The Dirty, Pretty Secrets of Upscale Consignment Shops

Erika Kawalek is covering fashion week for DoubleX, not by watching the runway, but by observing what clothes women are throwing away. Read her first dispatch here [2].

To launch a slide show of consignment store fashions, click here [3].

Last Thursday, during Fashion’s Night Out [4], I opted out of the regular retail stores, like the uber-hip boutique Opening Ceremony where Rodarte’s Mulleavy sisters were scheduled to appear. Instead, I decided to spend the evening perusing the racks of the deluxe resale and consignment shops on the Upper East Side in search of the random sartorial effluvia of New York’s wealthiest women.

Consignment stores are the opposite of retail—they specialize not in what the rich and superstylish want (or what they are supposed to want) but in what they deem passé. And they contain secrets, too: what the formerly rich or formerly superstylish are forced to sell for cash. Middle-class women consign their designer castoffs in these shops, too, but the bulk of the goods come from the closets of New York’s superrich. Only the managers have a clue as to why the items are being consigned, but they don’t ask too many questions. As Albert Frémy wrote of the Paris’ consignment doyenne, the “revendeuse à la toilette,” in 1841: Her job required “infinite tact, a Machiavellianism tempered with finesse, good humor and directness, audacity, pliability, in other words, high diplomacy.” The first thing that shocked me on entering Designer Resale [5]’s 81st Street location is that, in contrast with the grim state of retail this Fashion Week, the consignment business is booming. “We haven’t seen any slowdown since last October,” Christina Milici, the manager, told me. “In fact, it’s picked up.” Millici added that many wealthy women—bankers and personal shoppers—have been shopping resale.

The way high-end resale works is that you bring in clothes and accessories. A manager will scrutinize and price each item. Consignors pocket a percentage of the sale price after the item sells. Unlike Buffalo Exchange [6] and Beacon’s Closet [7], which specialize in anything somewhat stylish and not degraded with garish stains or tears, the high-end consignment shops only accept top labels in pristine condition. “Basically, the garment has to look like something you could find in a retail store now,” Milici explained as she examined a sleeveless red dress brought in by Hanna Foster, who just left her corporate job for cooking school. “We don’t do vintage—unless it could pass as contemporary. We resell the latest designer pieces at 70 percent off the retail price.”

I browsed the shop, which is organized by garment type, with skirts on one long rack, pants on another, and gravitated to the blazers and sweaters nearby. Four items caught my eye—two Miu Miu blazers ($125 and $220), one Barney’s blazer ($85), and an Alice + Olivia white cashmere sweater ($50). I tried them on. Interestingly, three of the items I picked were consigned by the same person. I knew this because despite the fact that consigners are anonymous, they are assigned a number that appears on the price tag. In resale parlance, this is my “twin.” A mirror of my silhouette and tastes, but probably with an, ahem, higher clothing budget. (I asked who my twin was, but Milici refused to divulge.)

“What’s the single-most-popular item with customers?” I ask Milici.

“The accessories. The purses go like mad.”

“What about shopaholics?”

“Oh, yes, you cannot imagine how many. And they are still bringing tons and tons of stuff in! They bring in to raise cash to fuel more shopping.”

Milici was dispatched on a house call—an Upper East Side woman with a promising stash had just phoned in—and she flew out the door and up 81st Street. In high-end resale, discretion is paramount. Everything is confidential, anonymous. Actresses, editors, and even swanky mistresses get house calls or send in assistants with bags and bags of clothes. Milici also processes FedEx packages mailed in from all over the world.

I looked at some Vuitton purses with consignment vet Charlotte Bryan, a dashing older woman and thrift maven. “When I was young, Chanel was so, so ech!” she said. “You know, the used bags that are banged up a little bit are chic on younger girls, but on older women it just looks like an older woman with an old bag, and it makes you look even older.”

Based on the demand for secondhand accessories, I decide to hit A Second Chance [8], which specializes in Chanel bags and jewelry. I marched up a hot-pink stairwell pasted with magazine cutouts—a teenager’s bedroom, circa 1987.

Indeed, Chanel purses—tiny python clutches, massive ‘80s quilted power bags, and last season’s models—crowd the walls. A web of chain belts dangles by the cash register. On the left is a display case stuffed with gold and interlocking C’s. Since the recession, the number of consignors has dramatically risen. “I can be more choosy now,” Riddolfi said. “A lot of women are consigning, they want the cash. And I have new clients, women who wouldn’t have considered secondhand before.”

“I have a lot of property from Madoff victims,” she said.

I pointed to a pair of iconic No. 5 earrings ($750). Very Christy-Cindy-Linda-Naomi. “Can I try those on?”

Riddolfi explained that the pair was consigned by a Wall Street wife, not a Madoff victim, who also consigned four Hermes wallets and a few Birkins. “She’s not cash-strapped—she’s practical, I suppose.”

“My wife is a Chanel whore,” Charlie Riess, a customer, piped in with a chuckle. He was dispatched by his wife to pick up a mustard-beige caviar leather purse and a pair of earrings.

“This location is good with the hospital.” Riddolfi said. “But you won’t believe how many wives come in here and say ‘My husband is in surgery. I need a bag.’ Or ‘My husband is dying, I need a bag.’ ”

The retail market might follow the Dow, but during a bust, consignment booms.