[ARTICLE] Jones–ing for Hip: Who’s Barneys’ New Daddy?

ew York Observer
November 18, 2004|8:15 AM
Jones–ing for Hip: Who’s Barneys’ New Daddy?
by Anna Schneider–Mayerson
They won’t change it—will they?
That’s been a common response of Barneys loyalists to the news that Jones
Apparel Group, the middlebrow purveyor of sensible suiting and shoes, has
bought their favorite iconic, eccentric luxury–goods emporium.
"It’s just that whole thing, like, ‘Whaaat? How could it be?’" said
designer Alice Roi, who remains a loyal customer of Barneys even after
they stopped selling her clothes after a year in 2002. "I just hope that
it doesn’t change the way that they’ve positioned the store, as far as
their aesthetic."
"As long as it stays the same, I’m happy," said Marshall Field’s scion
Marina Rust, who co–hosted a Nov. 11 party on the second floor for Lanvin
designer–of–the–moment Alber Elbaz. "I assume they want it to be very
much the way it has been."
Socialite Helen Lee Schifter said she hoped the Jones folk—who own Nine
West, Easy Spirit, et al.—will "honor" the store. "I just feel like it’s
such a special place, so if they want it they must know that," she said.
The reaction might seem slightly patronizing, but it’s not surprising.
Barneys shoppers are a fiercely loyal breed—pride in the store, after
all, is part of what makes a Manhattanite a Manhattanite—and tend to
treat the brand as if were one of the fragile designer ceramics sold on
the newly expanded "Chelsea Passage" department: One wrong move and it
will shatter to pieces.
The Barneys legend began in 1923, when a ballsy Lower East Sider named
Barney Pressman pawned his wife’s $500 engagement ring to pay for the
lease and fixtures on a 500–square–foot storefront on lower Seventh
Avenue. Styling himself "the cut–rate king," he sold overstock with the
labels cut off and dead men’s fine suits bought from their widows,
according to Joshua Levine’s book The Rise and Fall of the House of
Barneys (Morrow, 1999). In the 1970’s, Barney’s son Fred began spiffing
up and expanding the store, adding European designers like Giorgio
Armani.
In the late 1970’s, Fred’s son Gene added a women’s department.
Barneys came of age in the 1980’s as an incubator of fashion trends, led
by Gene and, to a lesser extent, his brother Bob. They wanted it edgy,
modern; not schlumpy and cut–rate. "It was the most interesting store; it
was the only great department store that had a great flair—that to me was
the real Barneys," said artist and socialite Anh Duong, recalling her
impressions of the store when she moved here from Paris in 1988.
"It was the first place I got black opaque tights, and I wore them with
Dr. Martens, a black miniskirt and a black turtleneck," said Ms. Roi, who
shopped there as a middle–schooler.
"I bought my first Prada suit there," said Kelly Killoren Bensimon, the
social butterfly and author of American Style. "I bought my first
Azzedine Alaia butterfly dress there, I bought Azzedine Alaia hot pants
there, I bought my first thigh–high boots there …. "
In 1989, Barneys partnered with Isetan, a Japanese department–store
chain, a relationship which dissolved bitterly 10 years later over
disagreements about Isetan’s role.
In 1993, the company opened their Madison Avenue flagship and threw a
fancy launch party. "It was a very big extravaganza," Ms. Schifter said.
Ms. Rust fondly remembers bustling next–door to the Pierre hotel through
a secret passageway, where Barry White was playing during the party. The
flagship project ended up costing $267 million—about $120 million over
budget.
In 1996, Barneys declared bankruptcy, and ever since it has played the
profligate sister to the more sensible Bloomingdale’s and the stately,
dowager–esque Bergdorf Goodman—its roller–coaster, free–spending image
somehow giving the business a more human face. A fashionista could
deplete her credit card there on Yohji Yamamoto sweaters and Balenciaga
bags, knowing that the chief executive officers were right there with
her, splurging on mosaic floors and goatskin walls.
The company emerged from Chapter 11 in 1999 after shuttering stores in
Cleveland, Houston and Dallas, and in 2001 the board appointed Howard
Socol as president and chief executive officer. Mr. Socol, the former
C.E.O. of slightly upscale department–store chain Burdines, grew the shoe
department, created an expanded home for the very profitable beauty
department in the basement, and expanded the younger Co–Op department.
After four years of restructuring, the company moved into the black in
the fiscal year ending Feb. 1, 2003, reporting a profit of $8.5 million
on about $383.4 million in sales; in the fiscal year ending Jan. 31,
2004, its profit was $7.1 million on about $409.5 million in sales.
The Jones deal (they are calling it a "merger," perhaps hoping for some
of the Barneys clout to rub off on them, though paying $294.3 million in
cash to stockholders and assuming $106 million worth of debt sure sounds
like an acquisition) was viewed with something milder than alarm, but not
exactly joy.
"Maybe Jones wants to have a flagship that is really hot and edgy," said
Ina Sara Bartkus, a spiky–haired production manager who was buying a
Costume National parka on the fifth floor of Barneys on 61st Street over
the weekend. "If this is their goal, then maybe everything will be O.K.
If they want to make this to sell Jones’, you know, like factory–
fabricated grayish stuff, then it’s sad. But if they would invest that
money which they make in other stores and invest into young designers and
into something that we can enjoy and appreciate, then it would be
excellent."
Jones C.E.O. Peter Boneparth would not discuss his plans with The
Observer, but in a recorded conference call with analysts on Nov. 11, he
promised not to "Jones–ize" Barneys by placing its merchandise in Barneys
stores. In that same call, Mr. Socol, the Barneys C.E.O., assured: "We
intend to continue to cater to our loyal and growing customer base." (A
Barneys spokeswoman would not make Mr. Socol available for an interview.)
One reason that Jones wanted to buy Barneys might be because the middle
terrain of retail it occupies has been slumping like a soft belly. Right
now the action is at the fringes: Karl Lagerfeld (looking much like Max
Headroom) designing an H&M collection; Isaac Mizrahi declaring he only
does couture and Target. "The middle market is a difficult market
today," said Walter Loeb, publisher of the Loeb Retail Report. "You have
the lower moderate and discount market which is doing well—because people
are always interested in price—and then you have the luxury market.
There’s sort of a void in the middle right now, because that customer is
the one who has been impacted most by the economy. He’s not quite sure
what’s happening to him."
The