Someone who walks by 57 Great Jones Street, in the East Village of Manhattan, and does not know what is behind that building, will only observe, and paying close attention, a clothing store.
Like so many establishments in this metropolis where great vulgarity coexists with snobbish elitism.
That the doorbell has to be rung and a doorman who looks like a nightclub security guard opens it is not so surprising these days either.
This element, without a doubt, generates the feeling that there must be something really important in there.
But at the same time, on the façade there is no identifying sign associated with a brand and there is a wall full of graffiti and posters ("war begets war") changing, superimposed, half torn off, which to tourist papanatism may seem like an example of the creativity of the capital of the world although in his city of origin he would find it an example of rampant hooliganism, the lack of law and order and the ineffectiveness of the municipal authorities.
This time, however, behind the doodles is the store that Hollywood star and activist Angelina Jolie has just opened.
It is more than common for actors to enter the fashion business, giving names to collections or perfumes. But the Oscar winner for Girl, Interrupted (1999) has set up a physical retail establishment in this era of online commerce. The space is called Atelier Jolie, which is the continuation of her fashion brand of the same name, which she created last year with a clear purpose at a time when the clothing industry is noted for its influence on change. climate. Her project consists of designing, in collaboration with creatives in the sector, from recycling those garments that are not used and producing vintage dresses, in the line that the interpreter has followed for a long time.
Another relevant point is the choice of location. After being built as a stable in the 19th century and later converted into a gangster club, where the mobster Paul Kelly had the headquarters of the Five Points Gang, street criminals of Irish origin, the two-story building was bought by Andy Warhol in 1970 and It may have been the inspiration for Don DeLillo's third novel Great Jones Street. in which its protagonist takes refuge in an unfurnished apartment.
But its “fame” in contemporary pop culture is due to the fact that Warhol rented the space to his friend Jean-Michel Basquiat, the painter and graffiti artist who lived and had his workshop there from 1983 until he died of an overdose in 1988. On the facade There is a discreet plaque in his memory. His memory also explains that the tribute includes that wall with graffiti and posters on what is a kind of canvas that his fans spontaneously renew.
That venue, in a neighborhood that was not yet known as Noho, became a reference center in the artistic world in those years, in what was the center of bohemia at that time.
Once Warhol died in 1987, his heirs sold this property, which has since housed various businesses and occupants.
Until months ago, Jolie and her daughter Zahara began looking for a location in Manhattan for their business. That venue was on the market (for $60,000 a month) and they thought it was the ideal place “in the creative effort that must serve as a platform for underrepresented fashion workers,” according to a statement. The actress signed a lease for eight years.
“It is a privilege to be in this space. We will do everything possible to respect and honor the artistic legacy with community and creativity,” the website explains. It also indicates that an appointment is required. Maybe it's February and tourism is down, or maybe this Friday was a horrible day weather-wise, but the doorman opens the door without ringing the bell or asking.
There is a hallway that leads directly to the cafeteria (just four tables, Turkish coffee, Syrian pastries and a book of dedications, almost all of them in the form of drawings).
The commercial part, however, is just inside the door, to the right, with a rope statue that goes from the ceiling to the floor. There is no massive display of clothing. There are rather few of them, on both sides of the white room that ends with two tables where the two shop assistants sit. “If you have any questions, we are here,” greets one of them.
The cheapest item, based on the labels, is a top for $50. The most expensive are a simple colorful dress and a bomber jacket, both for 2,000. Not all pieces have the price displayed.
The Basquiat connection is in the drawings and graffiti on the back wall, like a mural: “We are like Viagra in times of social weakness.”
