By Kimberly Inskeep
The day after Christmas was almost as exciting as Christmas itself. My mom and aunt would take my cousin and me downtown Chicago to Marshall Field’s and Saks Fifth Avenue for their big 50–60% off sales. We usually came home with two or three special outfits — ones I’d wear to church, school pictures, or birthday parties throughout the next year.
We never would have been able to afford those items at full price. They were special, and I knew it. I wore them with a deep sense of pride. But more than that, I remember the moment itself: being with my mom, trying things on, and seeing the delight on her face as she was able to treat me to something we both knew mattered. It was a special time, special purchase, and a special memory.
I also remember the year I wasn’t as grateful as I should have been on that shopping trip. Disturbed by my attitude, my mom threatened to do all our clothes shopping at K-Mart (the “not cool” spot). I felt like that movie character yelling “NOOOOOOO!” while falling into the abyss. Shifting back towards gratitude, we carried on with our special day and our special outfits and the special memories of that tradition until I left for college.
Ironically, I was voted “Best Dressed” in high school. Our family had the least money of all my friends, and my closet was likely the leanest. But what I did have was intentionally curated and cared for. It was years later that I realized just how formative that time was. I learned that less is more, that value is different than price, and the practice of taking care of something impacts other aspects of life. In fact, what I thought was simply “special clothes” turned out to be a prelude to how I would take “special” into other parts of life — as a college roommate, a young adult with her first apartment, a working professional, a spouse, a mom, a friend. Big or small, it’s all connected.
The idea that something can be “special”, and should be treated as such, is a principle that’s rarely learned all at once. It begins with the little things.
Why It Still Matters Today
How often have we passed our child’s bedroom and said, “why are your things on the floor … can you please care about your stuff?” It may sound like it’s just an irritating moment, but those words matter. They’re not about appearances — they’re about formation. My mom used to say, “precept upon precept”, meaning that we learn little by little, through gradual building. When it comes to clothes, this concept means teaching our girls not just how to dress, but how to value.
At Finding Foxtale, we’ve been intentional about manufacturing clothes that matter and last, not cheap throwaways. Creating clothes that are easy come, easy go doesn’t align with our values or the values we want to help reinforce. We believe that everything we do should be marked by care, creativity, and a sense of responsibility for what we leave behind. To us, that means twice-yearly curated collections designed with fabrics that are durable enough to be handed down and details that extend the life of the garment, like adjustable waistbands.
We care about that look in a girl’s eyes when she loves what she’s wearing — not because it’s trendy or expensive, but because it feels special, something that fits who she is and tells a story she can be proud of.
In a world increasingly flooded with disposable fashion, we’ve planted a flag for something better. Not just because of macroeconomic or environmental factors — though those matter — but because of the sweet little factors right in our own homes. The quiet ways we can say:
“You’re worth something ‘special’.”
"Care is cool."
"Special things deserve special treatment."
Foxtale was born with a simple conviction: thoughtful design and purposeful living belong together. From quality fabrics, reliable fit, to collections designed to mix, match, and last, we’ve tried to make our values visible and viable. Our 1.4% return rate says a lot.
During this back-to-school season and beyond, let’s commit to shopping with intention and attention to those values that will shape her story.