Designer Donna Karan has reinvented the paper bag — which may well just sound like another bit of fashion nonsense, but before you stop reading: it's not what you think.
The avant-garde set (Raf Simons, Maison Martin Margiela) have rather knowingly persuaded label lovers to part with cash for sandwich bags in recent seasons, but Karan's paper bag — which she totes proudly on a visit to her DKNY flagship shop in London (her first to the city in over five years) — is made from papier-maché and created by specialists in post-earthquake Haiti.
They and countless other workshops in the area now collaborate on accessories and techniques with Karan, 64, making artisanal pieces that are sold through her shops on the strength of her name and reputation as one of America's biggest fashion powerhouses.
"I think where there's creativity, there's an answer," she says. "President Clinton has been my inspiration and he was involved in Haiti. Everybody was looking at the darkness of it (after the incident, in 2010) and I said 'oh my God, with all this creativity, you could create jobs'."
Karan likes helping people, or at the very least, trying to make their lives easier. That's what her personal and professional ideologies are based around.
Her aesthetic vision combines the glamour of uptown New York, distilling the essence of Manhattan sophisticates and luxury, with downtown bohemia, casual and practical: a 'system of dressin' with the intention of "giving women back their bodies and about giving them back the comfort of their bodies", as she told press around the time her label launched 27 years ago.
She had learned her trade as an associate designer at Anne Klein, having trained at New York's prestigious Parson's School — synonymous with a certain sort of luxe loungewear — and took the helm on Klein's death in 1974 before setting up her own label with then-husband Stephan Weiss.
The concept was to create a range of pieces that interacted, to help women dress for any occasion, with comfort and cool at the forefront of their design.
Draped and stretch jersey, supple leathers, crisp cottons and soft, feminine tailoring that appeared during the decade when many working women were constrained by boxy power suits and hyper-feminine bubble skirts: Karan's take was singular in the shops then, and all the more successful for that.
"I'm a basics designer," she tells me, dark eyes shining from tanned skin, her signature mane slicked back into a low chignon. She is elegantly dressed down in a jersey top and biker jacket, topped off with yet more chunky, primal jewellery sourced from her projects in Haiti. "Basic with a twist," she says. "I'm not entirely classic, more street, edgy. I look at the body, whether it's a bodysuit or pants, whether it's jersey or leather.
"The clothes were just my clothes that I'd wear every single day. Seven Easy Pieces — it wasn't about a fashion show, it was just about my wardrobe. It really was."
"For me, it all starts with the fabric — I'm a fabric junkie," she says. "Because fabric talks, just like with an artist or a sculptor. The luxury of making a garment, draping it and making it by hand — Donna Karan is the artistic side of me, special and sort of a statement. And when I started DKNY, I really needed a pair of jeans. I wanted to do a collection that was about men, boys, and children. Life, really. Because my kids kept wearing all my clothes!"
Since its launch in 1989, the second line has become a more youthful outlet for the elegance that Karan creates in her main line, just as luxurious in wool, felt, leather and fur, but with sharper silhouettes and higher hemlines. Having launched at a time when New York casualwear was increasingly label-led and status-driven, DKNY became a clutches of initials alongside the likes of Calvin Klein's that contributed to the logo culture of the Nineties, even earning the label a mention in several hip-hop records of the era. Since then, the aesthetic has evolved into something sleeker but no less in touch with trends, a go-to for It-girls and young professionals.
Still, Karan sees the fashion industry as a stage for her charity work — the theory behind her Urban Zen Foundation, which focuses on community projects and working with sustainable resources, is to blend market forces with something more ethical.
"It's where philanthropy and commerce come together," she says. "It started out from healthcare, education and culture, and from mind, body and spirit. It's not only dressing you on the outside, it's dressing your insides — I meet all these women in the dressing room and everybody's got a problem — the healthcare and education systems aren't working, so unless people come together to create change, it's not going to happen."
"You have to bring awareness to the customer," she says, "and how do you get the consumer interested? With fashion. I'm saying 'this has come from Haiti, help Haiti'. People would even have thought of it had the product not been there."