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How We Pick Who We Get to Team Up With A collab starts long before a single sketch. Sometimes it starts when a parent messages us asking if we'll ever m...
A collab starts long before a single sketch. Sometimes it starts when a parent messages us asking if we'll ever make a dress inspired by the character their little one dressed up as three Halloweens in a row, the one no store carries in a size that fits real play. That kind of message stays with us. Because a collaboration isn't a logo swap or a name we borrow for a season. It's us deciding whose world is worth building a twirl dress around, and then getting the fabric, the seams, and the magic right enough to earn a spot in her closet.
So here's what actually goes into that "yes."
Before anything else, we ask one question: will this make a little one want to twirl into a story? Not just look pretty on a hanger. Actually play. That's the whole reason this shop exists, built at a kitchen table back in 2015 with a background in Montessori and homeschooling and a deep belief that pretend play is how kids figure out who they are.
A collab passes that test when the character has a world she can climb into. A brave heroine. A dreamy fairytale. A storybook figure with enough magic that putting on the dress feels like stepping into an adventure. If a partner's design is just decorative, if there's no imaginative door it opens, it doesn't make the cut. We'd rather have fewer collabs that spark hours of pretend than a shelf full of pretty dresses nobody feels like living in.
This is the non-negotiable. We raised kids with real sensitivities to fabric, the kind where a scratchy seam or a stiff tag means the dress gets peeled off before lunch and never worn again. That experience shaped everything. So any collaboration has to leave us room to choose the softest, highest quality materials and to design out the scratchies entirely.
That means no rough tulle against bare arms. No tags that dig in. No seams that leave marks. If a partner wants us to rush that part or cut corners to hit a price, that's where the conversation ends. A dress can look enchanting on a screen and still be miserable to wear, and we're not interested in that trade. The children's textile and safety standards we design around, including things like drawstring and flammability guidance for kids' sleepwear and apparel, aren't optional either. You can read how those apparel safety rules work on the Consumer Product Safety Commission's site, and we treat them as the floor, not the goal.
One of the truest things about this stage is how fast it moves. The character she loves this year might not be the one she loves next year, but a great dress should still be earning its keep long after the drop. So we look for collabs where we can build in what we call the gown that grows with her: adjustable ties, generous hems, cuts that keep working as she shoots up two inches over a single summer.
We won't team up on a piece designed to be worn twice and outgrown. That's not who we are. When a family spends on a special dress, it should hold up to backyard adventures, birthday photos, grocery store trips (say yes to those, always), and still look loved a year later. If the collab concept can't stretch with her, we rework it until it can, or we pass.
We've done this for over a decade, with more than 100,000 sales, and the collabs that go wrong are almost always the ones where the other side sees children's clothing as a quick trend to ride. We can feel it early. When someone wants a fast drop with a hot name and no interest in whether the dress is comfy, modest, or made to last, we already know the answer.
The partners we say yes to care about the same things we do. They want the design to be modest enough that she can climb and tumble and twirl without anyone fussing. They want it to feel special without being fragile. They understand that we're not selling a costume, we're helping a family make a core memory during years that genuinely don't come back. When a potential collaborator lights up about that instead of just the marketing calendar, that's usually when we know we've found our people.
Near the end of every collab decision, we do something simple. We picture a real little one pulling that dress over her head. Is she grinning? Is she spinning to watch the skirt fly out? Is she reaching for it again the next morning before breakfast? Or is she tugging at a seam and asking to change?
If we can't imagine her beloved dress becoming the one she refuses to take off, we keep working. And when we can picture that twirl, that grin, that "can I wear it again today?" ... that's the collab that gets to ship. That's the whole magic of it, and honestly? It's our favorite part of the job.