Frill Seeking

This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

The New York Sun

If you’ve been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art lately chances are you’ve passed through the gilded hallways of “Dangerous Liaisons: Fashion and Furniture in the 18th Century.” There, the Costume Institute has installed sumptuous mise-en-scenes of the French aristocracy going about their daily activities – hairdressing, harp playing, seducing.


As my eyes dashed from the exhibit’s paillette embroidery to gowns of handpainted Chinese silk and ruched ribbons, I couldn’t help thinking how flat and inglorious much of today’s off-the-rack clothing is. And so I began to wonder: How could I add some of these visual jolts to my own wardrobe? There was a time, not too long ago, when a vintage beaded sweater seemed embellishment enough. But with vintage “looks” copied so widely these days, a style-conscious woman increasingly has to cultivate one-of-akind details in order to stand apart from the crowd. This is the sartorial legacy of the Baroque age: customization.


So I paid a visit to Archangel Antiques (334 East 9th St., 212-260-9313) to investigate simple adornments. A friendly purveyor of vintage clothing and accessories with a diverse selection of cufflinks, buttons, and trim, Archangel is the ideal place to begin your search for flounce.Years ago, when I first discovered its two side-by-side storefronts tucked away at basement level, I knew I’d found a gem, and, apparently, I wasn’t the only one: “We get many stylists in here, people engaged in theater costuming, also couturiers from Europe,” said Michael Duggam, Archangel’s longtime clerk. Just don’t ask him to name which couturiers, as the shop keeps everything secret.


Toward the back of the store is an old library card catalogue bursting with buttons. A search through it revealed tiny enamel flowers (1880’s), perfect for adorning shirt cuffs, and slightly larger, pressed-steel buttons (mid-19th century) that would look great dotting vents of pants and skirts and would stand up nicely as closures for heavy coats. The most expensive button in the shop is a small, porcelain, turn-of-the-century example emblazoned with a colorful lithograph of a French noble man. The nobleman is yours for $75; other buttons sell for just a few dollars. I left with five buttons from the 1870s made of papier mache and mother-of-pearl ($22 each) to revamp my old black angora-cashmere cardigan from Banana Republic. A visit to Archangel would be incomplete without a look at the antique lace trim – great for making cuffs! – and, should your inner Catherine de’ Medici need expression, detachable antique sleeves. I am planning to pick up a solid, wide piece of ivory lace to wind tightly around my waist in the manner of a cummerbund – a savvy way to incorporate a feminine feel while avoiding the Anthropologie Effect: too many bows in all the wrong places! Now, you might be thinking: a piece of lace I can tie, but sewing buttons or trim?


There are two options. If you haven’t acquired sewing skills during the recent domestic arts revival, don’t worry. There are a number of people, such as those at G &G Tailoring and Laundry (30 Grand St., 212-966-9813), you can hire to do the job well. And G &G can do major alterations: at the recommendation of a tony SoHo boutique I had a diaphanous, multilayered, white silk gown refitted there for $90. Go in and crop those ankle-length pants and have them restyled into sexy knickers, just like a Versailles courtier. Pair your new knickers with graphic knee-highs and strappy, simple heels, and, when the chill returns, a jewel-colored silk tank and a knee-length tweed coat.


To further boost your clothing’s spangle quotient, I suggest visiting the deliriously colorful M &J Trimming (1000-1008 Sixth Ave., 212-204-9595) and Tender Buttons (143 E. 62nd St., 212-758 7004). There you will find trim, beads, sequins, lace, fringe, appliques, buttons, and ribbons in every conceivable shape and hue. You can bring your bounty to Epy (77 E. 4th St., 212-674-1557) whose owners, sisters Bergica and Esperanza Cipriani, specialize in affordable custom lingerie but are happy to add trim, embroidery, and other notions to any garment, whether purchased there or not. I was thrilled to stumble upon someone who could do sequins since I’ve been searching for a black sequined beret a la Dietrich for years.The cost to add sequins to a plain black beret? $40.


From Epy, you can head southwest to investigate the embroidered purses, shoes, belts, and shawls by Rina Shah (646- Y OLA MONAKHO V 769-0978) currently on sale at the up-and-coming designer “incubator” store 30 Vandam (30 Vandam St., 212-929-5224). Call the F.I.T. graduate and she will have her workshop in Bombay customize anything that is embroider-able in two to three weeks (prices vary). Ms. Shah also works with shells, Swarovski crystals, and semiprecious stones, and frequently does pieces for local Indian brides and Bollywood stars such as Priety Zinta. She has done outrageously decorated jeans for private clients whose names cannot be divulged.


The merits of embellishments are well and good, but I’d trade every last rhinestone and ribbon on the planet for a wardrobe worked over by the ladies of Le Studio Anthost (2179A 24th St., Astoria, Queens, 718-267-8907). With their paint, woodblock printing, etching, acid, and soldering irons, textile artists Astrid de Saint Anthost and Vanessa Morel, French expats both, will turn any beloved item of clothing into a work of art for a price that’s astonishingly reasonable (when I inquired about painting an “exploded bouquet” on a white cotton dress, they quoted me $200). They just shipped out the fruits of their spring labor: embossed velvet dresses for Carolina Herrera’s Fall 2004 collection.


Though Astoria is hardly a modern-day Versailles, it’s not a bad place to embark on a quest for customized frills. And who knows? You might stumble upon the ghost of Marie Antoinette, trying to find her way back to the Met.


The New York Sun

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