Showing posts with label Agnes B.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Agnes B.. Show all posts

February 21, 2009

Greene St. (West Side, between Prince St. and Spring St., Part 2)

We now continue on our further adventures down Greene St., heading south from Prince St. to Spring St. on the evening of February 17.


Located at 109 Greene St. is the jewelry shop Tous. Say "hi" to Kylie Minogue in the background! Apparently, Kylie designed some of the items.


A closeup of the jewelry featured in the Tous window display case. Much of it has an elegant, delicate filigree, and I'm enamored of the long necklace with the irregular translucent gemstones in subtle shades.


I feel apologetic about this photo of the Taschen (107 Greene St.) storefront window. The picture doesn't capture the intriguing playfulness of the bookstore's interior, with its artfully warped shelves, warm, inviting lighting, and poppy wall art. The window display is appropriately messily sexy for The Book of Olga, a limited-edition book that was commissioned from photographer Bettina Rheims by a Russian oligarch to showcase his hot wife, Olga Rodionova. On the right, I again apologize for blurring the Pierre et Gilles book Double Je, especially since I just adore their dreamlike yet crystalline fantasy photography.


The northern window at Agnes B. (103 Greene St.) is evidently the "Homme" display, although I can't say that's the most masculine of outfits. It's quite upscale gay, really . . . although pleasantly clean-cut.


A simple belted sleeveless sack in the southern "Femme" window at Agnes B. The color is bland enough to shift attention to the wearer, and the lines of the dress are flattering, but I don't know . . . I keep picturing Wendie Malick wearing it.


A gorgeously comforting window at Natuzzi (101 Greene St.). I covet those lamps, and I want my entire life to be lived in that kind of soothing, honeyed light. I personally would never buy any white furniture because of the required vigilance of cleanliness, but that chair does appear to be very soft.


Did you know that beauty is a treasure hunt? So says Space NK (99 Greene St.)! I get that they're going for a clean, clinical, streamlined look, but I keep thinking alien autopsy.


A closeup of the chilly window at Space NK.


Alas, I must apologize again for my photos of Armani/Casa at 97 Greene St. This is perhaps my favorite storefront in SoHo, and the window's somber, hushed atmosphere is lusciously cozy in person, and not indicative in my picture. I had to use a flash to avoid blurring, ruining the luxurious, plush murk of the display. When I get rich (however that might happen), I'm walking into this store and hiring them to furnish my entire home.


The southern window of Armani/Casa, photographed with no flash, as evidenced by the blurry trails around the lamp. As much as I adore this store, I'm not sure what room this is meant to showcase. It looks mostly like a women's rest room parlor in a swanky hotel.


The Anne Fontaine storefront at 93 Greene St. Those blouses and bags are so terribly French that they're edging over into caricature. That pink belt just looks slutty.


Speaking of slutty, here's the storefront of La Perla at 93 Greene St. Yes, everyone deserves some sexy undergarments, but I'm not sure if displaying it in the setting of the Red Light District in Amsterdam doesn't tip the fantasy from sexy into sleazy. But maybe women are seeking a touch of Euroskank in their frilly unmentionables, and if so, God bless.


BAPE, at 90 Greene St., compels one bow down to this impressive mirrored shrine to the sneaker. The full name of the store is A Bathing Ape, and I'm not sure if that's an easy fit with this shop's overwhelming opulence.


A closeup of the mirrored sneaker carousel at BAPE.


Intriguing guerrilla poster art in a doorway on Greene St., near Spring St. Those are some perky orange nipples in the top poster! (By Celso, I think.) But I'm most taken with the text on the bottom poster: Good guys finish last. Tedi pees the bed. I saw u with Todd. Ha ha ha ha. New York City Girl Beef. Good work, Haculla.