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“We do a lot of research before we launch any item,” Nicola says. “We have to put things in the online store that will sell. Those items do.”
“But what if we create a capsule specifically with this target in mind?” I ask. “A small test collection. Cropped tops. Athleisure wear with the Collings Motors logo. Partner with an athleticwear brand for a collaboration.”
“Catherine, do you have a background in marketing and merchandising?”
“No. Digital media.”
She nods sagely. “I thought so.”
“But that’s why I’m here. I want to learn. I had this idea, and I can’t let it go. No other team is doing this on the grid, and I think we have a huge opportunity here. Even for the women who work in the paddock. I’m sure they would love more options than the standard polo kit.”
“Okay. Let me start by saying I love your enthusiasm,” Nicola says. “But when deciding to invest in anything, we have to truly understand our market more than a few statistics found on the internet. There is so much more to it. There is so much work that goes into selecting the exact shirt we are going to produce. It takes anywhere from six to twelve months from concept to an item being able to ship to the consumer.”
I nod. “I understand.”
She steeples her fingertips together, tapping her long magenta fingernails together to make a tap-tap-tap sound as she thinks. “Why don’t you send me your ideas about your capsule? Give me all the details, and I can give feedback to direct you and see if there is something we can work with.”
“Would you? I would so love your feedback,” I say eagerly. “You’ve been the head of this division for a long time, so I’m honoured for you to take the time to read my thoughts.”
“It’s my pleasure. Send me what you have, and we’ll go from there,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee.
“I will. And I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you any longer.” I get up from my seat, shake her hand and thank her, and escort myself out of her office. On my way out, I pause by Marissa’s desk. “It was nice meeting you, Marissa,” I say, smiling at her.
“Same,” she says, smiling back.
I make my way out of the marketing department and stop in an open lounge area on the floor, with a workspace in a more relaxed setting. I open my email, and the first thing I do is send Nicola an email thanking her for her time and promising to follow up with her today. She was fair in her advice. And yes, I know that my last name got me in her office and an opportunity, but I’m going to ignore that fact for now and treat this as if she had a meeting with some young woman named Catherine who is ambitious and has ideas.
Then I open several tabs on my screen of stuff I’ve compiled for the report I’m writing for my dad, and craft those into another email specifically for Nicola. First, I acknowledge my lack of expertise but also stress again how willing I am to learn. I talk about why I feel so passionately about this. Then I tap my pen against my lips, trying to sort out how I want to share my thoughts.
I’m still mulling this over when I realise I haven’t peed in forever. I gather up my things and find the toilets on this floor. I enter the last cubicle in the row, hanging my laptop bag on a hook, and use the toilet. After I’ve finished zipping up my trousers, I hear the door open.
“So what did Nicola say about Catherine Collings?” a female voice asks.
I freeze. I should step out and make my presence known, but my gut tells me to wait a second.
I hear another cubicle door open and lock. “Oh my God, Jules, she thinks she’s going to come in here and design a collection for younger women.”
Marissa. That’s her voice.
“Stop it,” Jules says, sounding incredulous.
“Okay, Nicola swore me to secrecy, so you can’t tell anyone,” Marissa says.
“Oh, of course I won’t!”
Right. This will be all over the marketing department by lunch.
“She thought just because she got a few numbers from Google or AI or whatever, she not only knows exactly what women our age want but can dictate what we should be selling online.”
My mouth falls open. I did not say that! I pitched one capsule collection that would appeal to a specific demographic. Is this how Nicola interpreted our conversation?
“Like what, collabs with luxury designers?” Jules asks.
Marissa snorts. “I could so see that. Like, hey, Catherine, we don’t all have a billionaire family dumping money into our bank account to afford these things!”
I feel my face burn in anger. Am I privileged? Yes. Do I use my parents as a never-ending bank? I do not. I work for Caleb, and I bust my arse on race weekends. I’m not sitting in the motorhome doing my nails and ordering high tea!
“I can’t wait to see what she comes up with. Probably something that will be way too expensive to produce, and we’ll have to do it. Then nobody will buy it, and we’ll be stuck with her crap and sticking it on sale to try and move stock out of the warehouse,” Jules says.
