Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Once Upon a Time There was Loehmann’s

Getting married in my Loehmann's dress.
When I was a little girl, I was transported by my fairy godmother, (okay, by my real mother) to a magic kingdom where the chairs were gilded, the chandeliers were crystal and an enthroned empress with silver hair presided over landscape of satin and silk in every color of the rainbow. From her perch at the top of a sweep of stairs, the imperial sovereign—in a long black dress and ankle boots (it was rumored she kept cash in her bloomers)—was serenaded by a chorus of ooh, aahs and “Would you believe this price? An Oleg Cassini. Such a steal.” Sweeter music was never heard than those arias of joy, of thrilled discovery, sung soprano by customers on the sales floor of Loehmann's, the fashion emporium of my Brooklyn childhood.

Loehmann’s flagship store stood on the corner of Bedford Avenue and Sterling Place, a mecca that drew true believers in high fashion at discount prices from all five boroughs, Long Island, Westchester County and, likely, the ends of the earth. It was ruled by a former department store buyer, Frieda Loehmann who was probably a very sweet lady. But with cheeks rouged scarlet, in her mourning get-up, with a boney finger waggling at shoppers who were sloppy at re-hanging, she made for a formidable figure. A little scary. (Okay, a lot.) And then there was a place called The Back Room. How’s that for nightmare material? In fact, The Back Room was the repository of the store's most exquisite merchandise, couture clothes at everywoman prices.

Loehmann’s—which didn’t carry menswear—was no place for the hairy gender. Yes, they were allowed in, but then immediately sequestered. Husbands mostly, having driven their wives to the store, they took their rightful places in chairs clustered at the door or on the landings where they dutifully read their newspapers and tried mightily not to look at the aisles where bizarre rituals were taking place. Here, between rows of racked garments, women of all ages, sizes and shapes did quick asexual stripteases. Back then, Loehmann's provided no dressing rooms. Perhaps their absence had to do with the Judeo-Christian ethic—waste not (on curtained, mirrored cubicles), want not (room for more racks). So, right there in the aisles, in full view of each other and anyone who dared peek above the pages of his New York Post, women stripped down to their slips (full and half), or panties and bra or (oy!) girdles, before stepping into whatever dress or skirt looked promising. 


 At age five, I sat cross-legged on the floor coloring in the book my mother brought along to occupy me, only occasionally glancing up at the show above. At eleven, when I was becoming a stranger to my own body, I found the process fascinating as I wondered which permutation of infinite variety of female I’d soon grow into. By thirteen, after a Loehmann's location, one with dressing rooms, opened on nearby Flatbush Avenue, I was beyond observing, eager to get started riffling through racks for myself. Not so fast, my mother declared. First, a few lessons. And so I was instructed in the art of good tailoring, taught to look for covered buttons, smoothly stitched seams, well placed darts. And drilled in the science of the discount. Twenty percent off? Feh! Seventy? Sold! Thus schooled, was I allowed to shop. And oh, did I shop.

At Loehmann’s I found the dress I wore on my prom date with my first boyfriend. Kelly green peu de soie, full skirt, spaghetti straps. Also, the Malcolm Starr one-shouldered floor length I slithered into for my Cousin Eddie’s wedding, and the chiffon and lace mini I danced in at my Cousin Steven’s reception. Loehmann’s produced the quintessential black dress—an Albert Nippon design—for the dream job I snagged when I returned to Manhattan after college. It was my go-to garb when I hit the town as a restaurant and theater reviewer for a New York entertainment magazine. Enshrined in my memory, it remains the most flattering piece of clothing I’ve ever owned. I met Robert Kennedy in that dress and fruged in it with Mayor John Lindsey. I was wearing it at the Rainbow Room where I’d been assigned to review the supper club’s act. Later, on the dance floor, spinning away from my date, I tripped and was caught before hitting bottom by two strong arms, attached to… a smiling Rock Hudson. 

Stunning, faithful, always appropriate, it was perfection I couldn’t bear to part with, even as it came apart. I had it dressmaker-repaired twice. Finally my boss said, “Listen, kid, I’m giving you a raise if you promise to spend some of it on a new dress. Enough already with the Albert Nippon.”

I bought my wedding dress at Loehmann’s. Not the one for my first, an elopement. For that whirlwind ceremony, I dug out of my closet a pretty, but not well made, not Loehmann's, frock. But my second, country club, wedding demanded a show stopper. After coming up empty at Baltimore’s high-end boutiques, I landed at... where else? Loehmann’s, with my daughter. Only eight years old, Amanda had an eye for quality and style. She was a natural and she spotted a white satin sheath with a triangular rhinestone-studded accent. Simple but striking. It was a dazzler. 

My most recent Loehmann’s experiences took place in a store ten minutes from my Maryland home. But they didn’t begin to approach the old heart-stopping excitement of the Brooklyn phenomenon. Good, but not fabulous stuff in The Back Room. No super bargains in the rest of the store that stood in the suburban shadow of its former glory. And then, a month ago, the news came flying in from my school friends, women long out of childhood and Flatbush, but only a phone call, an email, a Facebook posting away. “OMG, Loehmann’s has filed for bankruptcy. For the third time, but now it’s for real. Stores are closing; they’re definitely going out of business.” 
What a shock, what a shame, what a loss, we all lamented. The end of an era. Well, maybe for them, but not quite for me. Because in my closet still hangs a rose colored swirl of a cocktail dress I bought at Loehmann’s two decades ago. Timeless. I wore it to a wedding last year. Empress Loehmann would have approved. The label? Designer, of course. And I just checked the smooth seams and the covered buttons. Unlike its source, it’s going to last forever.

Do you have Loehmann's memories to share? Or, like my black go-everywhere dress, favorite garments you want to celebrate? We'd love to hear from you.

18 comments:

  1. Alas poor Loehmann's, gone to retail heaven if one exists, with Syms and Alexander's, May's and Klein's at Union Square. There is an old New Yorker cover that I remember with a covey of matronly winged angels shopping delightedly at now-defunct stores.

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    1. Pearl: I used to live on 14th and Fifth in Manhattan, directly across the street from "Madame Klein's On the Square," as we used to call it, tongue in cheek. Great bargains, but not as upscale as Loehmann's in its prime. I can relate to the New Yorker cartoon. Those storeswere heaven for a young woman on a budget.

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  2. As they say. . . thanks for the memories!

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    1. Amazing how many people remember the stores of their childhood, Kathryn. I have a friend who can count off every shop, in order, in the downtown area of her Midwest town.

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  3. Reminds me of the passing of a very elderly aunt. She has long not been the unique treasure she was in earlier years, but those are the precious memories we cling to...and always will.

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    1. When my precious great-aunt went into decline, her children asked extended family not to visit her in the nursing home. She didn't recognize even her nearest and dearest in her severe dementia, and they wanted to preserve her dignity as she approached 100. It broke my heart as I acceded to their wishes, but perhaps they were right, Linda. My memory of her--elegant and articulate-- is what lingers and I believe she would have wanted that.

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  4. I remember Loehmann's in the Bronx on Fordham Road. My work wardrobe consisted of dresses on sale for $13.95. I had a great work wardrobe for so little money. There will never be another Loehmann's. This is indeed the end of an era.

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    1. Never been to the Bronx location, but have a friend who shopped there regularly and said it was a treasure trove. My theory has always been that the price of the clothing you buy is not nearly as important as the taste of the person who's buying it.

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  5. Well, it's really Ruth. I wrote you a nice reply, and Google didn't like it bec this is not exactly my computer.

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    1. I know you're traveling, so a special thanks for responding. Wherever you are, Ruth--South America?--I hope it's warmer than where I am. Have a great time!

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  6. I wrote a nice reply also, and it appeared to post but I see it's not here. I will miss Loehmann's of yore, but it hadn't been like it was for a long time, so I wasn't going much anymore. I suppose this was true of lots of people--and the result is that they are now gone.

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    1. Thanks for your persistence, Nancy, BTW, Nancy Baggett has a wonderful food bog that's currently featuring a perfect recipe for a chilly evening's supper: a hearty, healthy vegetable soup. You can visit her beautiful photos and simple but delicious recipes at: http://www.kitchenlane.com/

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  7. We had nothing like that where I grew up at the ends of the earth in the wilds of Florida. I'm jealous!

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    1. It was fun while it lasted, Willa. But, these days there are outlet stores scattered across the country. And my new go-to place is Nordstrom's Rack. A male friend reported he buys all his clothing--suits, ties etc. --from The Rack and saves a bunch of money over standard Nordstrom prices. If you don't mind wearing something that's not super up=to-the second trendy and may have been offered last season, you'll find some great deals there.

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  8. So where do we go now for couture at Loehmann's pricing? My first visit to Loehmann's was in Pittsburgh. My mother kept telling me about Loehmann's at the mall. On one visit to Pittsburgh, she took me there. I was horrified to find a current season of an Escada jacket for $50. I was moonlighting at Neiman-Marcus in Houston and we were selling the same jacket for $550.

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    1. Hi Catherine. Glad to have you on board. See my response above for good alternatives to Loehmann's. True, they don't offer designer mark-downs, but at least you know you're getting high quality at decent prices. Love your Pittsburgh story. That Escada jacket is a perfect example of how shopping Loehmann's was like mining for gold.

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  9. The Midwest didn't have outlets when I was growing up so bargain outfits had to be homemade. When I married a New Yorker, that was my first exposure to Klein's and Alexander's and Loehmann's. My mother-in-law was a pro and taught me fast. Just last June I took a California granddaughter to Loehman's off 16th street in Manhattan. She was hooked and will be sad that it is no more. Thanks for your great story, Toby.

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  10. I grew up in the Bronx, and every pay day, I would go to Loehmans on Fordham Road, I was very well dressed; and loved going on a Saturday when there was mahem in the fitting rooms, all sizes and ages of women crowding, and shouting ":If you don't want it, I'll take it from you." no returns, cash only, Loved the sales ladies, and got to know the coat ladies, who always said, "Wear it in good Health" when I finally made a purchase, got my first maxi coats, a leather vest and tweed skirt,,,Wow, those were the days.

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