It takes a certain personality to go out in a hat. Especially an antique cloche with flower appliques, or a helmet of white feathers. People notice hats.

You can just imagine, then, the chutzpah of a milliner like Ellen Christine Colon-Lugo, who specializes in making and restoring such articles from her tiny, pink shop, Ellen Christine Millinery (255 W.18th St.; 212-242-2457). “This place used to be

Murder, Inc.!” she said, referring to the legendary mobster hit-man headquarters that occupied the space decades ago. “The mob used to run hits outta here!”

In distinct counterpoint to its spirited, fuschia-highlighted owner and the frilly wares she presides over, the shop – tucked away behind a front gate and discrete storefront – does not draw attention to itself. That is, until you crack open the door and Sam, Ms. Colon-Lugo’s miniature brown pinscher, jumps with joy from his peach-cushioned banquet.

Once inside, the shop feels like the boudoir of a well-kept woman, or, more accurately, a grande horizontale, circa 1905. Although the shop specializes in millinery (Ms. Colon-Lugo’s creations can be found monthly in any number of fashion magazines), there is an abundant variety of womanly necessities from every age on offer – blouses, coats, capes, handbags, gloves, dresses, jewelry – augmented with countless evening headpieces, sequin gowns, and all manner of glitter; it’s no wonder the stylists of celebrity clients make frequent emergency calls for accessories and advice. Style like this comes at a price, of course, but when you consider that $400 will get you a perfectly preserved, never-worn, Victorian burgundy silk-and-black velvet jacket, why buy a Marc Jacobs coat at the Bar ney’s Co-op across the street lined with – not silk – but acetate?

Whatever you do, don’t call Ms. Colon-Lugo’s wares vintage. “It’s not vintage!” Ms. Colon-Lugo said, raising her voice in her signature dramatic, governess-like way. “It’s antique! I don’t do ‘vintage,'” she added, signaling quotation marks with her hands. “Vintage is 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s. I only go up to 1947!” That means she isn’t interested in anything made after Dior’s New Look was launched in Paris, giving America and the world the wasp-waisted, full-skirted 1950s.

It was around that time that her grandmother allowed her to select a hat for Easter, and ever since that pink straw number, Ms. Colon-Lugo has been hooked on hats. In 1973 she moved from Puerto Rico, where she had been sewing nearly her whole adolescent life, back to her hometown of Philadelphia, where she apprenticed with an Italian tailor, and then to Boston, where she studied clothing design and assisted in putting together a well-regarded costume shop.

While in Boston she acquired a wealthy socialite’s collection of hats, 350 in all, and perfected her skill by taking apart and reassembling each one. Ms. Colon-Lugo relied on these talents as she pursued her Master’s and doctoral degrees in costume history at New York University while simultaneously working as a freelance stylist and costumer. She opened Ellen Christine Millinery in 1995.

As we spoke, Ms. Colon-Lugo took down a gray-and-brown striped suit from the 1910s, something a suffragette might have worn. Its silk black-and-white striped lining, slightly stained in places and a little frayed here and there, was magnificent, in near perfect condition. “Many people would have me reline this! What a pity! It’s so gorgeous – you can’t find fabric like this today!” She dressed me in the jacket, the cut so unlike the jackets of today that I really did look like a completely different person: a pigeon-breasted one, with fabric loose at the sides, and volume in the rear. The piece could very well be in a museum exhibit or period film. In fact, many Victorian pieces from her collection – hats, gloves, parasols, clothing for bridal wear to tea time, from lingerie to walking suits – are on view in the “Ladies Who Lunch” exhibition, through January 2 at the Emlen Physick Estate (Mid-Atlantic Center for the Arts, 1048 Washington St., Cape May, N.J., 800-275-4278).Though there are no price tags at the exhibit, everything is for sale.

“I’ve never bought with an eye toward museums,” she said as a petite woman with black hair in a precise bob entered the store. Sam jumped from the peach banquet in fierce recognition. “I was shopping for this dame over here!” shouted Ms. Colon-Lugo as she lunged to greet the woman, whom she introduced as Linda Zagaria, with an ecstatic embrace.

“What’s that?” Ms. Zagaria pointed to a red cloche-style hat with an emblazoned rose. “I had that rose for 30 years and decided to put it on a hat,” Ms. Colon-Lugo said. Gradually, they moved from felt hats to fur hats. “Ah, there’s nothing like a piece of dead animal on your head!” Ms. Colon-Lugo shouted. Ms. Zagaria tried on half a dozen hats, with Ms. Colon-Lugo, Andrea Fisher (one of her collaborators), and myself chiming in. This went on for well over an hour. Ms. Zagaria left empty-handed, as though she came in just to pass the afternoon dressing in hats and associating with like-minded women.

The next day another longtime customer, Harriet Iannelli, stopped in, and it became increasingly clear that this little shop is a meeting place for ladies from all over New York City – ladies who are interested in Victorian garb and dressing up. She made her way to a 1920s sequined lilac silk evening dress on prominent display. “The sequins back then were made of fish scales, not plastic like today,” Ms. Colon-Lugo noted.

Over the telephone the following day Ms. Iannelli told me about discovering Ellen Christine Millinery. “The first time I went in – well – it was like everything I had always loved and wanted but was too afraid to ask!” said the university administrator from Bayside, Queens. “I spotted a beautiful Edwardian hat, but it was out of my price range since I had only been working part time. I returned a little while later and it was gone, of course.” Since then she has purchased at least 150 items from Ellen Christine: “hats, hat boxes, Victorian coats, jackets, blouses, skirts, gloves, headbands, and hat pins.”

Does Ms. Iannelli wear all this stuff in public? “I used to wear most of it day-to-day but at my current job it’s not appropriate, too costumey. I might wear a Victorian jacket with a narrow skirt. If my sister Lois and I go for tea we really do it up, though.”

“The antique clothing feels so different than contemporary stuff, it’s a whole differ ent experience,” she added. Indeed, when one wears antique clothing, one is more aware of the movement of one’s body against the structure of the clothes. Take a Victorian blouse – the fabric is heavier than we’re used to, there are more layers, it fits snugly around the waist, and sits higher on the shoulders.

“I’m all about rip, torn, shredded!” Ms. Colon-Lugo said, when I asked her whether she prefers original to restored pieces. The perfect, never-worn look of her garments contradicts this. The worn-out aesthetic, however, is the focus of her Cape May shop (668 Washington St., 609-884-3888), which is three times the size of her New York City shop, and carries garments, hats, and accessories that have not been repaired – and are therefore less expensive. It’s what customers such as Suzanne Lord, who lives near Cape May, prefers. “I love the history. I like the authenticity of a piece when nothing has been done to it,” she told me over the telephone.

“I like mildew and the smell of old attics. I’m all about how an item of clothing breaks downs, how the dyes change from oxidization,” Ms. Colon-Lugo added. “These effects add some history. Wearing a blouse, it’s like little folks sitting on your shoulder, whispering to you!”