Arriving at 6 a.m., the women had been waiting at that point for more than five hours for the “Sale of the Century,” an event organized by writer Liana Satenstein and her team of vintage-fashion enthusiasts.
Sevigny’s magic made hours of waiting worthwhile for those three. Oscar-nominated Sevigny is known for her original style and vintage wardrobe. The tour of her wardrobe she did for the now-defunct retailer Opening Ceremony more than 10 years ago is often seen on TikTok where vintage clothes (or more precisely, secondhand designer apparel) are a passion. “It feels really special to be able to shop her pieces,” said Raya DerBedrossian, 23.
“She’s been the ‘it girl’ of New York since the it girl of New York even started,” said Waverly Bruno, 27, speculating that there might be a number of pieces inside “that were in iconic moments of history.” (Sevigny herself has expressed ambivalence about the it girl label, often mentioning in interviews forebears such as Edie Sedgwick and Clara Bow.)
In the days leading up to the sale, Sevigny stoked the excitement by posting pictures of herself in items destined for the racks, such as a Versace jumper — which pop star Olivia Rodrigo had her stylist procure through a friend, with the matching jacket, early in the sale — and a Versace Medusa-print minidress.
Inside, on a second-floor loft space with creaky floors and flooded with light, was indeed a fashion freak’s paradise. Satenstein, a former Vogue writer, is well known in the vintage-fashion community for her ability to predict revivals of designers on the vintage market and her therapeutic approach to closet cleaning, including an Instagram Live series called “#neverworns,” in which she discusses what pieces a guest should keep, donate or sell.
Her team had organized and merchandised the space in a way that was utterly delightful, with racks of clothing that were like mini-biographies for each seller. “All the people involved are really fashion-fashion-fashion people,” as Boardman, who was an editor at Paper for three decades, put it, “who have well-known looks and well-developed style.”
Bulbous Comme des Garçons dresses and coats burst from Yaeger’s racks. (“Her closet is my Vivienne Westwood fantasy,” Singer said.) Countless lace and tulle dresses, many with shredded hems and priced around $50, hung in Sevigny’s section, as did an $825 leopard-print coat by Supreme and a $150 tube top by Jean Paul Gaultier, a mix of the delicate and hard, the street and the fantastical.
In Singer’s corner, $150 vintage dresses with spiffy prints or illustrations sat next to a stunning white brocade minidress with coral and turquoise beading by Balenciaga under Nicolas Ghesquière. This piece cost $1,000, but it would have retailed for much more if purchased new. Imagine the nights she would have spent in these clothes getting dressed in her former apartment at the Chelsea Hotel, and then charging into the night. Boardman’s space was filled with the costume jewelry he’s known for layering over Ralph Lauren polos, as well as a Charles and Diana tea towel from his beloved collection of royals memorabilia.
Satenstein’s sellers and she were careful to present a variety of products. “Resale platforms, especially third-party ones, can only do so much and can only sell certain pieces,” Satenstein said. TheRealReal has a long list of designers it accepts. It can be hard to appreciate a vintage blouse with a filmy texture on Depop. “This felt like a great segue into giving context and pizazz to someone’s items that may not have been appreciated somewhere else,” Satenstein said. Sevigny lamented in an interview last week that thrift stores seem increasingly “overwhelmed with disposable brand stuff.” She wanted shoppers to be able to find, at a reasonable price, the kind of funky and beautiful things she grew up hunting for.
Satenstein is known for a style of closet clean-out that is more like therapy, and part of the sale’s appeal was that even the sellers’ trash was treasure. Once, while Satenstein was cleaning out one of Singer’s bags, she found an old Styrofoam plate. As it turns out, it was autographed by Bob Dylan, a souvenir from Singer’s early days waitressing in the city.
Sevigny’s enormous clothing collection is dear to her heart, yet she found herself caught in the cycle of purchasing, selling and storing. Satenstein came to her storage unit with her assistant, Eden Pritikin, “and they were cutthroat,” Sevigny said.
“I feel like I’m also at a transition point,” she continued. “I’m 48. “I just gave birth to a child. I’m okay to transition out of certain things that maybe I would have been into before. This could have been a major motivator. There were a lot of things that weren’t maybe as pristine as now I want to present myself as. Maybe I don’t feel the need to draw so much attention [to myself]. Here I am buying a pink faux-fur Prada jacket for myself for Mother’s Day!” she laughed. “But maybe wanting to ease myself into something a little more subtle, or a little more grown-up.”
At noon, the doors opened, and the buyers’ faces had a look of wonder. Sevigny sat on a couch near the door, signed copies of her Rizzoli 2015 book and talked to fans. She also took selfies. Customers piled sheer white dresses on their shoulders, Depeche Mode tees and vintage dresses featuring geometric patterns from the 1970s. First in line, three women scored an shaggy navy coat by Proenza Schuler at $200 and a Khaki Mugler Dress for $325. They also got armfuls more goodies.
Yaeger’s earnings were nearly $4,000 at 1:05. The sellers will donate a part of their profit to their chosen charity. Less than an hour later, her rack of skirts by Comme, Replika and Marc Le Bihan was empty, leaving just a few blouses by Chloé and animal-print cardigans. “This is the most money I’ve ever spent, like, impulsively,” said one woman, clutching two pairs of Tabi shoes by Maison Margiela and a miniskirt, to a friend. Satenstein distributed pieces from a pizza box as people bravely waited in line. For $450, one man bought the much-discussed Chanel black lacquered giant chess. He said he “absolutely” planned to use it.
Chelsea Manning and Tommy Dorfman were among those starry eyed zoomers. Manning, dressed in Carmina sneakers, fitted pink button up and skinny jeans, said Singer and Sevigny texted her. She was looking over a black pair of combat boots made by Solovair. This British firm, according to Manning, previously produced Doc Martens, but the company moved their manufacturing overseas.
The sense that shoppers were among fashion icons — fulfilling a fantasy of running amok in their closets — permeated. One shopper bought a white vest and matching trousers because Sevigny mentioned offhand that she’d worn it to dinner with Nicolas. (That would be Ghesquière, the designer who reinvented Balenciaga at the turn of the 21st century and who now helms Louis Vuitton’s womenswear.) Singer, an experienced Vogue editor who has worked at the cashier for many years, advised buyers about the finer details of the purchases they made. “You know this Chloé from the era of Phoebe Philo?” she asked one shopper, referring to the period during which cult-favorite designer Philo was designing the French brand Chloé in the early 2000s with a flirtatious, party-girl grit.
This kind of provenance can be seductive to vintage enthusiasts and people who use their wardrobes as wearable museum.
It wasn’t that shoppers seemed to see this as a sort of celebrity auction, where Marilyn Monroe’s pill bottles are sold alongside discarded notes from acting school. Sevigny Yaeger Boardman Singer were not celebrities, they are people who have a following.
“I think it’s some illusion, some dream of what it’s like to be in fashion,” longtime fashion writer Yaeger said, her lips in their deep pink cupid’s bow. “I always think of myself as an outsider in this industry, even though I’ve been around for a million years, so maybe not.”
Niko Haagenson (19) was even more enthused after talking with Yaeger. “I think she’s a great example of true, true inclusivity,” he said, “where it doesn’t matter what your style is, how rich you are, who your parents are, whatever. She is just somebody who is so her.”
Gabriel Held is a vintage dealer whose collection celebrities frequently borrow. He got the Versace minidress, as well as several other items including a Marc Jacobs faux fur coat for $200. Why did Held think that this sale was so popular, when Sevigny, the hosts, and Held had previously held similar sales? Nostalgia. “Every generation since [her own] has been inspired by her,” he said. “Everybody’s here with the same hope to get a piece of history.”
That, and the general mania for secondhand designer clothes — nostalgia for clothes from periods when the shoppers were barely cognizant — especially among 20- and 30-somethings. Laura Reilly, 32, who edits a shopping newsletter called Magasin that focuses on designers and sales off the beaten path, said the huge interest in vintage clothes means it’s harder to find good stuff at a good price. “This is the ultimate edit,” she said.
The scene was truly heartwarming. “If this doesn’t fit me, The following are some of the ways to get in touch with us. should get it!” I heard friends say to one another more than once. A grinning mother and daughter, Donna and Bayleigh Young, shopped together — it was Mother’s Day, after all — walked out with more than 10 pieces, including “this Loewe thing,” Bayleigh said, which was a kind of vest that looked like football shoulder pads that she had been lusting after for “a long time.” Her mother scored Sevigny’s book (with an autograph, of course) and a pink cardigan from Sevigny’s clothing line for Opening Ceremony.
As the hours stretched on and shoppers continued to inspect torn band T-shirts and label-less faded vintage dresses with the same tenderness as that brocade Balenciaga dress, or Sevigny’s shearling Hermès coat, it seemed as if we were in a temporary utopia, where the value of a garment isn’t merely the label, but the story behind it, and the feeling that you, too, might have some fantastic adventure by just slipping your arms into the sleeves.