Kate Flannery was out of work and out of money when a frizzy-haired babe in hot pants handed her a business card.
It featured a girl in a bikini and striped athletic socks. “American Apparel,” it read. “A progressive, provocative retailer.”
The 23-year-old Flannery was intrigued.
American Apparel came to define the mid-2000s indie-sleaze aesthetic pre-#MeToo, with its racy photo shoots, porno-chic vibe and mutton-chopped, sex-crazed, svengali-like CEO Dov Charney.
Flannery had a front row seat to it all.
Her memoir, “Strip Tees” (Henry Holt & Co.), chronicles her 3.5 years there and provides a tantalizing glimpse into the company’s meteoric rise and fall. (Charney was ousted in 2014 amid a flurry of sexual harassment lawsuits.)
It was, she writes, “a cult.”
“Everyone works together for a common goal — to make the world a better place,” her recruiter intoned during Flannery’s first visit to the LA factory, where seamstresses got free English lessons, yoga classes and fair wages.
She then instructed Flannery to don a skimpy romper and pose for a Poloroid.
Flannery helped manage the original LA store, where she wore bikini tops and roller skates to work. She began scouting for talent after Charney noticed one of her teen blonde recruits. “She’s f—able,” the 30-something boss told her. “Can you find me more girls like that?”
Two days later, Flannery was in NYC, staffing a new boutique with capable cuties. She did this in Boston, New Orleans, Tempe, Miami. She happily stripped for ad campaigns in the name of post-feminism.
But the more she learned about Charney, the more disillusioned she grew. He masturbated in front of reporters and subordinates. He promoted employees who slept with him and paid their rent. He instructed his “girls” to call him “daddy.”
He installed a Japanese employee in his house and called her his “geisha.”
“This wasn’t a revolutionary, egalitarian society, all of us equals,” Flannery realized. “We were … a straight-up harem.”
When Flannery was sexually assaulted by another male employee, Charney begged her to keep quiet.
She stayed on “anesthetized by the pleasures of Los Angeles” until she was laid off during the 2008 recession.
At that point, she got a job “typing and taking notes” for a reality show. It was, she writes, “Exactly the kind of boring corporate job I was looking for.”