No contract, no contact

After my recent tome on apparel agents I've received some interesting comments. One highly regarded and long standing Melbourne agent told me she's fed up with having to chase money from her unprincipled principals - and is thinking of hanging up her order book. She is owed a staggering amount of money.
While payment is always a problem in the schmutta business, it seems to be at its worst when it comes to manufacturers paying their agents. People clash over expectations because they were not clearly enunciated at the beginning of the contract.
Contract? Who said that filthy word? Not filthy for the agent, but to be avoided like genital herpes by the principal. A contract, in my humble opinion, should say it all and be signed by both parties before a single sample is sent. No contract, no deal. Okay, if you don't like the word contract, try agency agreement; it might sound gentler.
First, you need to determine what commission is acceptable to both parties. I think 15 per cent is a nice centre line from which to start negotiating.
Once that is settled - and not "we'll see how you go and then talk about commission" - the decision has to be taken as to what amount of money the commission is actually paid upon. There are three choices.
One. Commission is payable on the dollar totals of all orders written by the agent on a range, whether the principal chooses to deliver the goods or not. The money is payable within 30 days of the orders being given to the principle. The logic for this is that the agent has done the selling work, fulfilled his side of the bargain, paid his staff and rent, driven his cars around, made numerous phone calls on his principal's behalf and provided above average coffee and bikkies for the buyers. Is it his fault if the principle decides to drop a style or can't get the fabric or doesn't have to funds to raise an LC? No, it isn't. The agreed task was for the agent to go out and get orders and that's what he's done.
The Melbourne agent I mentioned believes that she is entitled to commission on what she sells - but makes an allowance of 10 per cent for non-delivery. No more.
Two. Commission is payable on the total of the orders actually delivered - at the time they are delivered. Here, the logic is that a range may produce unexpectedly big sales and for any one of a thousand reasons it cannot all be delivered. Again, the agent has done the work and deserves the commission for getting the sales, but how can the principle be expected to pay commission on goods which will not be invoiced? That needs to be sorted.
Three. Commission is payable only on goods delivered and after they have been paid for by the buyer. This is the old 'when I get paid, you get paid' adage - and by far the most popular among principals. It means that the agent must wait a minimum of six months to get paid - and that's when the garments are delivered to a good payer having a good season. You can add another six months to that for a bad payer having a not-so-good season. In this scenario, the agent also usually suffers commission deductions for goods returned, and the occasional boutique mahulla. What starts off as a gusher at the top of the commission funnel dribbles out the bottom end as hardly enough to keep the agent's kettle boiling.
It is not my intention to paint the principals as the bad guys here. There are lazy agents who don't chase hard enough and who sell to dodgy accounts and give their well-meaning principals grief.
Don't let's look for blame. Instead, seek solutions. The answer lies in the contract. Our Melbourne agent had a contract but her principal didn't sign it. Now they're locked in a costly legal struggle that could have been avoided by a simple signature.
I again recall the bygone days of the fashion agents associations, where there was a standard contract that stated the expectations of the agent. Often is was varied to suit the principal - but it did exist and it was signed. Agents today are getting the rough end of the pineapple, but they should be strong enough to resist starting to sell a range for which there is no signed commission agreement.
I rest my case.

Merciful Merc
In addition to a 42-year-old gas gulping, oil incontinent, high maintenance Bentley, I drive a white van. People often think I'm trying to imitate a local clothing factory delivery man as I sit high and unstable in my piece of wheeled whitegoods. But after hearing the following story, I have a new respect for my white van, which is anonymous, boring and non-joy-rideable.
David Corrick (head of Sydney based Texas Aardvark Screen Printing and Sports Wallet Embroidery) has just purchased a new Mercedes Benz. Not a cheap one, but one appropriate to Rose Bay where he lives. He'd had it only a few days when he took it to Newcastle on business and returned to his home in the evening. When he pulled into his driveway he found himself in the company of four men done up in now fashionable balaclava winter-weight headwear, who told him that if he got out of his car and gave them the keys, his body would be left in its current condition. Since David is not Paul Hotz (who would have relished an opportunity to defend his Merc against four opponents simultaneously) David decided not to disagree. The four then made off in the car - doubtless towards Port Botany and a waiting container. According to the police, the four couldn't resist stopping off here and there along the way to conduct a few street-cred hold-ups.

New York Craze
The fashion-aware now look in two directions when seeking trends. One is the European catwalk shows (runway if you speak American) and the other is the streets of big cities. In the latter category there is an interesting movement on the streets of New York where artisan printers are making short run printed garments - especially t-shirts - and selling them in all sorts of strange places - as well as regular retail.
They have an unmistakeable look. The print is essentially one colour, screened on to either a white or coloured blank. The artwork is not necessarily professionally done but usually expresses some philosophical point of view. It is invariably clever.
These t-shirts sell for much more than their mass produced relatives because they fall within the ambit of art. There may be only 10 of a style after which either artistic sentiment or poverty drives the designer to clean off the screen and start again.
Could it happen here? Why not? We've got street life aplenty, and blank t-shirts and short run screen printers. We've got arty markets and angry kids and matters of outrage to be expressed.
If it takes off, somebody should get about and make a collection of the tees for a future art gallery exhibition. And guess what, China couldn't make them.