New York Times Article: Jean Shop NYC

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http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/27/fashion/27CRITIC.html?ref=fashion

Critical Shopper | Jean Shop

Jeans for the Lean Years

By MIKE ALBO

Published: March 27, 2008

DURING America’s most recent Gilded Age, which I guess ended last week, I wrote fashion copy for a men’s magazine. While coming up with witty headlines (“Beanies, Baby!â€) and justifying the existence of an $1,800 melon-pink cashmere sweater emblazoned with a skull (“adds a touch of rebellion under a blazer!â€), I witnessed firsthand the emergence of the premium jean.

Each day it seemed as if a new denim line was introduced. I would receive long news releases from this or that label, explaining the arcane techniques of baking, resin-coating, whiskering and sanding used to create an epochal pair of worn-in jeans.

Often they referred to the Japanese aesthetic virtue of wabi-sabi, the beauty that comes with age, as if each pair were a priceless ceremonial ceramic bowl created by the ancient Tea Master Sen no Rikyu himself. Brand-new threadbare jeans were given an instant history and then sold for three figures. My four pairs of premium jeans, so hip in 2005, now have broken zippers and disintegrated crotches, much like our economy.

Jean Shop opened in April 2003, at the height of precious, overdetermined denim. I walked into the store last week expecting it to be a relic of this recently bygone era, but the atmosphere seemed honest and the clothes built to last.

The narrow space is covered with clothes from floor to ceiling like an old Italian men’s store on Orchard Street, except that instead of lime green Sopranos suits, it’s dripping with denim. Pants hang in drooping stacks like parchment. In the changing rooms, a ragged patchwork of jean material serves as curtains.

There are baskets of tangled accessories here and there; one was brimming with multicolored bandannas, another with $68 webbed canvas belts. In the center are glass cases with bracelets and wallets, and a table displaying a pair of expertly disheveled dungarees.

While “Hot Rocks†played on repeat, the sales clerks — a beautiful, thin woman in a knit cap and a mellow, gravel-voiced man — greeted me like friendly bartenders, keeping busy until I was ready for help.

I was drawn to a black leather jacket with a buttoned mandarin collar hanging on the wall. A tag inside the collar said $58, and I thought: “Wee! The Gilded Age really is over!†Actually, that was the price of the T-shirt hanging inside the jacket, which was actually $2,300. Dreams die fast.

Racks in back displayed more jackets, including one in “cinnamon suede†for $900. I have three similar jackets that I bought at various suburban Salvation Army stores in my scroungy 20s, when I hadn’t yet developed expensive tastes and dressed like a member of the Lemonheads. This one didn’t have a wacky 1970s collar, and it had a nice weight and thickness. I never wear those suede jackets anymore. I want this one. Fie, my overpriced proclivities!

I found a row of dark jean jackets, each for $280. I tried on an extra small that was snug in the body and had nicely tailored, narrow sleeves. I’ve been looking for this jacket everywhere. It’s near impossible to find one that fits right and isn’t tricked-out with bleach spatters, gaudy logos and goofy embroidery.

It was time for the jeans. The female clerk explained the three styles, which, unlike those at other stores, were simple and made sense. The Classic has the lowest rise and fits snugly in the thighs; the Relaxed Fit has a higher waist and is slightly fuller in the thigh and seat; and the Rocker is a fusion of two, with a higher waist and the body of the Classic. She went to retrieve some options.

Every pair of jeans is $240, except for kids’ selections ($200). They can be worked over however you prefer at extra cost. Pants in varying degrees of wear and tear hang on the wall to help you express the distress you desire. For $60 more, you can also buy white jeans and have them dyed. Examples of various colored garments hang on the back wall, including a pair of scarily preppy salmon-colored jeans.

Eric Goldstein, an owner, does almost all of the washing, dyeing and finishing himself in the back of the store. He explained that the highest-priced customized jean, at $600, would have the customer’s name on the waistband and be worn-in to look 10 years older, with patched-over holes on the knees and hand-sewn back pockets. In other words, a pair of jeans that look as if they’ve been worn by Pete Doherty through his last 17 court dates.

Mr. Goldstein has worked in denim for close to two decades, first helping to start the Ralph Lauren RRL line, and then for the Gap. Having worked in the industry during its premium heyday, he has probably seen his fair share of overwhiskered frittery and knows how to create classic-fitting, worn-in clothes without overdoing it.

Despite his vast knowledge of fabrics and finishes, Mr. Goldstein says that raw, untreated denim is the way to go these days. He encourages customers stuck in the Age of Excess to simply wear their jeans, let things happen naturally and stop trying to faux-paint their wardrobe.

FOR half an hour, I stepped into Rockers and Classics in six different sizes, assessing them as if they were running shoes. When I walked out to stare at myself in the mirror, the guy with the gravelly voice tugged at my waist and urged me to go a size smaller. I was cautious because I’ve made this mistake before and ended up buying too-tight jeans that I never wear because they give me a muffin top and self-esteem issues.

The salesclerks listened to my concerns with full attention. They both assured me that after a week, the fabric would give. Then they gave me a shot of Herradura tequila. Their names are Peter Brandewein and Sierra Hines-Owens, and they are my new favorite people.

I bought a size 28 Medium Rocker Fit for a fresh $240. It seems the Gilded Age has permanently stamped us with a higher price point, no matter how classic the product.

It’s the next day, and I am writing this while they dig into my waist, as I wait for them to mold to my frame. I may have spent a wad of money and permanently disfigured my lower intestinal region, but eventually these jeans are going to fit really well and last me through the recession, even if it lasts for the next 25 years.

Jean Shop

435 West 14th Street (between Ninth and Tenth Avenues); (212) 366-5326.

TOUGH SKINS A meatpacking district joint for well-made leather jackets and pricey denim in comprehensible sizes and styles. Every pair comes raw and stiff, but can be dyed and distressed to your specifications.

TOUGH LOVE The clerks wear smiles and unassuming grunge-wear. They patiently let you try on jeans until you find the right style, and will persuade you to buy the painful pair that, they promise, will loosen into a perfect fit.

TOUGH TIMES If you are a Bear Stearns executive blowing your last bloated bonus, you can come here for something durable. The denim is not cheap, but it’s worth more than those shady derivatives you loved so much.