At her kitchen table, Kollo sifts through piles of black-and-white photographs from Romania. One photo shows her on the set of a 1980 photo shoot for the Romanian magazine Flacara. She is dressed in a white cotton overlay constructed from the lace trim of a bed sheet. Her long, wavy hair is swept across one eye. Married and in love, Kollo says this was one of the happiest times in her life. But what the lens couldn’t capture is her disgust with the hypocrisy of her circumstances. She praised a regime she detested, sang an anthem she didn’t believe, and represented a country she didn’t respect. Nationalism was forced on Romanians, Kollo says. She knew that she had to find a way to leave.
“Every single day it was like I was trying to beat the lie detector so that nobody would read my thoughts,” Kollo says. Her desire to flee Romania increased as her daughter grew. By the time Cristina approached her third birthday, Kollo and Balaesh’s plans of escape were established. The couple pleaded with officials to grant them clearance to travel to a soccer match in Paris, a guise for their plans to escape. Balaesh’s father believed the couple’s plans to be authentic and used his connections with the government to convince officials to issue passports. The government agreed, but on one condition: Cristina had to stay in Romania as collateral.
Below: Kollo with the wedding dress she designed for her daughter Cristina.
Bottom: Kollow shows her attention to detail on the cuff of a hand-sewn sleeve made with wool, lace, and ribbon.
On August 11, 1984, Kollo and Balaesh enjoyed a gathering with family and friends to celebrate Cristina’s third birthday. The couple chatted with relatives, concealing the fact that in less than twenty-four hours they would be en route to a secret location in Europe. With the car packed and waiting, Kollo was unable to grasp the severity of her situation and the decision to leave Cristina behind.
“We had to lie to everybody, even my mother,” says the designer. “We had to keep it a secret because we were afraid if we told one soul, they would tell someone.” Kollo kissed her daughter goodbye that day, hoping they would be reunited in a free country.
Upon the discovery of their escape, both the government and the couple’s family were furious. Balaesh’s father was fired from his broadcasting job for his broken promise, and Balaesh’s brother was dismissed as a military pilot. The government attempted to track down the couple. Kollo feared for their capture because the Romanian government had condemned Balaesh to death. The couple knew that they could never return to Romania.
The government held Cristina in Romania as leverage and the wait for reunification was excruciating for Kollo. While international law prevented Cristina’s legal detainment, the involved bureaucracies took time. The only thing that stopped Kollo from risking a return to Romania was the knowledge that her family would never be reunited if she left her husband in Europe — the law was void if the couple separated.
“I don’t know how I survived,” she says. The couple sought the help of the International Rescue Committee, which relocated them to Los Angeles after three months of hiding in Europe. The organization intervened and forced the Romanian government to let Cristina go. After thirteen agonizing months, Kollo got her daughter back.
Reunited in L.A., the family constructed their new life. Although adapting wasn’t easy, Kollo managed to teach herself English by pasting sticky notes with words and phrases around her dingy apartment. Fortunately for Kollo, fashion-forward L.A. was ripe with opportunities for seamstresses.
A sizable Hungarian population offered Kollo the ability to network in the foreign city. She quickly met James Galanos, a prominent L.A. designer and one of the more well-known names in eighties fashion. Galanos was famous for his silk fabrics, hand-sewn beading, and glamorous gowns. He was one of the first American couture designers. After recognizing Kollo’s talent, he immediately put her to work in the midst of his booming career.
Galanos introduced Kollo to different materials and a different process of design. She never doubted her abilities to sew, but she had no idea that the craft existed at such a fine level. As a pattern maker in Galanos’ studio, she learned the art of couture design and fortified her style using high-quality fabrics.
“A blouse for the daytime was $1,600 twenty years ago, and evening dresses were $30,000,” Kollo says. “At that time it was unheard of. Nobody paid that much for a Paris designer. But they paid that much for him.” Galanos designed pieces for Nancy Reagan and Diana Ross and crafted $35,000 gowns for Italian princesses. Kollo remembers working with Nancy Reagan on numerous occasions — especially to make a black-and-white-striped silk and gabardine wool dress for the former first lady.
Above: On the set of a photo shoot for Flacara, a Romanian fashion magazine, Kollo (second to the left) wears a dress she made from the lace of a bed sheet. Dan Balaesh (far left), her ex-husband, wears a shirt made of the same fabric. The model with her child (far right) is wearing Kollo’s designs as well. (Photo courtesy Elizabeth Kollo).
Although immersed in a prestigious niche of the fashion industry, Kollo was put off by the glitz and glamour of Beverly Hills. “Nothing ever really impresses me about the materialistic part,” she says. “I enjoyed it, but my dreams weren’t exactly to work on expensive merchandise. My dreams were to live in a country where I can travel, where I can say whatever I want to say, and where I’m free.”
Kollo yearned for a more low-key lifestyle where she could provide a decent education for her three daughters, and this desire brought her to Portland, Oregon. She began working at an exclusive boutique and then became the head of the alterations department at Saks Fifth Avenue downtown. Cindy Tortorici, the former general manager of Saks, says that Kollo was a godsend. “It’s a very rare talent to be able to create couture creations,” she says. “It’s a trade.” But taking care of her children outweighed all other priorities, including pursuing big-time success in fashion. “During these past years, I could have adventured and tried to make it big. But it wasn’t important to me,” Kollo says. “It was more important to be home when [the girls] come from school, to be able to take them to piano lessons and gymnastics... I very much loved being a mother.”
Nestled among the supermarkets and grade schools of suburbia, Kollo’s life as a high-profile couture designer is discreet. Yet her pieces continue to astound her loyal following of clients, who seek out her unique and quality craftsmanship.
A premier client is Arlene Schnitzer, whose philanthropy includes primary funding for Portland’s Schnitzer Concert Hall and the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art at the University of Oregon. Schnitzer relies on the designer for her entire wardrobe. “I always say, ‘If it wasn’t for Elizabeth, I’d be a recluse,’” she says.
“If you have a comfortable life and you love what you are doing, you are successful.”
On April 5, the Power of the Purse charity event featured high-visibility local attendees such as Nicole Vogel, publisher of Portland Monthly, State Senator Avel Gordly, and Schnitzer. Kollo’s newly stitched bag was a big hit at the event and auctioned off for nearly $3,000. “She is truly amazing,” says Schnitzer. “One of the most intelligent women I know.” Schnitzer says that living under the communist regime gave Kollo the determination to provide for her daughters in a free country.
Like the designs mastered with her keen eye and vibrant imagination, Kollo had a vision for the way she wanted her life to be and designed accordingly.
“In my mind I am successful, and I think that’s what matters — how you think about yourself and how you define success,” she says. “I think that if you have a comfortable life and you love what you are doing, you are successful.”
Above: Kollo (center) and daughters Anna (left) and Liz Balaesh at the Power of the Purse event in Portland, Oregon. All are wearing Kollo Originals.
