WHERE THE WELL HEELED DRESS DOWN

The Simulacra That Was Barney's Brooklyn

This article previously appeared in the New York Times in 2010. 

A RECENT article on ArtThreat.net examined the Internet mini-sensation of the graffiti artist Banksy’s animation intro for “The Simpsons.” In the clip, Banksy lampoons the outsourcing of Simpsons animation cels to South Korea by showing the characters being drawn by candlelight in damp underground sweatshops. ArtThreat quoted Naomi Klein’s Twitter feed:

“I’ve seen Banksy’s Simpsons thing. It’s brilliant. Still, can’t help but despair at capitalism’s ability to absorb all critiques.”

Linda Holmes of NPR issued a similar lament:

“Has this bit led to more discussion of outsourcing and sweatshops, or more discussion of ‘The Simpsons’ and Banksy?”

Over the last 15 years, Brooklyn has gone from being a punch line on par with Siberia to being a place that Manhattanites will occasionally deign to travel to for dinner parties (with sufficient arm-twisting). The ritzier neighborhoods — Cobble Hill, Brooklyn Heights — have long been ready for infiltration by upscale retail establishments. Barneys New York sensed that Brooklyn was a natural fit for the “edgy sensibility” of the Barneys Co-Op chain, and now one exists on Atlantic Avenue, looking architectural and spacious and somewhat ... inevitable.

The affable staff — primarily wispy, 20-something hipster boys with conked neo-rockabilly hair, jeggings, buffalo-plaid shirts and dainty little sneakers in silver or leopard print — tends to look like a skateboard team composed of the cast of “Glee.”

In approximating the Brooklyn vibe, Barneys has gone for items irresistible to the well-heeled young yoga-mom. The look, in a nutshell, is Isabel Marant-inspired, unisexy, faded urban wear: thick oversize sweaters; leggings in wool, denim or leather; and damaged-yet-durable plaids by all the toothsome brands that are unavoidable in trendier retail establishments — Opening Ceremony, Alexander Wang, Rag & Bone and various confusable three-letter outfits (A.P.C., A.L.C., NSF).

The men’s section may as well be titled “Remembrance of Police Actions Past.” It’s all very ready-to-rumble in crusty W. W. II-style motorcycle leathers, leather-brimmed Harris tweed Confederate army caps, overcoats in thick duck and boiled wool, for the haute night-watchman along the Western Front.

Downstairs, the knotty pine floor gives the Jean Shop a cozy lodge feel.

A good deal of rack space is devoted to Opening Ceremony’s collaborations with Pendleton. These are wild-looking garments — bright coats in Native American blanket patterns and stripes, detailed with antler buttons.

The history of Pendleton Woolen Mills, I later read, is very much entwined with that of Native Americans, who, in the pre-Columbian era, made their own blankets out of bark and fur. Pendleton Woolen Mills unveiled its own jacquard looms in Oregon in 1909, and sent designers on research trips to live with various Native American tribes and find out what colors and patterns they preferred.

It was an early example of the seductive power of capitalism: Pendleton so nailed the Indian blanket market that other Indian blanket-makers eventually went out of business. Pendleton blankets were integrated into ceremonies and traditions of Native American life at the deepest levels. As a baby, you would be wrapped and christened in a Pendleton blanket; you’d wear Pendleton blankets to dance in tribal ceremonies, receive them as your wedding dowry, and pay down your debts with them. When you died, you would be wrapped in a Pendleton blanket, or one would line your coffin.

Something was rubbing me the wrong way, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then I put my finger on a prewadded NSF shirt, a garment affecting all the “realness” of a Vietnam veteran camouflage jacket, replete with a living-under-a-freeway patina ($195). On the next rack, there was another retro-camouflage jungle-jacket (Rag & Bone, $475). Among the handbags was a brass-studded Desert Storm sand-tone canvas field pack ($295). A fur-lined sleeveless Army parka in olive drab was $2,300.

Clothing is a language, and the Brooklyn Barneys seemed to have one sartorial message being recited like a mantra on virtually every rack: lock ’n’ load.

I like a faded military look, from a purely aesthetic perspective, so I am part of the problem. But I felt queasy seeing so many luxe faux-military fatigues, in Brooklyn’s fanciest new retail establishment. It felt a little too disconnected from the fact that we still have an actual war going on to be surrounded by rich Brooklyn moms pushing four-digit sticker-price strollers, chatting on new God-phones and fondling $965 Helmut Lang leggings while dressed like extras from “Apocalypse Now.”

Barneys isn’t the problem. Like Pendleton, it simply read the tea leaves and delivered the trends its audience wants to buy. I am just a little concerned that fashion in general seems to be directly reflecting our cultural schizophrenia. I mean, O.K.: hippies also wore combat fatigues and Native American love-beads, as a means of expressing solidarity with peoples oppressed by the American empire.

But I am not sure it counts as sociopolitical consciousness to pay too much for workless work shirts (for all the ditches we won’t be digging) or warless war shirts, for all the fights we keep forgetting are still happening over there. Can luxury combat fatigues really camouflage the fact that the falcon cannot hear the falconer? What rough boot slouches toward $2,000, waiting to be born?

But let us not speak of Afghanistan, nor capitalism — only Banksy, and Barneys. Pay no attention to that man beneath the Indian trade blanket. Look over here, ladies: the Pendleton Thunderbird car coat ($796). Get ’em while they’re hot. They’ll be a real hit this cold, cold winter.

Barneys Co-op

194 Atlantic Avenue (Court Street), Brooklyn; (718) 637-2234.

COOP Barneys, with its trademark insouciance, imports two big floors of swank retail verve to Cobble Hill.

CORP The staff is younger and kickier than the prices, which are mostly high, with reasonable items scattered around for confusion. (Cynthia Vincent silk romper for Co-op: $255.)

CARP It’s haute Salvation Army à la Salvador Dalí and the wacky sensibilities that brought urinals into the art gallery. Brooklyn’s bourgeoisie may safely let its beard mat into felt and start shouting at passing cars: It knows where to shop to look sexily impoverished.

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Theme song: Jack Black

Artwork: “Sister Rosetta,” oil on linen, Cintra Wilson 2023