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David Miller and Jori Miller Sherer have known for years they had a problem. A new moccasin launching Tuesday is part of their response.
The father and daughter run Minnetonka, their family's Minneapolis-based shoe brand, which is best known for moccasins and fringed booties that draw heavily on Native American art and craftsmanship. Only: No one in the family is Native American. Polish immigrant Philip W. Miller, David's grandfather, was one of the first owners of the company, which began in 1946 making Native-inspired goods and moccasins to be sold at roadside gift shops. The company has been family-run ever since.
In the intervening years, Americans have become more aware of the ways that Indigenous culture and designs have been appropriated by individuals and companies that share neither credit nor wealth with the communities that created them. There's been, of course, a decades-long national reckoning over racist or appropriative athletic-team names and mascots. Companies, too, have had their eyes opened to misuse or theft of names and designs. In 2016, the Philadelphia-based fast-fashion chain Urban Outfitters reached a settlement with the Navajo Nation over complaints the clothing retailer was making unauthorized use of the term Navajo and patterns inspired by Navajo designs. Land O'Lakes, the Arden Hills, Minnesota-based dairy company, removed an illustration of a Native American woman from its logo in 2020.
By the mid-2010s, the Miller family, who are all White, began to acknowledge their position: Native American designs had been their company's foundation, and had made them multi-generationally wealthy over the decades. Even the company's name, which comes from a nearby lake, was taken from the language of the Dakota Sioux tribe (it means, roughly, great water). Its moccasins have been mall staples and graced countless fashion spreads over the decades. The privately owned company declined to provide revenue data, but its shoes are available in about 4,500 retail stores in the U.S., and digital sales make up about half of its revenue, which has been reported in the past as $50 million.
Today, the company is reintroducing its Thunderbird moccasin, one of its signature styles since the 1950s, which featured beadwork of the Native American symbol seen by multiple Nations as one of protection and strength. Now called Animikii, which means "thunderbird" in Ojibwemowin, the new beadwork was designed by Lucie Skjefte, a citizen of the Red Lake Nation Anishinaabeg, in northern Minnesota.
Jori acknowledges the steps the company has taken could be viewed by some as empty gestures. "You have to have the patience to say, we are going to keep doing this," she says. "We are going to keep following up with more actions." But the process from realizing the company needed to change to relaunching one of its classic products was not straightforward.
"This whole thing started as conversations between me and my dad," says Jori, the company's president. About a decade ago, they began giving money to Native American organizations as a family, and they've since removed Native American-inspired imagery from the company logo.
"We weren't forced to do this. We weren't called out," says Jori, although the family knew that could happen and did not want to be unprepared if they were caught up in a viral protest. "It got to the point where it just became obvious it was the right thing to do," she says.
Still, there wasn't a clear path forward. In 2019, Jori and her father had lunch with a Native American acquaintance. She was direct. Jori recalls her saying, "I didn't know if I would ever hear from you about this, and I'm so glad that I did." Many Native Americans also began remarking that they've worn the shoes themselves, or put them on their children, with mixed feelings because similar shoes from Native designers or Native-American-owned companies weren't accessible.
Jori and David, the company's CEO, continued to engage with Native American community activists and leaders, and in the summer of 2020--while the U.S. was undergoing a racial reckoning following George Floyd's murder--they put up a statement on Minnetonka's website acknowledging the company's mistakes.
Toward the end of year, they were introduced to Adrienne Benjamin, an Anishinaabe artist and community activist. Within weeks of their initial meeting, Minnetonka offered her a paid position.
Benjamin worried about what members of her community would think. But she believed the Millers were earnest in their commitment, and had a spark of hope that working with Minnetonka could create a powerful example of allyship and systemic change. Native American images and designs have been used--often in insensitive ways--throughout U.S. history in fashion, entertainment, sports, and beyond. Perhaps here was an opportunity to address that history--and a chance to, at least in this one corporation, flip it.
Benjamin decided to come on board as Minnetonka's reconciliation adviser. With her guidance, on October 11, 2021, Indigenous People's Day, the company issued a public apology and a plan for moving forward, covering actions Minnetonka would take in hiring, terminology, sourcing, philanthropy, and engagement with Native artists and communities in Minnesota.
National news outlets jumped on the story. It was a scary moment, Jori admits: "All we could do was just push through and know that we had been building relationships, and that we had to take the leap."
Initially, David and Jori wanted to move quickly, bringing in Native American designers. "I thought by launching the product, we were walking the talk and not just saying words," says Jori.
Benjamin felt it was important for them to start at "a human level." She discussed how hurtful and insulting portrayals of Native Americans and misuse of their imagery was for Native communities. And she advised on a process for unwinding some of the hurt, before building back in what they hoped could be a culturally appreciative, beneficial way to the communities that inspired the company's products. "If somebody wrongs you, they have to know what they did, they have to acknowledge it," she says. Only then can they apologize and change their behavior. "Step one, we have to reel it all back."
"I felt like it was important for me to step into that role, and especially to keep it local, and impactful in Minnesota, and really give opportunities to folks that haven't had it before."
Skjefte, who created two original designs for Minnetonka before redesigning Thunderbird, said it was "their ability to step into this accountability"--and Benjamin's involvement in the process--that made her feel comfortable working with Minnetonka. They say working with larger brands can give Native designers visibility within the fashion industry--not to mention the kind of capital that could one day help them launch their own brands.
For Animikii, Minnetonka made Skjefte the sole copyright owner of the design, allowing her to reuse the design in the future. She was also paid a design fee and receives a royalty on every shoe sold.
Rebecca Hui founded New York-based Roots Studio to create similar opportunities for indigenous designers and communities around the world. Her company works like an agency, allowing brands and fashion designers to license traditional patterns while compensating the originators of the design.
Hui has not worked with Minnetonka, but believes that working with members of Native communities and continuing to have difficult conversations is important. "A lot of designers and brands are so scared of doing anything because they're afraid of doing it wrong," says Hui. "We have to have a constructive path forward."
At Roots Studio, she emphasizes understanding the designs, careful communication, and ensuring fair pay for artisans. Different indigenous communities have different traditions and different conceptions of ownership and how designs should be used, she adds, meaning each interaction will be unique and require a lot of learning. Roots Studio's library has detailed information such as whether a pattern or image is sacred, whether color changes are permitted, and guidance on usages that could be considered offensive.
Although Minnetonka's shoes are produced in China and the Dominican Republic, the company collaborated with Benjamin on collections of hand-beaded hats, and Jori says the company will continue to introduce collaborations with Native artists, focusing at first on working with local artists in Minnesota.
She hopes that her family's work to repair relations with Native communities and provide new opportunities to designers can provide a powerful example of how other companies can change their practices.
While younger companies may not have the historical baggage of cultural appropriation or may be mission driven from the start, she feels Minnetonka can provide an example to others of how "an older company turns the ship." "Our advisers are really encouraging us to lead here," she says. "We're really grateful and excited to be at a place where we have a strong enough foundation to start to do that."
Animikii marks the first time the company is using a Native designer to redesign one of its classic shoes, and for Skjefte, the shoe's new name has personal resonance: It's is a way of keeping the Ojibwemowin language alive, and it also happens to be her son's name.
With Animikii, a classic symbol of appropriation takes a step into the future, and this time Native Americans are claiming a piece of the narrative--and the wealth.
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