Racked is no longer publishing. Thank you to everyone who read our work over the years. The archives will remain available here; for new stories, head over to Vox.com, where our staff is covering consumer culture for The Goods by Vox. You can also see what we’re up to by signing up here.
You know Frank—he's been writing about menswear, sales, television, new shops, the recession, Lisa Loeb, the Golden Girls and getting blasted for Racked for over a year. Well, we think it's time you got to know him and his quirky-irreverent views on life and fashion even better with his brand new column: Love, Frank. Taking the form of an open letter and always signed with love, Frank will rant about whatever style-related conundrum he encounters in a given week. So buckle your two-toned leather Moschino belts, folks, it's going to be ? Something.
Image via ADA
Dear Newly-opened North Brooklyn Dry Cleaner,
First off, we want to thank you for opening with a bang. A new dry cleaner is one thing; a new dry cleaner with a $1.99 special is a whole other thing. That's right, people—$1.99 to clean any regular garment. This is major, and we weren't going to miss out on such an amazing opportunity.
Second, we apologize for sort of taking advantage. See, we're in the process of reconfiguring our closets. Seasonal rotation, storage solutions, ways to display ties and bags as the art they are ? Now, don't get us wrong: Four fairly ample (by New York standards) closets split between two people is almost luxurious. But when those people are clothes-hoarding clotheshorses (one more than the other (guess who)), things get cramped. Sometimes you need to switch around, add a shelf, put up some hooks, purchase bins and dedicate them solely to piques, create wall installations for leather totes, vacuum-seal wovens too precious to sell, donate or hand-me-down but not relevant-right-now enough to warrant ultra-precious hanger space ? You know, normal things normal people deal with on a normal basis.
Anyway, we got wind of this special and our closets were all over the floor anyway so we just started piling things into some of those giant reusable Ikea bags (clearly last used to carry home closet-organizing items from one Ikea or another) until, on the walk over to the shop, we ended up having to stop every few dozen feet to switch shoulders and catch our collective breath.
We are having 46 items cleaned.
So, yeah, sorry—but go big or go home, right?
And, third: Omigod if anything happens to any of that clothing someone is going to rue the day they opened their doors. They have some of our best items from some of our favorite collections. The range from J.Crew to J.Lindeberg and encompass all five relevant Ms: Marc and Margiela and Moschino, both Michaels—Kors and Bastian. Coats and ties and scarves; a tuxedo; knits in colors that should never have made it to menswear; a pair of jeans that cost more than our first car—and we got them on sale.
So, we're kind of freaking out—missing and worrying over; bargaining and rationalizing; utterly incredulous. We have to keep telling ourselves that these garments—though they have moods and personalities and the sweetest smiles (and names like Viktor and Rolf and Paul and Smith)—are merely garments. They're not our children. It wouldn't be the end of the world if this place ends up being the type of place that sends out their cleaning and some cardigan or sports coat were to end up languishing and exposed in a Brooklyn gutter, having slipped from it's frail wire hanger, before ending up lost and gone forever (or, worse, in some undeserving person's closet—someone (shudder) who might wear black with navy).
Except, actually, it would be pretty much totally terrible. So let's just plan on not ruing any days. We'll be picking up the kids first thing Saturday morning.
· Love, Frank [RNA]