My suspicions started when I passed 238 West 10th and got a sensation like burning ears or an itchy nose. Then the horse-y paraphernalia started rolling in — plastic horses in the windows, postcards with twin ponies — and my suspicions grew. Once the clothing in the window started to go up, suspicions turned to butterflies. Castor and Pollux, one of the most respected boutiques in Brooklyn, was moving from Brooklyn to Manhattan. More specifically, the store was moving five blocks from me.
When it did open in early April, I realized I’d become at once the luckiest and most hated woman on earth: A store I’d worshiped for years had moved within range of my doorstep in Manhattan, seemingly ‘stealing’ the pride of Prospect Heights from “W”-toting ‘it’ girls all over Brooklyn. I imagined a growing wail emanating from Prospect Heights as girls came to the store to find it shut, playing Red Sox to Manhattan’s Yankees, bemoaning the “other” borough’s larger budget and pinstripes.
I confronted owner Kerrilynn Pamer about the move when I visited the new digs on the first warm day of April. The trees were blooming on West 10th and passersby were smiling as they walked in and grabbed navy platform espadrilles, commenting pleasantly on the scent in the store. Frankly, I had a hard time asking about her relocation, terrified she’d say, “Hello? Have you looked at these digs?!” Or — worse — that she was thinking of moving back…
As it happened, Ms. Pamer bore Brooklyn no ill will. She was soft-spoken and logical, genuinely desiring more space for her store. Granted, she also admitted she’d run into some trouble with a landlord trying to sell the building that once housed C&P (I could relate: I had only recently learned of my forced exodus from a West Village townhouse), but the calm, quiet space is all that anyone could dream of. The collection of 3.1 Philip Lim is truly staggering — from dresses to jackets, I haven’t seen that much of his collection in one boutique outside of Barneys. I particularly liked a black chiffon ‘tea party’-esque dress, a corset-like lining draped in pleated black chiffon with white flecks. Equally dazzling were Souchi’s handmade knits, from dramatic deep-V sweaters to one staggering canary-yellow dress. Super Suite Seventy-Seven offered a wispy cream strapless dress, Alek Wek handbags hung from the end of one rack and Sonya Rykiel and Mint rounded out the hangers.
To Brooklyn’s ‘it’ girl populace — don’t worry: it’s not like Castor and Pollux cut its hair, shaved its beard and started wearing metrosexual clothes (sorry, I think Johnny Damon’s a poseur). There’s no love lost here for Brooklyn; in fact, I dare say the move will urge more of the West Village’s kept women to become day-trippers across the river.