Cocooned in Creativity: Inside Ruby Raisin with Mia Penn
If you’ve ever slipped into a Ruby Raisin piece, you’ll know it’s about more than just clothes. It’s colour, comfort and care, lovingly stitched together with a deep respect for people and planet. The Sydney-based slow fashion label is the creation of Mia Penn – a maker, mother and slow-fashion advocate whose focus on thoughtful design and locally crafted pieces has made her a beloved fixture in the Australian ethical fashion scene. We caught up with Mia to chat cocoon coats, ethical production realities, and her love of vintage fabrics (and household linens!).
IMAGES: KELLEY SHEENAN
Hi Mia! Can you tell us a bit about Ruby Raisin?
Ruby Raisin is slow fashion – the opposite of fast fashion. Limited editions, one-of-a-kinds, all made locally: either by me in studio or with professional makers down the road. The prints are vintage fabrics; the block colours are new fabrics, all natural fibres like cotton, linen, Tencel and bamboo.
I like unfussy styles, but I’m pedantic about fit. I labour over the tiniest details of even simple or classic shapes to make sure a design suits different sizes and body types. The aim? Elevated ‘everyday’ wear: like a top that’s just as easy as chucking on a T-shirt, but way better. For a woman to feel comfortable, to not have to overthink getting dressed in the morning, for well-cut designs that let the unique colours and prints sing. Not too loudly, though – good clothes should let you express yourself and mix with what’s already in your wardrobe, rather than take over a whole look.
What called you to the world of fashion and making in the first place?
I still don’t know if I’m called to the world of fashion in the usual way! I’ve always been called to the world of clothes, decoration, and creativity, though. My stepdad says that when I was little, I would just appear in new outfits throughout the day. My favourite part of a movie was usually the costumes. I always remember what I was wearing at any significant moment in my life.
My default pastime while growing up was making some kind of art or craft. My dad is an artist and musician, always using his hands. My mum often made us clothes: she taught me how to sew. We’d go to places like Home Yardage or Grace Bros’ haberdashery level to choose patterns and fabrics to make something together. She’d often draft simple pieces that we’d reinvent with different fabric, like a little matching set with a crop top and a full, gathered skirt. I had that in stripes, a border floral with butterflies, Sesame Street material… So many different prints and colours that made each set so special. I guess I’m still doing a version of that now! New ideas are often an extension of previous ones and when you work with vintage fabric, the rarity makes every iteration fresh.
From there I always wanted to doctor my school uniform, re-work op-shop clothes, and make my own whenever I couldn’t afford to buy them. I then got a Naturopathy degree, and while building up a clientele, started sewing kids’ clothes for extra cash and a creative outlet. I decided to focus on making clothing once I had my own children, and the business slowly developed from there.
I guess I grew up leaning into difference, rather than conformity. Without any formal training, my approach to fashion doesn’t include the traditional models and formal constructs of the general fashion world. But I am most definitely a long-time fashion lover!
I guess I grew up leaning into difference, rather than conformity. My approach to fashion doesn’t include the traditional models and formal constructs of the general fashion world. But I am most definitely a long-time fashion lover!
What does ethical and sustainable fashion mean to you?
That people and the environment are respected, from the initial choice of materials to the volume and quality produced. That design is intelligent and has longevity. That the time and skills of the human hand are valued correctly. Also – I cannot stand waste! I always make sure that a design makes the most of the fabric and any offcuts are used to create new things. I’ve coined a term of endearment for the creative challenges they represent: I call them ‘on-cuts’, because I think of them as a resource to be used, not a byproduct to be disposed of.
There’s so much confusing terminology in the fashion/environmental space. I have a lot of energy for healthy debate on the topic… But in the end, exact meanings are less important than just making an effort to buy something that has been made without exploitation. Love what you buy; and move it on appropriately when you don’t. It’s a mindset, not a price point thing, because overconsumption and pollution happens in the second-hand space, too.
Where does your love of vintage fabrics come from?
My mum! She’s a collector by nature and gifted me with a real adoration for the charm and character in old things and never taking a resource for granted. Beyond just enjoying the beautiful colours and patterns, which seem so much more interesting than the current mainstream palette, I think she subliminally taught me that when you only have a little bit of something, its value is elevated and there’s more responsibility to use it wisely. Scoring a piece of cool fabric has always felt like discovering treasure!
I’ve coined a term of endearment for the creative challenges they represent: I call them ‘on-cuts’, because I think of them as a resource to be used, not a byproduct to be disposed of.
What other textiles do you like working with?
I have a thing for household linens. Sewing with old sheets is satisfying because the thread counts are high, and they are so wide. I’m also obsessed with tableware like tablecloths and doilies because of all the beautiful workwomanship on them like embroidery and cross stitch. They tell a story, evoke a different time… But we don’t use them in their intended way anymore, so I love to give them a new life by wearing them instead. I’ve also been using colourful vintage blankets, which are amazing quality.
As a collective, Australia has such a long history with farming and wool production. Many of us have childhood memories of these blankets and connections to family, so I was excited to turn them into a wearable piece of nostalgia.
And those Cocoon Coats have proven to be so popular! How did they come about?
Oh, wow yes – they have overtaken my life! I’d always wanted to make something from vintage blankets, since my kidswear days over 15 years ago, well before Ruby Raisin as it is now. But beyond the one I made for my daughter’s doll it just never happened. I couldn’t cope with the thought of storing them all while living in a small house, so it was a ‘maybe one day’ idea lurking at the back of my mind.
Last year I saw a stunning piece in a museum, a kind of soft shroud that I loved. It was quite ornate, but I took a photo as I wanted to replicate that feeling, rather than make a more traditional structured jacket. Then, completely out of the blue, a friend and fellow collector asked if I wanted to buy her wool blanket stash. Suddenly I had piles of them! It was already getting cold, so I had to be decisive, reworking one of my existing patterns to give it the cosiness I envisaged. I called it the Cocoon Coat because we all know how warm and protective it feels to be wrapped up in one of those blankets. They absolutely took off and I’ve done them again this winter, along with using the on-cuts for bags and cushions.
What inspires your designs?
Cultural osmosis is at play, of course, but as boring as it sounds, it’s practicality first, honestly! What do I feel like wearing, what am I craving in my own wardrobe, what is something we all love – and how can I make it better? During lockdown I was so sick of seeing all the synthetic activewear, I designed a pair of elastic-waisted pants that were comfy and breathable and had a lot more style. They have become a bestseller, especially the ones in a soft cotton denim, because so many women find jeans uncomfortable and shopping for them absolute torture.
In terms of aesthetics, although it’s overall a classically feminine vibe, I like to juxtapose modern forms with interesting colour and unique prints. I’m not using vintage fabrics to replicate a vintage look at all. The resources I find influence what I make, too, and sometimes a fabric takes a while to find the right shape and come to life. I’m Eurasian, so I’ve collected lots of Chinese and Malay fabrics over the years and recently did a little collection called ‘Heritage’ to reflect that.
I like to juxtapose modern forms with interesting colour and unique prints. I’m not using vintage fabrics to replicate a vintage look at all. The resources I find influence what I make, too, and sometimes a fabric takes a while to find the right shape and come to life.
Can you talk us through the production process and how your clothes are made?
I do the design and sampling process myself, alongside my studio assistant who comes in once a week. Together we nut out how to turn a concept into an object. I have a professional patternmaker who turns my rough prototypes, bits of paper and measurements into an actual pattern and grades the sizes. It sounds simple, but sometimes that process goes round and round several times before I’m happy. If something is to last, in terms of trends and quality, I think it’s important to invest in this stage.
I individually hand-cut the vintage fabric garments myself, and the block colour garments are all cut by professional local cutters. Then I send them to one of the small local teams that do all the sewing. There are still a few pieces that I make from start to finish in studio, but generally my makers are more skilled at giving the professional-quality finish I want.
What are some of the benefits – and challenges – of focusing on local production methods?
The key benefit is the tight connection I have with my makers. We have direct communication and strong long-term relationships, so any troubleshooting can be done on the spot. And we know how everybody likes to work! It’s particularly important considering the unusual materials I use.
About 10 years ago I met a geographer doing research into local manufacturing and he taught me a term I’ve really latched onto – ‘commercial ecology’. It means I’m part of an ecosystem, where my business is a cog in a network of others, and we are all interdependent. I am very passionate about keeping those skills, incomes, taxes and creativity alive, not just in Australia, but in Sydney’s Inner West where I’m from. Also, I want Ruby Raisin’s customers to know that the clothes they are wearing have been made under Australian working conditions and pay.
I’ve never been tempted to produce offshore, but they wouldn’t be interested in my one-of-a-kinds and small quantities anyway. I guess the main challenge to local production is when a brand wants bigger quantities and lower costs. Since that’s not what I want, I simply cannot see any downside to making locally!
The broader challenge is how the global system has changed public perception about clothing being so mass produced, so cheaply. But I can’t take on the world! There’s plenty of people who reject that model and I’m here to serve them. They really appreciate the values behind my process.
About 10 years ago I met a geographer doing research into local manufacturing and he taught me a term I’ve really latched onto – ‘commercial ecology’. It means I’m part of an ecosystem, where my business is a cog in a network of others, and we are all interdependent.
Has it become harder to source vintage fabrics?
Absolutely. Of course there’s simply less of it, it’s a finite resource and I very rarely find fabrics by accident in an op-shop these days, what with the rise of the reseller market and people now valuing them more. My sensibility is finally on trend after all these years! Fabrics go in and out of fashion, so sourcing them reflects that. I’ve been doing this so long I can ride those waves without worrying too much. I’m well known for my pieces made from Ken Done prints, for example, but as he’s become popular again, they’ve become prohibitively costly and hard to get, so I’ve shifted my focus to something else.
Why have you chosen to have a bricks and mortar store, when so many are only online these days?
It’s funny: when I opened the Ruby Raisin space people kept saying ‘congrats on the shop!’ and I’d protest ‘it’s not a shop, it’s not a shop!’ I think I feared the commitments of traditional retail, being beholden to opening hours and being front facing all the time. No more hiding in my old studio with my dog, surrounded by piles of creative mess!
Online shopping saved me during the pandemic, when sadly so many creatives around me moved on, but afterwards I was craving human connection. I hated being solely online and realised that customers missed the chance to see, touch and talk through a shopping experience, too. So, I figured I’d make a space which had the doors open and do work hours that suited my family life … and, well, yes, ahem, it’s definitely a shop! Women constantly tell me how they love coming in, to try things on away from the pressure and overstimulation of a mainstream store or mall. I can give them good service, my time and attention, they can ask questions, take their time, there’s breathing room… Maybe all my plants help with that!
Online shopping saved me during the pandemic, when sadly so many creatives around me moved on, but afterwards I was craving human connection. I hated being solely online and realised that customers missed the chance to see, touch and talk through a shopping experience, too.
Does being a sustainable business like Ruby Raisin make it harder to stay financially viable? How does it affect business decisions?
It’s much harder logistically and financially to do the right thing than brands that produce without a conscience. They just throw scraps in the bin, for example, while I sort, store and rework them, which takes way more time and energy.
The main business decision I struggle with is price point – trying to make sure my pricing is accessible but also reflective of the garment’s true value. It’s striking a balance between what my customer can pay and making enough profit. I’m fine with calculating raw costs like materials and paying my makers, but it’s accounting for my own time that I’m bad at. It’s almost the downside to loving what you do, that you discount your own labour: I’m trying to improve with that. But I’m proud to say I had no start-up capital or any external financial support and I’m still going after all these years, so hopefully I can be an example of how environmental and financial sustainability can be successful.
How does community and connecting with people impact your approach to business?
It’s vital and daily! The only reason I can stand the frustrations of social media is because it also affords me connection with individuals and a like-minded community with shared values and aesthetics. It impacts sales, inspiration and allows me to observe culture more broadly.
I think people hold small businesses to such a high standard now, much higher than massive companies. Which is somewhat unfair! But I agree that displaying your values is an important aspect of your brand identity. Mostly I embrace transparency as I’m a very open and expressive person by nature and I enjoy the camaraderie it builds with people.
The negatives? Many still don’t understand how difficult it is to run a business like mine and socials provide a direct line if they want to criticise. My current approach, hard-earned from the stress that comes with the couple of times I’ve gone viral, is to spend less time explaining myself to people who I probably don’t want in my community anyway. I put up stronger armour and shift my gaze to the overwhelming majority of people who are positive. Being with nice customers in my studio is a good antidote, as is staying connected with people and community outside of work. A good chat or meal with friends and family does wonders.
