of it., whether it was a regular client or a newcomer.
So by February of 2006 I decided it was time to go back to retail. I had my sights on Eureka Springs for the sheer charm of the town with its eclectic blend of citizens and tourists. I’ve loved this town since I first came here in 1979, and now I’m part of it. I lucked into the perfect retail space, further up from the excitement of downtown in the quieter, tree-lined part of town called “Upper Spring Street”.
Inside it’s like a shabby chic dollhouse-the plaster walls expose 100-year-old rock, the workroom windows open to a courtyard, and bolts of fabric lining the room fill it with color everywhere. When people walk in they comment that they feel like they’ve suddenly entered some quaint Paris dressmaker’s salon. As busy as it’s been since i opened in May, I still manage to close a couple days a week to work at home. It’s important to me to balance the social days in town with the quiet creative days in the country.