Would you rather go naked than wear fur, as per the models in the famous anti-fur ad campaign? (I always had a problem with that question: Does it have to be either/or? Can’t I just choose to wear, y’know, regular clothes?)

Well, whether you wouldn’t dream of wearing fur—or dream of wearing fur—this season has seen an explosion of both faux and for-real versions; particularly, though, of the former. You know your position, so pick your preference.

Problem is, you may not always know what you’re buying, and price can be an inaccurate indicator. Case in point: I spotted a pair of plush animal-print earmuffs selling in Midtown for $7.99, about as low-ball a figure as you can find. “Faux fur” read the affixed sticker. Would there be any doubt in your mind that given the price and the sticker, these are indeed a pretend product?

Of course not—but there should be. Upon careful inspection, I noticed a sewn-in label stating “100 percent rabbit fur, made in China.” Yeeks. I pointed out the problem to the seller who seemed dismayed, but not surprised: “Rabbit is cheap,” she shrugged. How sad is that? The life of a sentient creature: cheap; cheaper than polyester pile.

I’m not singling out any one seller for two reasons: The problem is not limited to a single merchant and, second, the fact that the earmuffs’ contradictory sewn-in tag wasn’t snipped out suggests there was no deliberate subterfuge. The takeaway here is caveat emptor. Read all labels, trust your instincts and know that the more established and reputable a brand and retailer are, the likelier it is that you’re buying what you think you are.

A fabulous source of top-name faux-fur finds is Bolton’s. Have you also overlooked this humble but quintessential circa-40-year-old local discount chain (easily predating, in Manhattan, Loeh
mann’s, T.J. Maxx and other more out-there names)? It wasn’t until our recent biannual pilgrimage to the nonpareil jewelry department at Bergdorf Goodman that I found myself, after a long hiatus, peeking into the nearby Bolton’s at 27 W. 57th.

Yowza: Calvin Klein earmuffs fashioned of chocolate-and-gold-spotted pretend fur attached to a leather-like band for just $19.99—the manufacturer’s suggested retail price-tag of $40 is still attached. Klein’s kind-to-animals version sports a discreetly sized gold-metal plaque bearing his name on one side of the band.

Prefer earmuffs in a solid black? Another Klein version here for the same price has the band and ear coverings wrapped in a velvety rich facsimile of beaver pelt; just so you know, the plaque is a bit buried in this model’s piled band.

Evelyn K weighs in with a circular 30-inches-all-around “eternity scarf”—yup, big enough to lasso some waistlines—in a kitten-soft black, brown and coffee-colored plush pile that’s pure Polly Esther; $7.95.

For all-over warmth, consider the spectacular Jones New York whiskey-colored mink-look-alike coat with fit-and-flare shaping, thanks to the multi-tiers sewn in below the waist. This glamorous, approximately knee-length garment has the practical, updating feature of a hood. Its already low price of $159.99 is further discounted 20 percent (perhaps more by the time you read this), and that includes the usual luxury touch of spare buttons.

Are you also kicking yourself for habitually zipping past Bolton’s en route to flashier/newer/trendier stores? Personally, I’m going to wear a (faux) hair shirt.

It’s peppy and preppy, it’s white and bright, it’s cute and candy-colored—it’s the brand-spanking-new C. Wonder flagship store at Columbus Circle’s Time Warner Center! Listen, anytime you walk into a shop and are greeted by a commanding life-size figure of a zebra striped with all the hues of the rainbow, you know you’re off the beaten path.

What total fun this store is. Lots of upbeat women’s wear and sparkly gewgaws (sorry, no men’s or kids’ stuff here)—plus a nicely edited selection of home goods and even a teeny section for pets. Ah, animals, my soft spot and passion—let’s begin with them, shall we?

In addition to doggy food bowls, there are fuchsia-pink-and-green-striped collars—just the thing for the preppy pooch; $16. If the color combo’s a bit too estrogenic for your Fido, consider the red-navy-and-yellow-striped versions. As with so much of the human clothing and accessories here, these come emblazoned with the fanciful C. Wonder logo.

For your human family, there is a smattering of serve ware, tabletop clocks, thermoses and other light goods along those lines. And then—out of nowhere—there are roller skates. Sized for women, the white-leather skates (emblazoned with the store’s logo in vibrant green) come equipped with blazingly bright fuchsia and green wheels; $75, please.

In more quotidian footwear, there’s the cheetah-print ballet flat with a neat little leathery bow at the vamp fastened with a tiny gold-metal “C” logo; $128. I was glad to see the often only seasonally available rubbery flip-flops here—perhaps, like me, you find them great for padding around the apartment year-round. These come in black, royal or peach, with the slender thong the same color as the sole, which is embossed on top with the store’s … you guessed it. The ’flops are $18. Since I just got raspberry and parrot-green-soled versions with matching “jelly” thongs at Jack’s 99 Cent Store for … you guessed it again, I think I’ll pass on these. Reminds me: We will finish up with the pen I recently alluded to getting at Jack’s along with a few other kibbles ’n’ bits very soon—probably next week.

Back to the present: If you love animal prints and pops of color, including jolting neons, you will love the clothing here. An excellent addition for any wardrobe, preppy or otherwise, is the leopard-print cardigan in a creamy blend of cotton and nylon with a touch of angora. This fine-gauge garment, highlighted by shiny gold-tone buttons, can be worn solo or over a light top; $88.

Skinny-jeans fans will love the stretchy cotton versions here in bright solids, including an especially juicy tangerine, plus bold patterns and more animal prints; $88. Surprisingly, while seemingly every other brand plasters its logo on jeans, the only one I can find on these is discreetly embroidered inside the waistband. Well done!

You undoubtedly use a hangar-size tote for your everyday needs, but for a dinner out or perhaps a holiday office party, you might want to opt for something that, while still roomy, is really elegant and lovely. I refer to the fuchsia suede fold-over clutch that sports a lushly fringed zipper-pull tassel. Measuring approximately 12 inches square in its unfolded state, the clutch is tagged at $128.

By the way, there’s a $10 charge to have anything that is indeed monogrammable monogrammed here. You can save a fortune, of course, if your name happens to be C. Wonder.

Less Less is gone gone. Cheese ’n’ crackers! I’d long been meaning to scope out the West 24th Street Less Less, ever since I heard it was a family-type operation with service and ambiance well beyond what one may typically associate with a discount novelties/staples store. I finally dusted off my MetroCard, and after a quick online search that strongly suggested LL was still a viable business, I sallied forth—only to be met with a storefront whose darkened interior was clearly stripped of stock.

Gaaah! “When did this place close?” I demanded of a passing dog-walker who seemed a trifle scared of my intensity. “Maybe a month ago,” he said. Well, better that I made the trip a month too late than too early, when I may’ve reported about a store that you would then find shuttered.

Besides—here’s good news—it turned out I didn’t make the trip for nothing. The dog walker, throwing me a bone (ho-ho!), perhaps to appease me lest I begin wailing and rending his garments, suggested a great 99-cent store nearby.

Indeed, 99 Cent Creation, at 244 W. 23rd St., is one of the premier shops of its ilk. Top o’ the pyramid, I’d have to say, is Jack’s on West 32nd Street (we really should do an update on it and the upper level Jack’s World). At the bottom of the hierarchy are the smaller, drearier versions with the predictable stock. But the indie 99 Cent Creation is darn near top of the food chain, with a large, surprise-filled cornucopia of goods.

Sure, virtually every such discounter has plastic flatware; here you can pick up actual metal spoons and forks tagged at 3/99 cents. Where else do you see that? While you can find many of your fave national brands here—Scott (89 cents a roll), Tide, Campbell’s and so forth—there’s also the thrill of more, um, exotic labels. Consider the three-packs of spiffy patterned men’s boxers by Xuehuaging for $5.99 (c’mon, you can’t hold them to 99 cents for that), and the three-packs of Dalan Golden Tropics soap for $1.29.

Ah, the soaps. What an exotic collection awaits clean freaks like me—and you? Consider Dettol, whose labeling is written in every conceivable language—except English. No matter; the color-coded bars indeed do give a single descriptor that requires no translation: Pink is “skincare,” blue is “active,” lighter blue is “cool,” and so forth. (I didn’t say the descriptors would always make that much sense—but who doesn’t like to unwrap a mystery—especially at only $1.09 per?)

Zounds, here is Zote! This is a traditional Mexican brick of laundry soap, weighing in at a hefty 14.1 ounces. If you’re wondering how you can wash clothing with solid soap, picture the corrugated washboards of yore, or simply a board-free hand wash. “Zote is a high quality soap and can be confidently used for washing your family’s clothes,” the wrapper states. What about washing non-family member clothes? Hmmm, doesn’t say. However, consider: Zote fans have posted that the product can also be used for baiting catfish—could I make that up?—so it seems one way or the other, folks get their money’s worth; just $1.49.

Is it a skin tonic, cologne or linen refresher? Florida Water, a distinctive mix of orange, cinnamon and floral extracts introduced in the early 1800s, is all of the above and more.
This hard-to-find classic sits here in its fancifully labeled elegant bottle, variously sized, awaiting your selection; $1.29-$1.99.

“It’s a good thing I was born a girl, otherwise I’d be a drag queen.” Where do you think I’m reading from? A tattoo? A tweet? A T-shirt?

Good guesses all, but—bzzzzz!—none of the above is correct. The statement is typewritten on a slim scrap of paper that is part of a wonderful multimedia mélange that makes up the Holly Suzanne framed artwork at Stoopher & Boots (385 Amsterdam Ave., ’twixt West 78th and West 79th).

“That’s a quote from Dolly Parton,” Stephanie Goldstein, Stoopher’s owner—and one of the local artisans represented in this charming one-of-a-kind shop—offered up. (Would you have guessed Parton was the author of said quote? I was going to multiple-choice you, but my typing fingers got ahead of my brain.)

Well, no matter; onward now to describing the rest of Holly Suzanne’s enchantingly offbeat vision. Measuring approximately 13 by 9 inches, her artwork features a vintage rendering of a rapturous ballerina. The dancer and her dusky background are accented with a generous pour of pink, green and silver glitter so fine that only the detail-oriented will appreciate that some of it is actually star-shaped. What does the thoroughly modern Parton quote have to do with a vintage, glitter-spangled ballerina? Perhaps nothing on the face of it—to the literalist—but together they create a thrillingly edgy juxtaposition, which is the whole (forgive me) “pointe.”

Sealing in all the components is a clear coating of resin. A black-painted wooden frame—which is actually a tray—allows the piece to either be displayed standing up or hung via the large openings on two opposing ends of the tray; $148 for this singular sensation.

By the way, if you prefer the Mae West quote “I used to be Snow White, but I drifted,” Holly Suzanne uses that in another glittery rendition of an old-timey ballerina, this one standing en pointe, with a dreamy expression; also $148.

I actually had not intended to wind up at Stoopher today, but I wanted to peek into the just-opened Sugar and Plumm on the same block; in fact, S&P takes up about half the entire block, filling the space of five previous establishments. (So, uh, yeah; it’s huge. Lotsa kids running around in a sugar wonderland—I noted half-pound bags of chocolate bark for $16—but there’s also sit-down dining.) Figured I’d poke my head into Stoopher to visit Scout, Stephanie’s resident—and neighborhood-beloved—King Charles spaniel, when I saw all the new stock beckoning.

While the Holly Suzanne pieces are spectacular, there are loads of tiny-priced treasures, for adults and kids (many of whom pop in to visit and play with Scout). Standouts include Auntie Di’s soy-blend jelly jar candles in such compelling scents as “clean cotton,” $18; and the Red Leaf soap & shave cubes, in such evocative fragrances as English coast, fresh clover and beach, $6. For kids and pen enthusiasts of all ages, there are skinny ballpoints topped with what looks exactly like (but isn’t) a swirled-color lollipop, authentic down to its cellophane wrapping, gold twist-tie and satin-ribbon bow; $3.

Spiffy tot-size T-shirts designed by Stephanie, sparkly bangles, washable tats in the form of bracelets and rings, and so much more are draws at this friendly neighborhood gathering place.

So sashay on in—and ask Steph if you can give Scout a “skritch” behind the ears for me.

He smiled and added, “As I get older, I prefer a more natural state.”

You can’t get more natural than the classic wooden cabinetry and fixtures that distinguish Goodrich from its glass-and-glitz chain competitors. Indeed, its vintage appointments have been moved to each of the indie pharmacy’s various locations over the decades. Established in 1974, Goodrich had two prior locales in the nabe before settling into its current, modestly sized digs at 104 W. 70th St. in 1980.

Then, as now, Cammarata, a genial sort who’s happy to share his long-term perspective of the retail scene, is both pharmacist and proprietor. His shop is a fascinating, small but well-edited mix of modern wares and old-school goods and amenities. Hence, you can find Fructis shampoo, Rogaine hair-loss treatment and Crest 3-D White toothpaste alongside such less cutting-edge-contemporary (and sometimes hard-to-find) potions as Vitalis and Three Flowers Brilliantine hair dressings for men. (Though everything old is new again, of course: I just came across an article about how to get Mad Men hair that cites the latter grooming aid.)

Prices here are more reflective of the old-school merch than the more modern ones. Know where to get gum for 35 cents? Pick up your pack of Doublemint here for exactly that. Got two quarters on you? You can walk out with a pocket-sized pack of Kleenex. How about a nickel? Hop aboard the Loboy.

What’s a Loboy? Its full nomenclature will reveal it function: The Loboy Personal Weight scale. Yes, it’s one of those old-time, tall drugstore scales that you may have thought had disappeared—but here ’tis at Goodrich, where some folks actually come in just to weigh themselves, sometimes several times a day. Who would do that? I dunno, a supermodel who just ate a lentil for lunch and is too panicked to make it to her own bathroom scale? Just guessing…

Interestingly, the modest dimensions of the Loboy’s platform and general stature are historically educational in itself, reminding us that decades ago, people were indeed smaller.

Another amenity, this a much more recent addition: The water cooler stocked with Nestle Pure Life H₂O. Frank—sorry, it’s impossible to call him Cammarata—says he added the cooler as a convenience for those who fill prescriptions and want or need to down pills right away. But please, help yourself; no charge, of course. I asked Frank about the two spigots on the cooler—one for hot and one for cold, I guessed—but he joked about filling one with wine. Um, I think he was joking…

Moving along now. Representative of the unique mix of the modern and the time-honored are the Boiron homeopathic products, especially popular with European visitors (if people can come here from Europe, it shouldn’t be a hardship to cross nabes to visit, if need be—just sayin’.) While resurgently popular, the concept of homeopathic palliatives has deep historical and cultural roots.

Also going way back—these in the British tradition—are the handmade-in-England tortoiseshell Kent combs. Available in a wide variety of styles for all your hair-related grooming needs, these average a wee $8 per.

So come, sip, step on a scale, scope out some old favorites and savor the village-square warmth and personal attention. In short, get unchained!

—Laura Shanahan

This is great, I thought. I’ll never have to paint—or clean—again! All right, it’s a slight exaggeration, but still, it was a red-letter (a clear, crisp crimson) day when Reveal lit up my life. And it was just as stunningly a black one when I recently realized that GE was no longer offering Reveal incandescent bulbs in my needed 100 watts. I won’t belabor the general phaseout of incandescent bulbs, which, as you doubtless know, is not particular to any specific make but rather a function of rules and regs and the greening of America.

Yes, Reveal comes in the now de rigueur compact fluorescent light (CFL) bulbs, but I found its lackluster light yellower than its incandescent version. I tried another brand’s Daylight, which I was assured was crisply cool. Indeed it was—to the point where my apartment had all the charm of a gas station at 3 a.m.

What’s a girl to do but turn herself over to Just Bulbs, which carries—please sit down to avoid injury while plotzing—over 30,000 different bulbs. Yes, that’s a three with four zeroes.

“Why didn’t I hoard my bulbs when I had a chance?” I moaned to David Brooks, the encyclopedically informed owner of this truly one-of-a-kind shop at 220 E. 60th St. “I don’t like CFLs.”

“People like what they like,” he shrugged amiably, having heard it all before—including from those who count their hoarded stash and actually calculate if they have a lifetime supply: Let’s see, if I live another 23 years and run the bulbs for an average of three hours a day…

Silly people—step with me into the Sunshine (a 3,500-degree Kelvin hue that Brooks thinks would make me happy). Yeah, look at me, I’m talking Kelvin now, and lumens, too (simply judging bulbs by wattage is for weenies—i.e., what I was until about five minutes ago). Walk into this compact but stocked to the rafters store and you too can not only become conversant in all things luminary, you will find whatever you’re looking for.

Need a special “ping pong frosted”? Find it the European bulb collection. The “vertical pigtail”? But of course; it’s in the Victorian/Edison series, along with the “flickering flames,” which perfectly replicate a gently wavering candle without the open flame hazard.

Look: This is a 32-year-old business that monthly tends to Gracie Mansion’s chandeliers. Among the challenges there, the lighting must not only be ecologically sound, of course, but also historically accurate for the 100-year-old crystal fixtures. Do you think they can handle our apartments? Count on it.

And please don’t think all the wares extremely rarefied. Brooks obviously takes great pleasure in his strings of “party lights”—tiny bulbs that are brilliantly colored and/or whimsically shaped (a 12-foot string of flamingoes, anyone? Just $14.99).

Oh, I almost forgot, my fellow 100-watt Reveal fans. Brooks quickly honed in on the best sub for us: the 5,000-hour incandescent Chromalux (“the original,” he noted); $7.50. A CFL version is about $6; $15 for dimmable.

As usual, I’ll need a return trip to make my final decision—see you there?

—Laura Shanahan

As soon as it was out of my mouth, I wondered if I had been unspeakably rude—Beads of Paradise is, as its name strongly suggests, a bead emporium; indeed, it’s totally bedecked with the ornaments.

But Joe was unfazed, assuring me that a lot of people come in for their non-bead offerings, of which there are many—and that even those who do make a beeline for the beads do not always do so to wear them as jewelry (their obvious use), but to sew them onto articles of clothing or display them as art objects.

Consider that the range here includes tiny, almost granular, seed beads, which are indeed frequently used as embellishments for clothing as well as in jewelry making (a wee $3.50 per packet), intricately patterned antique glass German marble beads ($2,800 per strand) and dazzling 2,000-year-old Chinese Warring State orbs ($200 to $500 per).

Most of the offerings, however, are modestly priced semiprecious stones, sold in strands or loose for the purpose of your pleasure.

Especially popular now are the strands of prayer or meditation beads, Joe notes, citing their spiritual link as resonant with the times. “There’s a lot of looking back and reflecting; a reprioritizing, a shifting into a more contemplative phase,” he said. These beads, which range from bumpy-textured rudrakshas to classic sandalwood, are tagged at a tiny $8 and up for a bracelet-sized strand to $16 and up for necklaces.

While there is a selection of this indie shop’s proprietary handcrafted jewelry, if you’d prefer to make your own out of the ornaments here but aren’t sure how to proceed, has Beads of Paradise got a class for you: On Sundays, they run a $75 beginner’s crash course that will not only teach you all you need to know, but will send you home with the wearable fruits of your labor plus tools of the trade and a one-time 20-percent discount on full-priced merchandise, valid for a month. Call 212-620-0642 for details.

Moving on from the beads, there is also a dizzying array of religious, spiritual and celebratory icons, art and artifacts, both antique and contemporary. Spanning several of these categories are the cajas, as Joe calls them. These are glass-fronted, brightly painted wooden shadow-boxes filled with fully dressed clay skeletons engaged in all sorts of worldly pursuits. Handmade in Mexico, these traditional craft items commemorate that country’s Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) holiday, which celebrates departed loved ones. While they may no longer be here in their earthly form, the holiday honors our continued relationship with them.

Hence, we see the small skeletons in the shadow boxes not only outfitted in all manner of material plus glitter and sequins (when appropriate to the scenario), but engaged in the worldly activities they may have enjoyed when they walked among us. One box features a restaurant scene, another a mariachi band and a third, nuptials. Regarding the last: Joe says they’re popular as wedding gifts. I can totally see that—can’t you?

Personally, I would like to have every caja sent directly to my home. But starting at only about $24 and going up to $100-plus for each, it’s not so much the expense as the fact that I’d then have to throw out my bed to make room.

Still, it might be worth it…

—Laura Shanahan