Karen Fairchild loves fashion. And she knows her stuff, too, easily recalling specific looks from recent Balenciaga and Tom Ford collections and talking about her obsession over a certain pair of covetable Isabel Marant boots with the confidence of a seasoned fashion editor.
This all makes sense once you learn that fashion – and, perhaps even more tellingly, a strong sense of personal style – runs in her family. Back in the ‘70s, Karen’s great uncle, Bill Ellis, was a well-known Western retailer with three stores in Middle Tennessee. Karen, who is one fourth of the country quartet Little Big Town (her husband Jimi Westbrook is also in the group), made many visits here while she was growing up in Indiana and then Georgia, and grew to idolize her charming Uncle Bill in the process.
“I didn’t think about this until now, but I am kind of dressed like him today,” Karen said, glancing down at herself, while having her picture taken in the window at Lawrence Records, the legendary old school country music outpost on lower Broadway. “Silk shirt, Levis, cowboy boots – this is exactly what my uncle would wear. The only thing different is that he’d have on turquoise jewelry.”
Uncle Bill wasn’t Karen’s only early sartorial influence: “When the movie ‘Urban Cowboy’ came out, I can remember tucking my jeans into my boots just like I am today because Debra Winger had done it in the movie,” she said. “About that time I had a big cowboy hat with a feather on it like Johnny Lee’s. I wore that hat all the time when I was 11 or 12. I thought I was so cool!”
Well, if Karen’s current style is any indication, then she probably was.
My Uncle Bill opened his first denim store in Hendersonville in 1974. It was called Bill’s Britches and he sold nothing but Levis; I wore them today for the shoot in his honor. A gigantic pair of Levis hanged outside the store to catch attention – they were huge, and something that no human being could ever wear. People noticed them, though.
After a few years, Uncle Bill decided to get a little more sophisticated and branch out into western wear. He still kept selling Levis, but he added some upper-end clothing and changed the name to Bill Ellis Limited. He expanded and opened stores in Donelson and Green Hills; they’re all closed now. I vaguely remember visiting the Hendersonville store when it was Bill’s Britches, but I definitely remember the storefront of the one in Green Hills.
When I was little, Uncle Bill seemed like a star to me, probably because he lived near Nashville. In my mind, the fact that he lived here was the coolest thing ever, because I equated Nashville with Johnny Cash and Barbara Mandrell and Dolly Parton and, because of him, fashion and clothes.
Uncle Bill always looked great; he had his own distinctive style. He had the James Dean pompadour hair, all swished back; a little bit of jewelry, a little bit of flash, at all times; and good looking denim, of course. He was always in jeans and had great boots on, all the time.
He was such a spirited guy – the life-of-the-party at any family function – and also a really good person. He took good care of my father; they were really close. So my family used to come to visit Uncle Bill a lot. He had a house on the lake in Hendersonville, across from where June and Johnny Cash lived; we’d go out in his boat and drive by, seeing if we could get a peek inside. He actually did know them. The truth is, they were probably just acquaintances, but in my mind, Uncle Bill and the Cashes were super good friends.
When we’d come to visit, Uncle Bill used to stand in front of everyone and sing Johnny and June songs, holding a tennis racquet like a guitar. He used to try and get us kids to sing. Back then, I had horrible stage fright – even though there wasn’t even a stage and we were just in his living room. I actually really wanted to sing – I thought it was so cool, what he was doing – but I was chicken. He was always trying to draw me out, back when I was in that nine to 11-year-old age range, which is when you start feeling really self-aware and self-conscious.
Uncle Bill was never self-conscious; his whole side of the family was that way. My dad had a beautiful tenor voice; he used to sing in church. My gift comes from him. My sister sings, too; we used to sing together in church as well. Then at home, we were all singing along to the Oak Ridge Boys, and Dolly and Kenny and Glen Campbell and Johnny and Willie. You had two choices in our house: singing gospel or singing country.
Uncle Bill died before I move here in 1994; the rest of his family moved away, to Las Vegas and Chattanooga. We still keep in touch.
I still have one of Uncle Bill’s belt buckles. I also have some vintage jewelry that belonged to his sister, Helen – my grandmother. There’s a long silver chain with a locket and a big turquoise bracelet. I like to wear them when we go on the Opry, because then I feel like she’s there with me. I always think about Uncle Bill and my grandmother when we sing there because I know they’re just flipping out: they were huge country music fans. Really, they just would have just freaked that I get to do what I do.
My Uncle Bill opened his first denim store in Hendersonville in 1974. It was called Bill’s Britches and he sold nothing but Levis; I wore them today for the shoot in his honor. A gigantic pair of Levis hanged outside the store to catch attention – they were huge, and something that no human being could ever wear. People noticed them, though.
After a few years, Uncle Bill decided to get a little more sophisticated and branch out into western wear. He still kept selling Levis, but he added some upper-end clothing and changed the name to Bill Ellis Limited. He expanded and opened stores in Donelson and Green Hills; they’re all closed now. I vaguely remember visiting the Hendersonville store when it was Bill’s Britches, but I definitely remember the storefront of the one in Green Hills.
When I was little, Uncle Bill seemed like a star to me, probably because he lived near Nashville. In my mind, the fact that he lived here was the coolest thing ever, because I equated Nashville with Johnny Cash and Barbara Mandrell and Dolly Parton and, because of him, fashion and clothes.
Uncle Bill always looked great; he had his own distinctive style. He had the James Dean pompadour hair, all swished back; a little bit of jewelry, a little bit of flash, at all times; and good looking denim, of course. He was always in jeans and had great boots on, all the time.
He was such a spirited guy – the life-of-the-party at any family function – and also a really good person. He took good care of my father; they were really close. So my family used to come to visit Uncle Bill a lot. He had a house on the lake in Hendersonville, across from where June and Johnny Cash lived; we’d go out in his boat and drive by, seeing if we could get a peek inside. He actually did know them. The truth is, they were probably just acquaintances, but in my mind, Uncle Bill and the Cashes were super good friends.
When we’d come to visit, Uncle Bill used to stand in front of everyone and sing Johnny and June songs, holding a tennis racquet like a guitar. He used to try and get us kids to sing. Back then, I had horrible stage fright – even though there wasn’t even a stage and we were just in his living room. I actually really wanted to sing – I thought it was so cool, what he was doing – but I was chicken. He was always trying to draw me out, back when I was in that nine to 11-year-old age range, which is when you start feeling really self-aware and self-conscious.
Uncle Bill was never self-conscious; his whole side of the family was that way. My dad had a beautiful tenor voice; he used to sing in church. My gift comes from him. My sister sings, too; we used to sing together in church as well. Then at home, we were all singing along to the Oak Ridge Boys, and Dolly and Kenny and Glen Campbell and Johnny and Willie. You had two choices in our house: singing gospel or singing country.
Uncle Bill died before I move here in 1994; the rest of his family moved away, to Las Vegas and Chattanooga. We still keep in touch.
I still have one of Uncle Bill’s belt buckles. I also have some vintage jewelry that belonged to his sister, Helen – my grandmother. There’s a long silver chain with a locket and a big turquoise bracelet. I like to wear them when we go on the Opry, because then I feel like she’s there with me. I always think about Uncle Bill and my grandmother when we sing there because I know they’re just flipping out: they were huge country music fans. Really, they just would have just freaked that I get to do what I do.
-I + W
About our photographer: Kristin Barlowe is a respected Nashville-based photographer and director with hundreds of magazine and music video credits under her designer belt. Until she gets her website up and running, you can reach her at kristinbarloweinc@mac.com.neandwillie.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/IW-3.jpg” alt=”" width=”960″ height=”444″ />Karen was photographed on location at Lawrence Record Shop, located at 409 Broadway in downtown Nashville. The store has been there for over 50 years, and is chock-full of country classics on tape and LP, as well as some of the most eccentric titles from other genres that you’re bound to find in all of Music City. Contact the store by calling 615-256-9240 or check out their website at www.lawrencerecordshop.com.
-I + W
About our photographer: Kristin Barlowe is a respected Nashville-based photographer and director with hundreds of magazine and music video credits under her designer belt. Until she gets her website up and running, you can reach her at kristinbarloweinc@mac.com.
