Linda Wachner: A Powerhouse Who Redefined the Possible

Linda Joy Wachner was a pioneer—a force of nature who redefined what was possible for women in corporate America. Like most trailblazers, she paid the price for being first. But what she achieved, and how she did it, will always command admiration.

Few people truly understand how much Linda did to advance the role of women in business. At a time when boardrooms were closed to women, she walked right in, shattered the ceiling, and rewrote the rules.

Linda had already worked at Warnaco and made it to Vice President before leaving to turn around Max Factor. When Max Factor was sold to Beatrice Foods, Linda tried to buy it. When that didn’t pan out, and she heard there might be a play for Warnaco, she didn’t wait around. She assembled a group of investors, raised $500 million from Michael Milken, and pulled off a hostile takeover that made her the first woman in America to personally finance and lead a corporate acquisition of that scale.

She wasn’t handed the reins. She took them.

At a time when the likes of Steve Wynn, Carl Icahn, and Ron Perelman were rising to power, Linda was the only woman in that league. She was also the only one to use high-yield financing—junk bonds—to acquire and lead a Fortune 500 company. (With all due respect to Katharine Graham, she inherited The Washington Post—Linda built Warnaco with her own fire.)

The Day I Met Linda

I met Linda in 1997, after Warnaco acquired Designer Holdings, the licensee for Calvin Klein Jeans. At the time, I was manufacturing most of the adult denim and held the sublicense for Calvin Klein Jeans for kids. That acquisition made Linda my client—and my licensor.

During the transition, I found myself at Warnaco’s offices. I asked to meet Linda, who was in a meeting. I told her assistant I’d wait. Eventually, she called me up.

She was still in the middle of her meeting but came to the door to say hello.

“You’re the jeans guy,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied, “and I’m also the guy who knows where all the bodies are buried.”

She laughed. Then she turned to her team and said, “Let’s take ten.”

We talked for ten minutes—and that was the start of a remarkable working relationship.

A Million Jeans and a Promise

Later that year, we had breakfast at the Peninsula Hotel. She asked, “Can you produce a million pairs of jeans for December?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.

“Can you make them for $10 instead of $11.50?”

“Yes again.”

“If you can do this,” she said, “as long as I’m in charge, no one else will ever make Calvin Klein Jeans for me.”

She gauged me in that moment—and decided she could trust me. I kept my word. And she kept hers.

Linda was fascinating—smart, direct, generous, and surprisingly funny. She named her dog EBITDA. Once, when I joked that he looked thinner every time I saw him, she laughed harder than I expected. That was Linda: sharp and strong, but never above a good joke.

A Bottle of Haut-Brion and a Lesson in Integrity

One evening, she told me her favorite wine was Haut-Brion 1982. I personally believed the 1989 was the best vintage ever. The next time we had dinner, I brought both. I arranged with the sommelier to serve the 1982 first—unlabeled—and then the 1989.

She loved the 1982, as expected. But when the 1989 hit the table, she nearly jumped out of her seat. “That’s the best Haut-Brion I’ve ever had,” she said. It was a perfect night.

The next day, a Breitling watch arrived at my office, a gift from Linda. But she called shortly after and said, “I loved the wine. But I can’t accept a gift from a vendor, even if it was innocent.” I never wore watches, so I gave it to my son, Stephan.

That was Linda—gracious, but principled.

Loyalty, Pressure, and Grace Under Fire

She had no tolerance for mediocrity. She was hands-on, demanding, and razor-sharp in her ability to read people. She pushed her teams hard, but always measured their worth accurately. You knew where you stood with Linda.

In July 1998, I saw her again—just a few seats away—at the front row of the Four Tenors concert by the Eiffel Tower. I nodded. She smiled. Later, she told me she cried during the performance. She had a depth that wasn’t always obvious—but it was always there.

When Calvin Klein sued Warnaco for selling to Costco, he made it personal. The language was harsh. I could tell how deeply hurt she was, not just by the lawsuit, but by the cruelty of it. What the world didn’t understand back then was that without off-price channels, no brand could sustain margins. She knew that. She was simply ahead of her time—again.

The Deal That Ended With Dinner

In 1998, Linda bought the Calvin Klein kids business from me. We agreed on a $45 million valuation, but her team came up with a complex structure involving stock and performance triggers. I pushed back.

We were in the Warnaco boardroom. I said, “Why can’t you just cut me a check?”

Before anyone else could answer, Linda chimed in from the far end of the table:“I’ll cut you a check. Now let’s you and I go have dinner.”

In the car, she leaned over and said, “Don’t think I forgot the interest cost. But you were a gentleman this afternoon.”

I had given a $1.5 million discount on the fall buy earlier that day. Like with the wine—she gave it back.

A Personal Note

Linda often spoke of her late husband. It was clear she adored him, and I suspect he was the one person in her life with whom she could truly let her guard down. She was fearless in business, but like all powerful people, she longed for someone who simply saw her.

After she left Warnaco, I never heard from her again. I eventually sold my wine collection—but I kept one bottle of Haut-Brion 1989. Just in case Linda ever calls to have dinner.