Varvatos' Bowery Store is Sort of a Museum of Rock 'n' Roll—Like TGI Fridays is to Tiffany Lamps

Someone please tell the two protesters outside of the new [John Varvatos] store at 315 Bowery, the former [CBGB](http://www.cbgb.com/) location, that they are wasting their time. Do they really believe that sitting on the sidewalk, feebly clutching their handwritten signs is actually going to bring the club(http://www.cbgb.com) back? Or suddenly halt the construction of million-dollar real estate in the Lower East Side? I never visited the bastion of loud music when it was intact (and I suspect most New Yorkers are the same, even if they don't admit it), but I can tell you what I do know something about: that if these guys just went inside the store, they'd get up off their asses and work hard enough so that they could afford Varvatos’ clothes.

Despite the posterboard resistance sitting in full view, the mood inside was pretty chill. The music was exactly what you’d expect, without being blaringly obnoxious—like at A&F or Armani Exchange. When the sales people—all leathered up and bandana-ed out—weren’t smiling affably and helping customers, they’d randomly break out into fits of dancing.

One of the protestors signs read: “CBGB was not a museum and we are not dead yet!” a jab at Varvatos’ decision to retain as much of the music venue’s punk rock vibe as possible in the design of the store. Footwear is displayed with drum sets, turntables and speakers decorate an entire area, the walls are covered with worn-out band stickers and framed industry photos line the walls of the entrance. Frankly, it’s as much a museum to rock 'n' roll as TGI Fridays is to Tiffany lamps and European art deco prints. But I’m sure to those that are in the know, it’s something special. Of course, some of us are still dealing with the designer's appropriation of Chuck Taylors as laceless copies overpriced for the fashion forward crowd, so I understand the sentiment.

I thumbed through an entire rack of vintage band T-shirts and leather vests, all cut for a 12-year-old boy. My personal favorites were a yellow and blue Doobie Brothers T-shirt ($200) and a white long-sleeved one for Cheap Trick, reasonably priced at $750. Once I had my fill of rock 'n' roll, I gravitated away from the studded belts and skinny ties and back to the world of American sportswear. For some reason everything I ended up with had names like Cadet Blue, Blue Smoke and Blue Steel; a cotton/poly blend short sleeve shirt was too gauzy and sheer, not nearly enough fabric to justify $165. A pullover with raglan stitching fit amazingly well and at $198, seemed oddly attainable.

The other protestor’s sign: “One small loss of a music space… One giant leap for pants,” proved to be prophetic. I made a conscious effort to avoid the jeans section for fear that I’d be forced to squeeze into those awful skinny-legged jeans that hipster punks seem to love so much these days. But Timothy, my appropriately tattooed, silver-chained sales guy, assured me that that was not the case.

He introduced me to the Authentic Fit, which were actually cut for normal, everyday real human beings who enjoy a full range of motion below the waist. They fit great, and I totally would have bought them if they didn’t feature dangly threading hanging off the trim – and they weren’t $225 a pair. When he wasn’t searching for my size and recommending $500 cashmere sweaters, Timothy walked me around like a rock 'n' roll retail museum tour guide, sharing little tidbits about CBGB’s history, selling me on Varvatos’ limited edition Converse (natch) and recommending merchandise based on his own recent purchases.

All in all, a wonderful shopping experience and an unexpected pop culture history lesson, the whole thing made me feel like a bit of a Johnny-come-lately though; if I had known these rock and rollers were so helpful and well mannered, I would’ve gotten involved in their scene years ago!