STITCHED UP!
While the gospel of LuLaRoe spread coast to coast, the company at large was flying by the seat of its pants. The Stidhams, who have 14 children between them, installed their inexperienced offspring in executive roles.
“Did any of them have a clue how to run a company of this size? No,” former employee Derryl Trujillo says in the film.
Blevins grew skeptical when she started receiving shipments with damaged leggings — including wet pairs that she described smelling like “chlorine and death.” On Facebook, more customers were posting about how their LuLaRoe clothing was ripping on the first wear.
Sources in “LuLaRich” say it was emblematic of larger issues — like inexperienced leadership and growing too big too fast, which led to shoddy production.
“It was like flying the plane while you’re still building the plane. And you don’t even know how all the pieces of the plane work. And you don’t even know how to fly the plane. You’re not a pilot,” said Sam Schultz, DeAnne’s nephew and former employee. He was hired to produce company cruises and retreats where acts like Katy Perry and Kelly Clarkson performed.
On one cruise for top sellers, Blevins complimented a fellow consultant on how good she looked in a swimsuit. “She said she had gotten ‘the weight-loss surgery’ in Tijuana,” Blevins recalled. “She called over a mentor leader who told me all about it.”
According to former consultant Courtney Harwood, who appears in “LulaRich,” DeAnne pressured top performers to travel to Tijuana and undergo gastric-bypass surgery performed by her own doctor.
For Blevins, who was growing wary of a culture that was similar to religious fanaticism, it was another reason to defect. “I was like, ‘How do I get away from this conversation? Do you really think I need [the surgery]?’ That whole trip was very culty.”
Kimbrough believes DeAnne was feeding off other women’s money, hard work — and their adulation. “[DeAnne] was able to come up with a recipe to have people groveling at her feet. I give them credit for it because it happened for a long time, and they made damn good money.”
EVENTUALLY, there were more consultants than interested buyers. The market was too flooded to turn a profit.
And the lawsuits had started to pile up — numerous ones over copyright infringement, claiming LuLaRoe stole artwork to print on leggings. A 2017 class-action lawsuit challenged the company’s return policy, with customers alleging the leggings were of poor quality. The brand was also sued by a former supplier over unpaid bills.
As morale started to wane, the brand implemented a policy where consultants could send back stock for a refund of their wholesale costs. The change led to an exodus. “I believe LuLaRoe paid over a hundred-million in refunds during that time,” Blevins said.
She added that the cancellation of that policy, in late 2017, led to her breaking point because she couldn’t handle people on her team saying they were going to lose their homes if they couldn’t get refunds.
In 2019, the attorney general of Washington state filed a suit against LuLaRoe, saying it was a pyramid scheme that bilked thousands of people out of millions of dollars. The case was settled in 2021, with the brand paying $4.75 million.
When all was said and done, Blevins shelled out more than $78,000 for inventory and sold about $83,000 — a $5,000 gross profit. She earned about $65,000 in bonuses for signing up other women, something she now regrets. But she also took out a loan to buy the clothes and still has credit-card debt.
Harwood, who was one of the top consultants, had purchased a new house and matching Chevy Tahoes for her and her husband — all to keep up appearances and look successful on the LuLaRoe food chain, and because she believed the money would keep rolling in. When she left in 2018, she had to file for bankruptcy, losing her home, vehicles and even her marriage.
“I thought I was better than everyone else,” she tearfully says in the series.
Consultant Ashleigh Lautaha, who left the company, says in the doc that she got so wrapped up in the LuLaRoe culture that she only had time for either her family or her job. Her marriage broke up.
“The company got bigger than [the Stidhams] and what they could keep up with,” co-director Nason said of the couple. “They were putting out fires left and right.”
But she also sees how desperate women got caught up in the drive for success.
“There was a corrosive element of greed that was beyond them.”