The Good Buy Girl
By Jennifer Barger

Wednesday, May 15, 2002; Page C02

This shopping guru's NYC tour will keep you in stitches.

Special to The Washington Post

Every time my train leaves Union Station bound for New York, I have the same dream: In a trendy outfit, I hit the stores of Fifth Avenue and SoHo and buy spindly heeled Manolo Blahnik pumps and a skinny black dress by Helmut Lang. Afterward, I relax with my hip girlfriends at Pastis, swilling Cosmos or whatever it is they're drinking these days. But despite "Sex and the City"-fied fantasies, my shopping trips usually end poorly. I can't seem to unearth those out-of-the-way stores that sell nothing but pointy-toed, uncomfortable shoes. When I finally find that boutique mentioned in Marie Claire magazine, one skirt seems to cost more than my mortgage payment. I usually trek back home with a bag full of T-shirts from the Gap.
So I decided to call in a pro: Sarah Gardner, the Big Apple bargainista who runs Fashion Update. The former New York Post columnist and professional shopaholic leads regular tours of Seventh Avenue area showrooms that sell Fendi, Gucci, Chanel, Dolce & Gabbana, Prada, et al. She promises to help customers score designer duds at wholesale prices. It sounded way too good to be true, but I figured I had little to lose except my semi-dowdy D.C. wardrobe.

In a trying-to-be-hip spring outfit (flowered jacket, black pants), I joined one of Gardner's sprees on a recent Friday. (Tours take place on weekdays, since Seventh Avenue showrooms close on weekends.) When I met her in a nondescript building lobby, I was huffing and puffing after a long walk from the subway. I'd passed Garment District workers unloading bolts of fabric from the backs of trucks and seedy storefronts full of pastel mother-of-the-bride muumuus.

"You're really going to be breathless after you see these bargains," the petite, strawberry-blonde Gardner said in her Noo Yawk accent. She certainly looked like a fashion pro in a red Andrew Marc leather jacket (bought for $200, retail $800), Jennie Maag black pants ($60, retail $225) and Sharagano shirt ($40, retail $125).

Those tacky shops I passed? Not on this tour -- those were "jobbers," Gardner explained, middlemen between manufacturers and boutiques. They don't stock the "faaa-bu-lous designer buys, at 50 to 90 percent below retail," that she hawked like a Crazy Eddie of Seventh Avenue. Her tours, which range in size from one or two people to a bus load, go behind the scenes of the fashion world to high-end showrooms and warehouses willing to unload extra merchandise at steep discounts. Occasionally, Gardner takes customers to sample sales, which sell overstocks and samples.

Such insider access comes at a price. Depending on the size of the group, Gardner's rates range from $175 to $300 for three hours, and the tour stops at as many as five showrooms or sales. Larger tours involve a set itinerary of American (Anne Klein, Ellen Tracy) or European (Prada, Versace) designers; smaller tours can be customized.

The groups, says Gardner, include working women, brides and bargain-mad European and Asian fashion hounds. "They can't believe our American prices!" she crowed. Once Gardner even took a cross-dresser and his wife shopping. Her customers come seeking good buys, but they also get Gardner's girlfriend-like advice on what's in this season and whether those pants make them look fat. The typical client, she says, spends about $1,500 on bargains.
On my tour, we hunted for clothes at a pace as fast as a runway strut. We popped in and out of buildings on and around Seventh Avenue, dodging garment racks loaded with suits as they whizzed by. Gardner escorted me and one other customer, Galit Zach, an impossibly fashionable thirty-something event planner. Galit, a size 2 glamazon with pointy-toed shoes, blown-out hair and a jeweled belly-button ring, looked like one of my imaginary "Sex and the City" pals. She said she "needed sexy stuff" for the celebrity-studded black-tie bashes she attends as an event planner.

Our first stop: Subito, a trove of Italian women's wear by the likes of Byblos, Fendi and Dolce & Gabbana. Gardner ran her fingers over dress racks, pulling out a Byblos pinstripe suit for Zach (here: $250, retail: $1,400) and a fuzzy bronze and brown Fendi top for me ($75, down from $300-plus).

"This suit is really working for you!" gushed Gardner, adjusting Zach's pant cuffs. We were both sold, but we passed on the Gucci hobo bags near the exit. "Two hundred and fifty dollars! This is unbelievable! They should go for $650," Gardner said.
After a two-minute pit stop at Health King, a fruit shake takeout, our posse headed off to search for Zach's evening wear. "I've got to keep updating, since every event means the same people," said Zach, sipping her grapefruit-and-lime blend, which she claimed kept her thin, along with eating only one real meal a day. No wonder we weren't competing for the same sizes.

After pausing beside the giant needle-and-button sculpture that marks the Garment District's Fashion Center, we breathlessly followed the quick-walking, always-talking Gardner to the upper-floor showroom of an haute designer who dressed several stars for this year's Academy Awards. "It's such a fantasy," said Gardner.

After air-kissing the designer, Gardner sat down beside me on an Empire-style sofa. In this checker-floored atelier overlooking the Hudson River, the hat-wearing designer -- who didn't want her name mentioned lest she lose boutique business -- works with Gardner's customers at wholesale prices. That means the silk peasant blouse Zach liked runs $750, not $1,800.

Gardner began her business 12 years ago, producing the quarterly sample-sale magazine Fashion Update. She got to know designers and schmoozed apparel liquidators. First it was shopping trips with friends, and then paying customers followed; now she employs a staff of four and often appears on local television news broadcasts as the "Queen of Bargains." "I can get deals on everything from clothing to furniture to bedding to restaurants," said Gardner.

We visited a few more showrooms, walking through offices crowded with clothing racks and past shipping centers full of boxes and ringing phones. Gardner hugged thin young things who looked like models but turned out to be showroom assistants. Zach and I both liked the rock-star clothing at Sharagano, a French manufacturer of casual clothing featuring ruffled blouses and tight, hip-slung pants. Gardner whipped around, finding tops in our sizes and offering yeas and nays. Zach left with two pairs of pants and a couple of blouses for less than $200; I nabbed a lacy black shirt with ruffled cuffs ($40, retail $120).

The tour turned up a few shopping provisos. Some merchandise appeared a season out of date -- so a Fashion Update tour probably won't yield that Birkin bag wait-listed at Hermes. In one tiny showroom, I sat petting the resident poodle while Zach tried on faux Chanel and faux St. John's knits -- a red jacket trimmed in black, a keyhole-neck sweater. Gardner later ushered us through a manufacturer's showroom filled floor to ceiling with the kind of conservative suits I'd come here to avoid. But at $50 a pop -- Gardner said these babies retail for $250 or so -- I couldn't pass up a cheap work outfit.

Gardner acted like a fashion cheerleader at most stops, but she didn't pressure us to buy anything we didn't love. She advised against many outfits and rushed out of showrooms that didn't pique our interest. "I want people to save money," she said. "But I also care about how things look."

Outside the last showroom, I felt as if I'd been running laps around the Mall of America. Gardner laughed. "I told you to wear comfortable shoes!" Zach waved goodbye and jumped into a cab, clutching several bags. I, too, was burdened with loot, stuffed into plain-Jane plastic showroom sacks.

I took off to meet two New York girlfriends at a cafe near NYU that Gardner recommended. ("A $20 prix fixe , and you won't bee-lieve the crab cake!") In the bathroom, I changed into my new blouse. Reflected in the softly lighted mirror, I looked the tiniest bit like "Sex and the City's" Carrie. I fluffed my hair and headed out to the bar for a cocktail.