Natalie Kraska is the co-creator and designer of Mary and Shelley, a line of vintage- and music-inspired, alternative fashion accessories made from deadstock materials that would otherwise be discarded. Co-created with her former fashion school classmate, Lindsay Dare, Mary and Shelley reflects their belief in individual expression and their commitment to empowering and amplifying the work of independent artists and designers.

When she’s not building her brand, Natalie works as a fashion educator and course developer at ICA Institute in Brooklyn, where she helps aspiring designers and brand owners gain the skills they need to bring their ideas to life.

Whether she’s teaching, designing, or collaborating behind the scenes, Natalie’s work is about helping creatives build brands that feel true to who they are — and making sure the process isn’t only creative, but long-lasting and profitable.

I interviewed Natalie in the Conscious Fashion Collective Membership as part of our Member Spotlight interview series.

Below are some of the highlights from the conversation, including:

How to balance merging aesthetics, sustainability, and functionality while building a brand,
The nuances of designing with deadstock,
And why the art of consumer buy-in is about creating high-quality products that have conscious production built into them.

What was the moment you knew you wanted to start Mary and Shelley?

It was a slow build over time. For a long time, I never thought I’d start a brand, let alone be the face of one. I was a quirky kid and never felt “fashionable”, even as an adult in the fashion industry. I was good at coming up with concepts, but always saw myself as someone who operated best behind the scenes.

Things noticeably shifted when I left my corporate job to become a freelance consultant for small, independent brands. I was inspired by other female founders and the scrappy, creative ways they built their businesses. There’s a real rush that comes from overcoming big challenges and problems with limited resources.

At the same time, my now co-founder, Lindsay, and I casually talked for years about how our aesthetic didn’t exist in the market. We felt too alternative for the mainstream but didn’t fit into any specific alt scene – like goth or punk – either.

Finding a launch product was easy. Most of the time, there’s a product I want to buy as a consumer, but can’t find. The guitar case-shaped handbag was one of those. It didn’t compete with any products my clients were making, and it fully embodied the kind of brand Lindsay and I always dreamed of building. Plus we were starting to see an opening in the market for others like us who felt in between any stereotypical fashion style.

What's the story behind your brand name?

“Mary and Shelley” is a nod to the writer of Frankenstein. That reference came early on, right alongside the idea of using deadstock leather. We loved the symbolism of bringing discarded materials back to life.

We also thought it was fun that on the surface “Mary and Shelley” almost sounds like a familiar feminine fashion brand — like “Alex and Ani” or “Alice and Olivia”. But for those who get it, there’s way more beneath the surface.

Since we also pull from music and subculture, Mary Shelley herself also represents our more rebellious punk-rock side. She and her lineage perfectly embody historic women who push boundaries. And Frankenstein’s monster has been parodied so many times that it’s become both dark and humorous – which fits our tone in the best possible way.

How do vintage fashion and music culture shape Mary and Shelley's brand identity?

They’re the foundation — music has always been my safe place. As a teen, I fell into what is now known as the “emo” scene, and it gave me a sense of belonging. Festivals and concerts were some of the only places where I felt fully free to express myself. Music helped guide me through a lot of dark times.

I feel nostalgic for that era because it felt like we were unknowingly building a subculture and community. The fashion came with it — band tees and mismatched vintage finds — were just as much a part of the identity as the music itself. The thrift store gave creative types something to experiment with at a time when cultivating your personal style at the local mall felt nearly impossible.

Over the years it's evolved, but music is still at the forefront. I usually build a playlist before I ever make a mood board.

How did you merge fashion aesthetics, sustainability, and functionality to create your signature guitar bag?

Sustainability goes beyond the materials you choose. It’s also about making a product that lasts and enhances your life. I started my fashion career in menswear and often thought, “Why don’t we have this for women?” Functional pockets, proper fits, durable fabrics, and hardware — these were expected in all price points in menswear. If a garment didn’t hold up, customers pushed back.

I wanted that same standard for all of us. It takes more thought and effort to combine aesthetics with utility, but it’s worth it. Even if you produce fewer styles, the result is a piece that doesn’t only look good in photos but also becomes someone’s favorite because it also works.

The fact that the guitar strap isn’t only a design detail – it works on a real guitar – is one example of this. A mix of beauty, practicality, and purpose is what sets us apart.

Can you tell us about your decision to work with leather, despite its reputation as a contested sustainable material?

Lindsay and I talked about this early on and felt that most “vegan” leather options are plastic — disposable and not built to last. We don’t eat meat ourselves, but as long as people do, leather remains a byproduct of the meat and dairy industry. In that sense, animal skins already exist — if no one uses them, they get wasted.

On top of that, choosing deadstock leather from the fashion industry lets us use materials that have already been produced and would otherwise be burned or sent to a landfill.

When you combine a long-lasting material like leather with strong craftsmanship, you create a product that’s built to last. Our motto is “made to be worn to death.”

As a whole, we try to educate gently. We don’t preach, but we aim to be as transparent as possible about our materials, our process, and our values. We talk about deadstock through storytelling on social media, behind-the-scenes content, and by emphasizing why quality matters. It’s about creating a community that’s informed, but also emotionally connected to what they’re buying.

We haven’t focused much yet on chemical processes or tanning methods, since we’re not creating new leather. We’d be open to offering a vegan alternative, as long as it’s durable.

What are some of the nuances and challenges of sourcing deadstock that people may not be aware of?

The biggest challenge is that once a material is gone, it’s gone. You can’t reorder more of the same, so you’re constantly designing around what’s available. That means making creative decisions based on limitations. Color, quantity, texture — it all varies. It’s not the easiest way to design, especially when you're trying to maintain consistency across products or plan for growth. But it pushes us to be resourceful and original.

From a sourcing perspective, the term “deadstock” is still relatively new in some global supply chains. So there can be a language barrier. You have to be clear that you’re asking for true leftover or surplus materials from previous runs — not “in stock” materials, which means something slightly different. That clarity takes extra communication and sometimes extra trust-building with suppliers.

How do we ensure that the conscious choice is the easiest choice for customers?

For us, using deadstock isn’t a marketing hook, it’s an ethical choice that’s baked into the brand because it matters to us. But we also know that most people don’t shop based on sustainability alone.

If a product is well-made, beautiful, and has a story behind it, it naturally becomes the right choice. The sustainability part is often seen as a bonus. Our job is to make sure the product speaks for itself. We strive for stringent quality control – it needs to look good, function well, and feel worth it. That way, customers don’t have to think twice. They get a product they love, and the conscious decision comes built in.

What has been the most surprising lesson from your pre-launch and early stage of launch journey?

One of the biggest lessons — maybe the most surprising one — is how scrappy you can be. There’s no official rulebook for launching a brand. There’s no set speed you have to grow, and you don’t have to follow the same playbook as the brand next to you. As long as you're following the legal rules, you can build a brand your own way.

I’ve also learned that asking goes a long way. I once asked one of my freelance clients how she got her brand on a popular clothing rental platform. She said, “I just asked.” Whether it’s pitching a collab, negotiating, or thinking out loud, you don’t need special credentials. You have to be brave enough to put yourself out there and often, brave enough to ask others for help.

I expected it to be hard work, but I was still surprised by the grind. The late nights, the constant problem-solving, and the emotional weight of launching a brand that’s so personal. It’s a lot. There have been moments when I questioned if I had it in me.

But the most rewarding moment, hands down, is seeing people want a product we dreamed up from nothing. Not a piece I designed for another brand, but a product that came straight from our vision and aesthetic. That kind of affirmation is hard to put into words.

To connect with CFC Members and get featured in one of our Member Spotlights join the Conscious Fashion Collective Membership, the ecosystem for growing your sustainable fashion career and business. As a CFC Member, you can:

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Building a Brand That Balances Style with Sustainability, and Function

CFC Member Spotlight: Natalie Kraska of Mary and Shelley