Many long-eared owls live in the forest in the corner of Norton Bay upstream from Koyuku Village. In the Iñupiaq language, it is called Natak. One year while at Fish Camp, Banik, Alice Bioff’s eldest daughter, was given the name Nataku because of her large, round, owl-like brown eyes.
These days, the word Naataq has a different meaning for Bioff. That’s the name of her business, Naataq Gear, which makes traditional indigenous clothing with a decidedly modern approach.
“We’re excited to bring garments inspired by our traditional atikuluk, kuspuk, to our communities here in Alaska,” Bioff said, adding that each one has a nearly identical waist-length hood. Expressed in Inupiaq and Yup’ik languages. The outer jacket has been a staple of Alaska Native clothing for generations. “We know there’s a need for it. People are really excited to see this garment.”
Bioff’s products look like many semi-formal modern atikuluks. Crafted from a solid block of subtle color, it features a vertical zipper running down the center between deep plunging pockets, and a touch of sparkly trim at the edges for a touch of flair.
However, the trick is in the structure. The Naataq jacket is made from a premium industrial fabric called Dintex, which is a type of super polyester and has a protective film applied to the fibers.
“It’s water-resistant, windproof and breathable,” Bioff said in an alcove not far from his booth at the Alaska Federation of Natives Craft Fair in downtown Anchorage.
[Alaska Federation of Natives honors Julie Kitka for more than 3 decades of leadership]
Even in the wee hours of the morning before the conference’s officially scheduled start, she watches a lively stream of customers pull red, purple, and black attikurugs from crowded racks and try them on in front of full-length mirrors. I was doing it.
“This is a huge deal for us,” Bioff said of the AFN competition. “This is where we connect with all of our communities and customers.”
Business is going very well. In just a few years, the Natak Coat has grown from an experimental prototype that Bioff tinkered with at the kitchen table in Nome, where she and her husband raise their four children, to a popular performance item known culturally across the state. I did.
The idea was born from luxury cruise ships. When the Crystal Serenity docked in Nome in 2016, it brought an unprecedented crowd of about 1,000 well-heeled tourists to the gritty downtown area. Bioff was employed by a local tourism company for the day, and a tall gentleman in a white cowboy hat happened to ask her if the atikuluk she was wearing was waterproof.
“That planted the seed,” she says, and she began researching different designs and materials that winter.
Within a few years, she developed a prototype and connected with a company based in St. Paul, Minnesota. The company believed it could manufacture it using high-performance materials that it knew were essential for a coat to be not just fashionable, but functional for women. True rural Alaska living.
“It’s made to be very wearable. It’s utilitarian. It’s outerwear that can be used,” Bioff said.
She considers atikuluk to be artistic, but it is not regalia. Bioff said people wear them when they’re picking berries on the tundra, trotting out to check for salmon nets, or driving their four-wheelers to pick up their kids from school. I think I want it.
And they are. Initially, she thought her main market would be tourists and visitors eager to bring a piece of Alaska home with them.
“But that wasn’t the case. It was local Alaskans. And to this day, those are the primary market and people in our community who love this product,” she says with a satisfied smile. Said.
The jump from test batches to funding the initial production run of atikluks was a big one. Bioff has always held a day job, working as a business planning specialist for Kawerak, a regional nonprofit corporation in the Bering Strait community. She didn’t have $30,000 to order the first 300 jackets she wanted to start selling.
“I had angel investors,” she said.
her brother.
“He said, ‘Okay, I understand you, but you have to pay me back,'” Bioff said. “This was a big change for my brother, who had worked as an aviation refueler all his life. … He gave his sister a chance.”
And it worked. Naataq gear doesn’t come cheap. Top models sell online for $200 or $300 each. But they sold. The following year, Bioff paid his brother back in full.
Since then, trading volumes have steadily increased.
“We’re going to have thousands of orders now,” Bioff said of the orders.
Naataq has a brick-and-mortar location on Norm’s Front Street on the second floor of the Post Office building. She employed four young people, two of whom worked in the store and the other two who were responsible for stock management. This small space, once the court clerk’s office, also sells works by local artists. Although the operation brings in some revenue, Nome is still a small town and the overwhelming share of sales comes from e-commerce and social media marketing, Bioff said.
This gamble was not purely financial. In the early days of the venture, Bioff faced criticism and disapproval for having indigenous cultural items produced in out-of-state industrial factories with non-traditional touches such as synthetic materials with zippered pockets. I was worried that I would face this.
“We were a little nervous because this is traditional costume, but we asked the elders and asked people back home, ‘Is it okay to do this?'” Bioff said. remind me. “And they were OK with it. I was nervous, but they accepted it.”
She doesn’t know where Natak’s ceiling is. Asked roughly how much the business was worth as a whole, Mr. Bioff sheepishly said, “I don’t know,” and then burst out laughing.
But they continue to grow. Bioff is ready to release the Atikuruku line for kids. And soon, she will be announcing some new items for sale, but she was cautious about details. The premise, she says, is no different from Atikuruk and others who have built their brand.
“We will … provide products that perpetuate a thriving and vibrant culture in our communities,” she said. “And to make our traditional clothing available to our families, especially our youth.”
With that, she went back to work in her booth. There, a line of women waited to try on jackets.
