UNTIL recently, the fashion-savvy sissy-boy has had to endure the taunts of ill-informed, poorly dressed bullies. For Jeffrey, the 9-year-old fashion emporium in the meatpacking district, this came in the form of a recurring skit on “Saturday Night Live.”
You probably know it: Jimmy Fallon and that week’s male host portray bitchy clerks working at a store called Jeffrey’s. The characters wear black outfits covered with zippers and belittle customers with withering comments like “I have Moroccan dental floss that’s more expensive than your entire wardrobe” and “DKNY are you wasting our time? Leave.” Then Will Ferrell, playing the store manager, enters wearing a Prada jet-pack or carrying a huge cellphone because “big is the new small.”
The sketch is still totally hilarious, but in a dated way, like an old “Friends” episode. This is because now, in 2008, we are all fashion-savvy sissies. “Project Runway” is in its fourth season, everyone owns a Jack Spade bag, and at least three-quarters of the population has had style makeovers or been told what not to wear by Tim, Clinton or Carson. Meanwhile, Jeffrey has turned into a mecca for fashion victims, which includes everyone.
We are all so opinionated and obsessed with fashion now that I bet you anything that at this point, Jimmy Fallon, Will Ferrell and probably even Larry the Cable Guy have walked into Jeffrey, traipsed over to the shoe section and exclaimed “OMG! I am LIVING for these Bottega woven leather loafers!”
Maybe I am just trying to justify myself, because it turns out that this is exactly what I said to my friend Carl after we walked through the glass doors of Jeffrey and made a beeline for the men’s footwear. We proceeded to prattle like pretentious twits for an hour and a half. But here, in this 12,000-square-foot fashion wonderland, you are encouraged to prattle, ogle and judge. Jeffrey has become a safe house where everyone goes to queen out over clothes.
We fawned over a pair of Bottega suede slip-ons with a fur interior and gum soles ($550), debated the merits of some Neil Barrett green leather ankle boots that were on sale, and contemplated a display of giant Sorel Caribou boots for $110 — this year’s hideous “it” boot, which looks like a duck shoe injected with growth hormones. We spent a moment in awe of Alejandro Ingelmo patent leather sneakers, available in shiny metallic blue, gold or purple ($450). Nearby a black Dries van Noten belt was a pricey $295, which didn’t make sense until I discovered that it had a reversible purple suede underside for those important nights when you feel like dressing like a scoop of sherbet.
The mix of desirable finds and hilariously expensive farces is what this store is all about. Drop by once a season for a survey of what is happening in fashion so that you can form your own educated, barbed opinions about rich people’s outfits.
Jeffrey Kalinsky opened his store on Aug. 2, 1999, on his 37th birthday, and he still selects every item. He grew up in Charleston, S.C., where his father has run Bob Ellis shoes for nearly 58 years. After some years in New York as a shoe buyer for Bergdorf and Barneys, he opened his first Jeffrey in Atlanta in 1990, on his 28th birthday, before moving back here to create this store.
The large room, separated into women’s and men’s apparel, along with makeup and jewelry counters, used to house offices for Nabisco back when Manhattan had factories. An odd large fountain trickles in the center of the space — Mr. Kalinsky installed it to bring in a little cheesy Charleston charm.
With its white-painted facade, flagpoles and showboat white-lettered sign over the door, it’s easy to see why Jeffrey was a target for satire back in ’99 when we were all so style-illiterate. But since then, the meatpacking district has become the Epcot of perverse luxury. Fancy neighbors with names like Stella and Alexander have moved in and set up shop. Their shiny floor-to-ceiling glass entrances display clothes at even higher price points. They look like cryogenic space capsules for Nicole Kidman and make Jeffrey seem like a down-home general store.
We hit Jeffrey last weekend, as it was absorbing new merchandise from spring ’08 collections. White shabby-chic catwalks were being installed; dress forms were half-naked. A busy visual merchandiser ripped the arms off a faceless female mannequin, making brutal clunky noises.
New offerings from Raf Simons, Ann Demeulemeester and other chattered-about designers floated proudly on the racks. The clothes are grouped by designer, which provides a constant tacky/tasteful contrast as you walk through the store. The understated clothes of Neil Barrett, including an airy crew-neck knit sweater ($560), were placed near a selection of John Galliano shirts and jerseys with kitschy silk-screen angels and flag motifs on the backs, just the thing for Bon Jovi’s on-tour hairdresser. I had a brief relationship with a soft tan Balenciaga corduroy blazer ($1,395), doomed when I noticed a pair of sweat pants from the same line with waist-ties that looked like corkscrew plastic telephone cord for $495.
The clothes kept coming at me: a brown T-shirt ($260) by Rick Owens was so delicate and thin I was afraid that if I touched it, my additional DNA would make it crumble. A gorgeous lightweight cashmere V-neck sweater from Missoni was $660, the price of a plane ticket to Spain. A perfect-fitting white Prada Sport windbreaker for $885 would have to be purchased by someone with no sweat glands who lived in a dirt-free community.
Carl tried on a munchkin-size blue blazer by Comme des Garçons ($1,195) that surprised us both by looking great, but only if you wore it once or twice, perhaps when representing the Lollipop Guild. I tried on a Junya Watanabe blazer ($1,095), purposefully wrinkled to suggest an exciting life in the bottom of a duffel bag. It yearned to get off my body and back on the pale, slopey runway model where it made sense.
We didn’t buy anything, but we left Jeffrey infinitely more informed, which is good because any day now, one of us may be asked to be Nina Garcia on a reality show for some fourth-rate cable network. This is entirely possible because, in case you didn’t know, in the future everyone will be a style expert for 15 minutes.
Jeffrey New York
449 West 14th Street (near 10th Avenue); (212) 206-1272
PLACE The city’s premiere store for the fashion fanatic, anchored at the end of the meatpacking district, is stocked with today’s stylish finds and fiascos.
SPACE The room is piped with loud dance music, and a maze of racks are organized by designer. Wander aimlessly from clothes to shoes to cosmetics, or take a rest at the trickling fountain and contemplate the value of $800 pumps.
FACE Unlike their parodied versions on SNL, the clerks are pleasant and way less obnoxious than you, traipsing around the store and freeing your inner Robert Verdi.
