One California lead led to the proverbial friend-of-a-friend who owned a building on West 27th Street and was happy to lease me a space with a 90-day cancellation clause, in case he sold the building.
What with building rents escalating at a furious pace and landlords wanting to cash in, I was offered leases of only 1 ½ years, 3 at the most. Friends and clients became my closet spies, along the lines of “I heard from a friend of a friend that so-and-so is not doing well and might move out in March…call the landlord.” I spent hours chatting up every building superintendent, in and out of my neighborhood. I kept a daily diary (25 pages!) of brokers, spaces I had seen, city agencies I had spoken to. campaign that rhapsodized their vision of turning the Garment District into the “new SoHo.” A pro-tenant administrator secretly emailed me: “Good for you – We need more Emma Goldman and less Emily Post.” I unwittingly incurred the wrath of the local Fashion Center Business District by trashing their P.R. I got politically involved in a new group called Save the Garment Center. I called the Brooklyn Navy Yard (no room) and wrote to City Council Speaker Christine Quinn and the Mayor’s Film Office (no help). I put myself on every list and called in every favor. I spent almost every day of the next nine months looking for space, traveling endlessly between boroughs. I accepted but when it came time to sign the lease, he was mysteriously “unavailable.” His cornered assistant mumbled “am so sorry, we just want to keep up with the market.” (Meaning: “we are holding out for more money.”) One building owner actively courted me and offered a deal. My business had star appeal (see here our items that were worn for Beyonce in Cadillac Records and Angelina Jolie in Changeling). This was Fall of 2006, and unlike now - with a reported nearly 35 percent drop in commercial rental prices (is my timing EVER right?) - developers had nearly gobbled the west 30’s whole and most garment workrooms had all but closed in favor of sleek offices. (The pizzazz of being Martha Stewart’s neighbor didn’t justify the need to stoop every time I passed under even lower interior arches.). My landlord embarked on a search-and-destroy mission to get me out even sooner, by bombarding me with real estate agents who had “the perfect space for me.” By “perfect” they meant a small, damp basement with resident rodents an already currently occupied furniture showroom in the South Bronx a loft building with no elevator, and a space with beautiful views but low ceilings. My penalty for staying after May 31 would cost me $1,000/day. Imagine the daily-escalating pressure I encountered, urging me to “leave early!” Harassed, I compromised on a deadline, newly-armed with a high-priced lawyer to protect my interests. A developer had offered a substantial sum for my 100-year old building along with 2 adjoining properties my staying would have killed the deal.
I became the last hold-out, the ultimate thorn in the landlord’s side. I was not budging! I sent a polite ”no thank-you” note. Me, move? I had mega-thousands of racks and boxes of authentic 19th and 20th century clothes and accessories (see right), an accumulation of almost 30 years in business! I was settled in. Oblivious to the nascent real estate development craze around me, the first hint of my “life change” came August ‘06 in the guise of an innocuous letter from my landlord, “inviting” me to break my lease early, should I wish to move. I had my 6,000+ square foot vintage costume company in the Garment District, convenient enough for actors to pop in for fittings and fashion designers to drop by for inspiration. I thought I was settled for life (or at least until my retirement).
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