Lifestyle
T.J. Byrnes, a No-Frills Irish Pub, Draws a Martini Crowd
Misty Gonzales has been tending bar at T.J. Byrnes, an Irish pub in the Financial District of Manhattan, for 13 years. For most of that time, she has served office workers, college students and city employees.
Two years ago, she noticed some unfamiliar faces. This new crowd was younger and usually stopped in for poetry readings, book-club gatherings and parties. Aside from their age, their drink orders set them apart.
“Martinis are the biggest thing — I couldn’t even get over how many people are drinking martinis,” Ms. Gonzales said. “Lots of Negronis, too.”
In the past year, the pub has hosted talks led by the art critic Dean Kissick, a holiday party for the leftist publication Dissent, a monthly reading series called Patio, a performance-art karaoke competition and a pre-Valentine’s Day party for single readers of Emily Sundberg’s Substack newsletter Feed Me.
Some of Ms. Sundberg’s 180 guests were initially confused by the choice of location.
“This was the first time people have texted me before being like, ‘What is this place?’” said Ms. Sundberg, 30, who first went to the bar for a friend’s birthday a couple years ago.
“I wouldn’t go as far as to call it the new Clandestino,” she added, referring to the downtown bar that is often bursting at the seams along Canal Street. “But if you have brand events — magazine parties, readings — it’s become a venue.”
At first glance, T.J. Byrnes might seem like an unlikely draw for writers, artists and fashion types. The bar is nestled in an austere plaza behind a Key Foods grocery store, at the base of a 27-story residential building. The facade looks onto a courtyard it shares with a preschool and a diner. The interior is unassuming, with a dark wooden bar in the front and white tablecloths and red leather booths in the back.
The bar’s eponymous owner, Thomas Byrne, 70, can be found most evenings at a cluttered desk just inside the dining room or perched at a hightop near the entrance, keeping an eye on the scene. In a pinch, he pulls pints behind the bar.
“I am very hands-on,” said Mr. Byrne, who has a neat mustache and typically wears a button-down shirt tucked into black trousers. He commutes into the city daily from Yonkers, where he has lived for the last 32 years. “I’m not saying I never take a day off, but I’m here a lot of the time, and I like that.”
The youngest of three, Mr. Byrne immigrated from County Wicklow, Ireland, in 1972 to join his brothers in New York, where they made their livings working in bars. With his brother Seamus, he ran a pub on Fordham Road in the Bronx from 1975 to 1991.
After they closed that spot, his brother Denis came across a vacant Chinese restaurant on Fulton Street. It needed some serious remodeling, but its sheer size and proximity to some of Manhattan’s busiest office buildings made it too good to pass up. After months of construction, T.J. Byrnes opened its doors in October 1995.
With the exception of a brief window during the city’s Covid lockdowns, the pub has been open nearly every day for the last 30 years.
“People say, ‘Oh, you’re still here,’” Mr. Byrne said. “We went through Sept. 11, we went through Sandy, the big storm and all that, and tough times. But you just hang in there, and it works out.”
Mr. Byrne recalled finally getting through police barricades the day after the attacks on the twin towers to find the bar, helmed by his brother, teeming with people from the neighborhood.
“So many people came in here just to be together,” he said. “People were in distress, and this was a meeting place to sit down and talk.”
T.J. Byrnes has always had an eclectic clientele, he said. City workers from 100 Gold St. mingled with musical theater students from Pace University. Office employees, retirees from St. Margaret’s House apartment community and residents of Southbridge Towers sat shoulder to shoulder at the bar. But it seemed to take a specific confluence of events to get a more artsy crowd in the door.
It might have started in 2022, when the writer Ezra Marcus sang the bar’s praises in the Perfectly Imperfect recommendation newsletter. “Byrnes is a holdout against the mass extinction of normal places for normal people to get a drink in the city,” Mr. Marcus, an occasional contributor to The New York Times, wrote.
A couple months later, Joshua Citarella, an artist in New York who researches online subcultures, called T.J. Byrnes the “new Forlini’s” in an article for Artnet, likening it to the red-sauce restaurant that had unexpectedly become a downtown cool-kid haunt in the years before it shuttered.
At the same time, the micro-neighborhood a few blocks from Forlini’s known as Dimes Square was becoming overexposed and — with the arrival of an opulent boutique hotel and fine dining establishments — a bit too upscale for some.
“It just has a better vibe,” Mr. Citarella said on a recent evening at T.J. Byrnes, where he was hosting a reading group with the author Mike Pepi. “With the transformation of downtown New York, everything has turned into condos; it doesn’t feel like anything is authentic or is here to stay.”
The South Street Seaport area that surrounds T.J. Byrnes has undergone its own changes. Once a gritty neighborhood celebrated by the writer Joseph Mitchell for its fish markets, the district has been transformed over the decades, most recently by large real estate investments, new shopping destinations and independent art galleries like Dunkunsthalle, located in an old Dunkin’ Donuts on Fulton Street.
When McNally Jackson Books opened its Seaport location in 2019, making it a hub for literary events, T.J. Byrnes became a favorite post-reading spot.
Jeremy Gordon, a senior editor at The Atlantic, was introduced to the bar after one of those McNally Jackson events. He took to it right away. Although T.J. Byrnes is unusually spacious for the city — another point in its favor — he described it as “beautifully cozy.”
When his debut novel, “See Friendship,” was published this month, he decided to throw a book party there.
With a lineup of readers and an open bar, Mr. Gordon invited around 60 of his friends to fete his book. The crowd sipped vodka sodas and hung out in the “many little pockets” of the space, which includes a large dining room and a side area that’s more tucked away.
“It is the type of place that I hope continues to exist for as long as I live in the city,” he said.
For some, it is a necessary counterbalance to fussy bars and restaurants that cater to the TikTok crowd or to those seeking experiences behind red ropes.
“I don’t want a concept,” said Alex Hartman, who runs the satirical meme account “Nolita Dirtbag,” railing against what he sees as a trend of bars spending exorbitantly on interior design that panders to the downtown creative class. People are “protesting this sort of aesthetic lifestyle,” he added.
With reasonably priced bars in short supply and a surge of private clubs taking over nightlife, T.J. Byrnes, with its lack of pretense, is an antidote.
“It’s the anti-members club,” Ms. Sundberg said. “There’s this huge cohort of New York City who wants to get into this locked, password protected, paywall door — and then T.J. Byrnes is right there.”
Mr. Byrne keeps track of his bar’s events and parties by hand, in a hardcover planner. Many people looking to entertain there simply text him to reserve the space — no fee or bar minimum required.
“I like the people that come here for the artist group,” Mr. Byrne said. “They’re really nice to deal with and enjoy the place, and we enjoy having them here.” During readings, he often listens from a spot toward the back.
On a recent Friday night, the furniture designer Mike Ruiz Serra celebrated his 28th birthday at T.J. Byrnes with about 100 friends. His guests downed pints of Guinness, sipped martinis and Negronis, and ordered classic bar fare like mozzarella sticks.
Away from the party, Andy Velez was closing his tab. Mr. Velez, who works for the City of New York in data communications, has been coming to T.J. Byrnes after work for 17 years, usually a few times a week.
“This is my ‘Cheers,’” he said.
Even when the crowd started to swell, as it was then, Mr. Velez said that the bar was almost never too loud to have a conversation.
“This is a very special place, a staple of the community,” he said. “Only people in the neighborhood really know about this.”
In the year since his death, there has been no hard pivot at Armani. The shadow of the founder has stayed in place over the Milan HQ, where the brand seems happy to leave it. Armani is not just plumbing the past for continued inspiration, it’s reselling it.
Today, Giorgio Armani is announcing Archivio, a grouping of 13 men’s and women’s looks, plucked from the brand’s back catalog and remade for today. (And, yes, at today’s prices.) There’s a jacket in pinstriped alpaca of 1979 vintage; a buttery one-and-a-half breasted jacket with a maitre d’s flair that first appeared in 1987; and an unstructured silk-linen suit that will activate ’90s flashbacks for die-hard Armani clients and those who want to capture that era’s nostalgia. The advertising campaign was shot and styled by Eli Russell Linnetz, who has his own label, ERL, but always seems to be the first call brands make when they want sultry photos with the aura of Details magazine circa 1995. (He did a similar thing for Guess recently.)
Linnetz’s images are a reminder of how Armani’s work still reverberates decades later.
Archivio is also a canny recognition of what shoppers crave now. On the resale market, Armani wares are as coveted as can be. Every week it seems as if I get an email from Ndwc0, a British vintage store, announcing a new drop of meaty-shouldered ’90s Armani power suits. They sell for less than $500. At Sorbara’s in Brooklyn, you can buy a tan Giorgio Armani vest for $225.
That vintage-mad audience is in Armani’s sights: To introduce the collection, it’s staging an installation, opening today, at Giorgio Armani’s Milan boutique. It will feature the hosts of “Throwing Fits,” a New York-based podcast whose hosts wear vintage Armani button-ups and shout out stores like Sorbara’s.
It’s prudent, if a bit disconnected. Part of the charm of old Armani is that it can be found on the cheap. I’m wearing a pair of vintage Giorgio Armani corduroys as I write this. I bought them for $76 on eBay. Archivio is reverent, but its prices, which range from $1,025 to $12,000, may scare off shoppers willing to do the searching themselves.
If you ask me, the next frontier of this archive fixation is that a brand — and a big one — will release a mountain of genuine vintage pieces. J. Crew and Banana Republic have tried this at a small scale, but a luxury house like Armani hasn’t gone there. Yet. Eventually, Armani (or a brand like it) is going to grab hold of the market that exists around its brand, but through which it gets no cut.
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Lifestyle
The story behind this rare architectural speaker from cult Japanese fashion brand TheSoloist
This story is part of Image’s April’s Thresholds issue, a tour of L.A. architecture as it’s actually experienced.
You hear it before you see it.
Turning the corner of the 15th floor corridor of the historic American Cement Building, a low thrum of electronic sounds seeps through the door of Archived, an L.A. luxury vintage curator. Inside, standing 43 inches tall, a silver speaker from Takahiro Miyashita’s brand TheSoloist vibrates high fidelity through the showroom.
Constructed of 3D-printed polycarbonate resin and aluminum, with a wide amp frequency range of 20Hz to 25KHz, the object looks less like a speaker and more like a relic of time. It is an artifact set in concrete, chiseled away to reveal a replica of the Flatiron Building in New York City. Containing seven audio channels and two bass speakers, its vibrations can be felt against the skin.
Dream Liu, along with his partner Marquel Williams, founded Archived in 2019 to resell rare vintage collectibles. Their designer wardrobe houses some of the most sought after pieces in the industry — like a 1990 Chrome Hearts biker jacket— but the collection of homeware, including a Giovanni Tommaso Garattoni glass chair or a Saint Laurent arcade machine, is what greets you when you walk in. “That’s one way we stand out from all the other archival brands,” Liu says. “We’re very much deep into everything design-related, not just fashion.”
Liu first encountered TheSoloist speaker a few years ago at the home of a friend, a lighting designer working in music who he admired. The speaker, he says, lived at the back of his mind ever since. Archived eventually sourced it directly through TheSoloist’s manufacturer, now acting as an intermediary seller. Only a few hundred of the silver color-way, on display in the showroom, were produced. Even fewer exist of the black, for sale on their website for $9,500.
Miyashita, the cult Japanese designer behind early-2000s punk label Number (N)ine and later TheSoloist, is known for fusing meticulous Japanese craftsmanship with distinctly American motifs. The speaker, for instance, pays homage to New York City, where he opened his original store. Without even seeing a single garment, his style is clear: avant-garde, grunge and very rock ’n’ roll.
(Archived)
Six months ago, Archived opened its MacArthur Park showroom, a brightly lit loft with exposed beams, floor-to-ceiling windows and a panoramic view of downtown. Today they are a team of about six people. Distinctive objects like TheSoloist speaker are an extension of not only the brand’s imprint, but the architecture that houses it. “The speaker fits perfectly into this space.”
Archived, whose clientele consists mostly of celebrities and high-profile curators such as Timothée Chalamet, Travis Scott and Don Toliver, sources its pieces through consignments from sellers and endless hours spent hunting across international marketplaces. When it comes to selecting which piece makes it to the floor, Liu looks for collectible items and whatever fits the brand’s taste, which can be described as minimal avant-garde with a touch of fine craftsmanship.
“Nothing is random,” Liu says. Every item at Archived has a story, from the Giseok Kim aluminum shelf where an unworn pair of 2005 reconstructed Nike Dunks are displayed, to the Marc Newson racks which archival Rick Owens hangs off.
The speaker is valuable, Liu admits, because of Miyashita’s reputation as one of the greats, placing him alongside designers like Jun Takahashi and Yohji Yamamoto. “Our audience knows his designs and all of his great collections,” he says. “So the speaker itself speaks volumes.”
Originally from West Palm Beach, Fla., Liu moved to California to study fashion merchandising at FIDM in San Diego. Before that, he had dabbled in architecture. “It’s always been in the back of my mind,” he says.
Liu said he recognizes that designers, after a time, get fatigued with profit-driven conglomerates and begin to delve into other art forms. “Fashion is just another art form, and I think eventually, when [designers] tire of making clothes — Helmut Lang as an example, even Tom Ford — they transition to art.”
If the nature of design is building upon and taking from existing works, then creating an archival space is collecting pieces of history. “Everything is a reference point,” Liu says. “Every piece here has made an impact on the current climate of fashion.”
To Liu, items like the speaker are worthy of preservation because some of them are only getting rarer and rarer to find. “Pieces like this deserve to be presented properly, and be in spaces that reflect the caliber of the clothing,” he says. “You can put random objects in a beautiful space and that object becomes important.”
The scene recalled the frenzy that unfolds backstage during fashion week: On a recent Monday, in a room full of clothing racks, the stylist Micaela Erlanger was working alongside a team of tailors and assistants. But they were not preparing for your average fashion show.
Ms. Erlanger and the group had assembled at her studio in Manhattan to prepare looks for the actress Meryl Streep, Ms. Erlanger’s client of 11 years, to wear during the press tour for “The Devil Wears Prada 2,” the buzzy sequel to a beloved film set at a fictionalized version of a certain glossy fashion magazine.
In the sequel, Ms. Streep steps back into the stilettos of Miranda Priestly, the publication’s glamorous editor in chief. She stars alongside Anne Hathaway and Emily Blunt, who also reprise their roles as Andrea Sachs and Emily Charlton, characters who served as Miranda’s assistants in the original film. Based on a novel and released in 2006, it has become a cult favorite among serious and casual followers of fashion alike.
To prime fans for the sequel, Ms. Streep has appeared on the cover of Vogue and, along with some of her co-stars, has traveled to Mexico, South Korea, China and Japan in recent weeks for premieres. On Monday, cast members appeared in New York, and they will travel to London for more events before “The Devil Wears Prada 2” is widely released on May 1.
Each affair has offered the cast members a chance to turn heads in finery on par with the clothing worn by the characters they play in the movie. Balenciaga, Chanel, Valentino and — yes — Prada are just some of the labels they have sported as they have traveled the globe.
To pull off this fashion feat — and to avoid any style faux pas — Ms. Erlanger, 40, has been in constant communication with Erin Walsh, 43, Ms. Hathaway’s stylist of seven years, and Jessica Paster, 60, who has been styling Ms. Blunt for going on two decades. The women have been operating as something of a hive mind for months, sharing details of the actresses’ looks — the brands, the accessories, the color palettes — in group chats, calls and conversations on the sidelines of runway shows.
“I got to see Erin and Micaela at fashion shows,” Ms. Paster said. “We would whisper: ‘I like that. I like that. I like this. I like that.’”
In a conversation that has been edited and condensed, Ms. Paster, Ms. Erlanger and Ms. Walsh discussed their collaborative relationship, the stakes of styling press tours and the ways they have used fashion to build hype for “The Devil Wears Prada 2.”
How have you each approached dressing your client for the press tour?
MICAELA ERLANGER With Meryl, we leaned into this idea of powerful silhouettes and shapes that you haven’t necessarily seen her in. This is a fashion movie — we’re leaning into it. I would say that there are a lot of references that the fashion community will appreciate and enjoy. We have not just been referencing the first film, but referencing references within the film. I call it “meta dressing.”
JESSICA PASTER You have to remember that Emily Charlton was an assistant 20 years ago. She has evolved. So I’m approaching her as a little stronger — a girl with power. She doesn’t need to borrow clothes anymore. Designers are now giving her the clothes, and she’s out buying clothes.
ERIN WALSH I guess I am hesitant to tell you a theme. I don’t want to encapsulate it. Ultimately, it’s always about how we make a person feel their very best.
You said you communicate via group text. What are you saying to one another?
ERLANGER We have been, from logistics to creative, kind of strategizing among ourselves. What look works best here or there? What’s the other person wearing? Will they look great together?
PASTER I remember one text among us was like: “I’m thinking red. I’m thinking a little burgundy red. And I’m thinking red, too. Is it weird that they’re all wearing red?” I said, “No, let’s lean into that, and let’s do it all in red.”
What we do is make a picture more beautiful. If we have two people who are wearing red, and one is wearing white or purple or black, that is the girl that should be in the middle of a photo. It’s not about, “My girl needs to be in the middle.” If something goes viral, it’s going to help Erin; it’s going to help me; it’s going to help Micaela; and it’s going to help the movie because it gets everyone buzzing and excited.
WALSH With our job, there are always curveballs thrown your way. By working together, we can better navigate any kind of situation in a joyful way without having breakdowns.
Styling has a competitive aspect, in that there are only so many looks, and everyone can’t always get what she wants. How are you navigating that together?
PASTER There are a lot of stories about stylists competing with each other. We’re not. We are so busy. We do not have time. Micaela is calling me because she needs something. I have so many questions to ask Erin and Micaela. If one of these two girls needs me, I will be there for them.
WALSH Removing anything competitive or not collaborative from the equation makes us stronger. It makes our work better.
ERLANGER Collaboration also benefits our clients. Everybody wins when we are aligned.
I’m curious, where were you in your careers when the original “The Devil Wears Prada” premiered?
ERLANGER We have stages of our careers that directly relate back to the first movie. I was an intern at Condé Nast, the company that owns Vogue.
WALSH I was an assistant at Vogue when it came out. I watched Anne onscreen. “The Devil Wears Prada” I knew, you know, in my skin.
PASTER I was a stylist, and, in fact, I was trying to get Emily Blunt as a client.
Modern press tours can involve several premieres in addition to other events. How has that changed how you work?
ERLANGER Social media has made every moment a photo op. Even if it is a junket day when your clients are sitting in a room for on-camera interviews, those pictures get picked up. So every single moment has become press-worthy. And, therefore, there’s more intentionality behind what clients are wearing.
PASTER People forget that we just can’t bring in a dress or two, bust out a look and call it a day. Micaela and Erin are going with nine suitcases all over the world to fit their girls, and I have two trips of fittings in Ireland.
What clothes have you been wearing during the press tour?
WALSH You’ve got to look the part. I tend to, in these situations, reach for more empowering pieces, like a shoulder pad and heels. I don’t work in flats.
ERLANGER I need a flat, and I kind of want to be more comfortable. I’m in jeans and a blazer and a button down and a flat.
PASTER I’m working in sweats and with my hair in a bun.
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