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Four Years & A New Chapter
Updated: 23 hours ago
On October 1, The Red Foxxx celebrated its fourth anniversary.
Four years ago, I signed a lease on a little shop in Woodstock and promptly panicked.
I had never worked in retail. I had never worked in lingerie. What I had was a hunch, a complicated relationship with my bra size, and a belief I'd carried my whole life without quite putting it into words.
Before The Red Foxxx, I was building a practice in psychology and somatic dance therapy, helping women come home to their bodies and find each other along the way. I had worked so hard for it. Then COVID arrived and it was gone, almost before it had begun.
Locked down at home, I had to ask a hard question: when the thing you built disappears, what's left of you to give?
I've lived through deep stretches of depression, so I started there. I looked at my best days, the ones where I felt most like myself, and searched for what they had in common. The answer was almost embarrassingly simple. It was what I put on first.
The first layer against my skin. Lace, silk, or plain cotton, in a color that pleased my eyes. It sounds silly until you realize it's the finger that gently pushes the first domino. Before I dressed for anyone else, I had chosen to seduce myself first. A woman who starts her day that way carries herself differently. Listen, lingerie doesn’t fix everything. Nothing that simple ever does. But it’s a beginning, and on some days, that’s what you need.
I'd always been the friend women came to when they wanted to feel bolder in their own skin. I have never believed femininity is weakness, or that it exists for someone else's enjoyment. To me it has always been a source of strength, something I've used to build the life I want.
And then there was the practical problem. The nearest place to get a real bra fitting was at least 90 minutes away. Everything closer was a cramped rack of mass-produced basics. If I'd spent my whole adult life in bras that didn't fit, so had a lot of women around me.
So I signed the lease. Then I panicked.
I’ve always been fiercely independent, which is a lovely way of saying I’m terrible at asking for help. When it comes to reaching out to strangers or admitting I’m in over my head, I go quiet. So instead of calling people in the industry, I rolled up my sleeves and tried to figure it all out myself.
The brands I loved wouldn't return my calls. I had no history and no credibility, and they declined me, very politely. Then, at my first market, I met a designer who was earnest, kind, and making exactly what I'd been dreaming of: gorgeous bras in small bands and deep cups, for real bodies.
I was so sure the whole town would be as excited as I was that I ordered four styles in full size runs, with duplicates. I didn't know what landed cost meant yet, or what happens when you order from overseas and things go sideways.
One style sold reasonably well. One flopped. One arrived a year late and incomplete. One never arrived at all. The brand eventually closed, and I was out $16,000. Like a lot of people, I’d always imagined a write-off as a magical way of getting your money back. Spoiler: it isn’t. It knocks a little off your tax bill (if you're lucky), and the rest of the money is just - gone.
The shop opened four weeks after I signed the lease, half-stocked and held together by stubbornness and by Mike.
My husband has a demanding career of his own, and he has never once acted like he was above the dirty work. He's been on his hands and knees in that shop more times than I can count, doing repairs, cleaning, and hauling whatever needed hauling. When I left for my first sourcing trip, he ran the register for the entire weekend so I wouldn't miss a sale. Women still come in and ask about the charming man who helped them that weekend. I tell them I married him.
Two years in, my health took a turn, and for a while I didn't know if I could keep the doors open. I had poured so much of myself into this place, and suddenly I wasn't sure there was enough of me left to run it.
Then came Jennie.
Selling lingerie takes knowledge, discretion, and a lot of empathy, and I threw her into the deep end. She swam. She learned fast, took initiative before she was even sure of herself, and gave me something every small business owner dreams of: the ability to step away and know the shop was in loving hands.
What I didn’t see coming was a partner in crime. Not many people can keep up with my tongue-in-cheek wit. Jennie can, with all the class and elegance in the world. Customers catch us mid-giggle, and before long they’re laughing along with us. That’s usually the moment they open up.
That silliness isn’t a side note; it’s part of the job. So many people walk in intimidated by lingerie, and niceness alone doesn’t always put them at ease. A good laugh usually does.
And when all else fails, there’s Willow, Jennie’s nine-pound Shih-poo and our official greeter. She has a real talent for disarming people. One wag of that tail and even our most guarded visitors are down on the floor saying hello.
Working beside Jennie never feels like work. I can’t imagine these past two years without her.
People sometimes ask what I've learned in four years. Most of it, I learned in the fitting room.
I learned that women are much deeper in self-criticism than they realize. If I had a dime for every apology I've heard over a roll, a scar, cellulite, or a soft belly, I'd be a rich woman. Some women walk in, see the lace, and their armor goes up before they've touched a thing. They announce that they'd never wear something like that, because they've had kids, or they're married, or they're single, or they're too old. As if beauty and sensuality only matters when someone else is looking.
I also learned what happens when that armor comes down.
One woman emailed me before her first visit because she was too nervous to just walk in. She had recently lost her husband. She told me she'd never stopped to ask herself what she liked. She'd spent her whole life in multipacks and flimsy comfort bras, and she said she'd never been "girly like that."
So we went slowly. We started with comfortable basics in a pop of color, then a little lace. She lit up in a deep rust and saw how her features glowed in it. When we finally tried silk and lace together, she cried. Not because anything was wrong, but because she suddenly saw how much beauty she'd talked herself out of all those years.
A few months later, she sent me photos from a professional shoot she'd booked for herself, wearing what she'd chosen.
That is what this shop is for.
I'd love to tell you it's been an upward climb ever since. It hasn't.
This past year was the hardest yet. Costs climbed while sales slowed, and I know many of you have been tightening your belts too. My health dipped again last winter. Winter was quiet, Valentine's Day was quieter, and I held on for summer, the season that usually carries us through.
Then, on one of our biggest weekends of the year, the ceiling leaked and we had to close.
Mike had had surgery the day before. I left his side to deal with repairs that cost about $5,000 we didn't have. My brother, who had flown in from California to help with Mike's recovery, ended up helping me hold everything together instead. (He has a gift for showing up at exactly the right moment and quietly taking on the least glamorous job in the room.)
I'll be honest with you: that week, I seriously thought about letting my lease run out and closing for good. I was tired, and the world felt like it was taking far more than it was giving.
That same week, a space in Rhinebeck that I'd been watching for a long time became available.
I didn't overthink it. I listened to the same instinct that told me, four years ago, that lingerie mattered. I took the space.
So, drumroll please.......The Red Foxxx is expanding to Rhinebeck!
The first time around, I built a shop in four weeks with no time to dream. This time I'm doing it the way I always wished I could. We're aiming to open by January 2027.
Rhinebeck will become our home base, the place for in-depth fittings, a wide selection of everyday bras and loungewear, beautiful silks, and hi-end fashion lingerie from some of the most loved names in the industry, along with a curated selection of wellness products.
And Woodstock isn’t going anywhere. Our original shop lives in a hundred-year-old cottage, and I’ll admit it’s been a creative wrestling match. I love clean, modern, functional spaces, and that cottage has opinions of its own. So during her makeover, I’m finally going to stop fighting her. Woodstock will lean into her eccentric, artistic, bohemian side, just like the town she calls home.
She’ll also return to the spirit The Red Foxxx started with: more sensual pieces, more accessible price points, and a renewed focus on sexual wellness. Over the years, as demand for everyday basics grew, that side of the shop quietly took a back seat. It’s time to bring it back.
Locals, don’t worry. Our best-selling basics will still be in Woodstock in our most popular sizes. With twice the space in Rhinebeck, though, that’s where you’ll find our full size range and the in-depth fittings that go with it.
A few months ago, I was ready to turn off the lights for good. Now I’m picking out paint colors for a second shop. I don’t fully understand how life turns like that. I’m just grateful it did.
My hope for both shops is simple: that every woman who walks through our doors leaves a little braver than she came in.
That brings me to the less romantic part of growing up as a business.
For four years, I’ve bent the rules. Saying no is hard for me, and I always assumed people would treat this shop the way I’d treat someone else’s. Not everyone does. Over the years, we’ve been asked to take back pieces that had been worn, ripped, or not simply not comfortable, reasons most would never dream of returning to a big department store. Somehow, a small shop with a friendly owner feels like fair game. But every one of those returns comes straight out of our pocket, for something that was never our fault, and a business our size simply can’t keep absorbing that.
Here’s a little lingerie math most people never see. To carry one bra style in more than 40 sizes, which we do because every body deserves to find something here, we pay around $55 per bra up front. That’s over $2,000 invested in a single style and color before one bra sells. After rent, payroll, and everything it takes to keep the lights on, what’s left from each sale is far smaller than most people imagine.
When a worn piece comes back, we lose the full cost of that bra, because it can never go back on the floor.
That wouldn’t be fair to the next woman who tries it on. With an exchange, we lose that bra and send a new one out the door.
That’s why we’ve updated our Returns & Exchanges policy. We’ll always give you time, honesty, and a careful fitting. In return, we ask that you try things on thoughtfully, keep the tags on, and talk to us before you buy if you’re unsure. Once a piece has been worn, it’s yours to keep.
It took me four years to learn that protecting this business isn’t greed. It’s how the doors stay open for the next woman who’s nervous to walk in.
For years before this shop, I searched for work that felt like purpose. You gave it to me. Every woman who came back, brought a friend, left a review, or trusted me with something this personal: you're the reason any of this exists.
Four years ago, I chose something beautiful for myself and hoped it might help someone else do the same. It turns out it did, again and again, in a little fitting room in Woodstock.
I can't wait to see who we'll meet in Rhinebeck.
With love and gratitude,
Daisy
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