Kate Spade often exclaimed “Honey, honey” in a high-pitched voice just before enjoying a delicious snack, heading out for a night with friends, or sometimes while pitching her brightly colored handbags to luxury stores.
In her memoir, We Might Just Make It After All: My Best Friendship With Kate Spade, Elyce Arons offers a heartfelt portrait of the designer as a formidable force with a paradoxically reserved side. The book, released this month, chronicles the ups and downs of their nearly 40-year friendship, which lasted until Spade’s tragic death in 2018, a loss that stunned and saddened many.
The two met as college roommates at the University of Kansas. Katy, as Arons affectionately calls her, combined an unwavering work ethic with a magnetic charm. At first glance, their styles couldn’t have been more different: Arons, a Kansas farmer’s daughter, and Spade, then Kate Brosnahan, the embodiment of Midwestern preppy fashion, sporting a popped polo collar, loose khakis, and Weejuns loafers.
Arons recalls how Spade teasingly nicknamed her “Jethro” whenever she did something she considered a bit rustic, while Arons initially found Spade’s polished style somewhat dull.
Despite their differences, the two quickly became inseparable, enjoying fraternity parties, shopping for thrifted clothes—the only affordable option—and dreaming of glamorous careers in the big city, inspired by Mary Richards from The Mary Tyler Moore Show.
By the early 1990s, driven by their shared ambitions, they relocated to Manhattan. Balancing various day jobs, they dedicated their nights to launching a fledgling fashion brand alongside friends and co-founders Pamela Bell and Andy Spade, Kate’s future husband. Their venture began with a simple, colorful nylon handbag featuring a subtle side label.
The brand eventually grew significantly. Kate Spade was sold first to Neiman Marcus Group and later, in 2006, to Liz Claiborne Inc. A decade on, Spade and Arons co-founded Frances Valentine, a lifestyle brand now led by Arons.
Arons remembers her friend as wildly entertaining, with a darkly playful sense of humor. An irreverent prankster, Kate wasn’t shy about feigning death just to elicit laughter.
It’s understandable, then, that Arons confesses that a part of her briefly hoped Kate’s suicide might be her most elaborate and grand joke.
In a conversation at the Frances Valentine studio in New York, Arons shared that while letting go remains difficult, writing the memoir was a way to stay connected. “I feel our bond every day,” she said.
The following interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.
What motivated you to undertake this project?
As the second anniversary of Kate’s passing approached, I was with Pamela and Andy. We were reminiscing about moments from Kate’s life, and Andy suggested, “You should write a book.” I realized that at 60, I was starting to forget some of the nuances of our relationship.
What thoughts crossed your mind during the writing process?
There were emotional moments, but writing was also cathartic. It gave me a chance to show the world who Katy really was. People didn’t truly know how funny, determined, and kind she was. If her image continues to resonate, it’s because people sensed her authenticity.
You were both scholarship students. What else bonded you?
We were avid shoppers of vintage clothes, partly to save money, but also because we loved the unique details. Finding a coat with an amazing embroidery that no one else had was special. Those shared interests brought us close, but most of all, it was her sense of humor.
Katy and I often startled each other. She would sneak up behind and give a loud slap—she had the loudest hand I’ve ever known. After her death, when I went to her closet to pick some clothes, I half-expected her to jump out and scare me.
What were the happiest moments in your relationship?
I think we were happiest when we had no money, especially during the early days of the business. I remember a store calling to place a new order just a week after our first delivery because they had sold every single handbag. We were thrilled.
Did you ever experience friction?
Yes, I once felt jealous. I had moved to New York to work at a fashion magazine and worked hard to get there. I’d tried a temp agency but never got placed at any Condé Nast titles. Then Katy went to the same agency and was immediately sent to Mademoiselle. I said, “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Kate became the face of the brand. How did that make you feel?
I don’t think it bothered me. The business was our idea, but Katy was the designer. Neither of us wanted to take a step forward and take her place.
Besides, I was grateful to her. She was a private person, and I knew how difficult it was for her to represent the brand publicly.
Why was that?
Katy experienced anxiety about many things: giving speeches, accepting awards. But business tours could be especially draining. I used to think, “How hard could it be? Just smile and wave.”
What I didn’t realize was she had morning interviews, personal appearances in the afternoon, dinners with store executives, and then moved on to the next city the following day. It was exhausting, and she was alone. It stays with me that I never intended to be there to support her.
In the book, you chose not to speculate about her state of mind. Do you feel you could have said more?
The way I described her is what I want people to remember. Those secrets—and our private jokes—I know some will never be shared. I think we can never fully understand ourselves or even those closest to us. People legitimately want to know why she did what she did. The only person who can answer that is no longer with us.
Was there anything about her you wish you had understood better?
I don’t think anyone could have. Katy struggled with depression. I have felt down and sad, but I’ve never experienced depression, so I can’t truly know how it feels.
Has her death changed your view on friendship?
I was very angry that she was gone. I still am. It’s complicated. I knew there were problems, of course. But how can you blame someone with health issues? It angers me that I still want to pick up the phone and call her every day, but I can’t.
Instead, I choose to focus on how much we gave each other. Sometimes we didn’t admit it, but over the years, we opened each other’s eyes to different ways of living.
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