Dressed Up

Rooms we drop our pants for

by Monica Weymouth

From Rittenhouse to Fishtown, the proper dressing room is an endangered space. At best, flimsy curtains provide the illusion of privacy while you strip down in the middle of the store. At grossest, a bathroom doubles as a changing area. We're not a fussy bunch, but being able to try on a halter barefoot is an inalienable right when it comes to spring shopping. Thankfully, there are a couple of rooms where we love to show some skin.

In a truly perfect world, Grasshopper's dressing room (center) would be the only dressing room. Designed by Brendan Kilroy and owners Regina Mandell and Tracy Lutz, the oversize, loungelike area is equipped with a fireplace, plants and seating for the largest entourage of jeans cheerleaders. The individual changing rooms are equally comfy, should you prefer to model your Outlaw threads in private. Impressively, the space pulls off wood paneling and retro striped walls without even winking at Mr. Brady. And what's that smell? The sweet scent of American Mortals hair products seeping in from next door. If it's OK with you, we'll take a moment in our happy place.

With only a closet to work with, Conspiracy Showroom proves that size doesn't matter. Softly lit, the slim, shadowy space (left) is at once enchanting and eerie. Metallic ornaments dangle delicately from the slanted ceiling, and textured dress-making patterns cover the walls. A back-lit antique chair waits in the rear, providing a handy seat if you can get past the undeniably electric look to it. Torture chamber or portal to Wonderland, it's our favorite way to get naked in NoLibs.

Sailor Jerry gracefully breaks our door rule, and we'd expect no less from a boutique with octopus chandeliers. Thick mauve curtains designed by local artist Kim Montenegro are detailed with nautical patchwork, pooling on the floor to create more than enough privacy as you wriggle into assorted anchor wear (right). On the walls, tattoo flash wallpaper provides a playful audience of topless mermaids, hungry jaguars and curvy Betty Boops. You'll have to step outside to see a mirror, but let's just say we're OK asking this staff for some help with a zipper. Consider our timbers good and shivered, Mr. Jerry.

We're not here to excuse Anthropologie's practice of writing your name on the dressing room door. It's weird, and that's why we lie about it. But like everything else in the store, the dressing rooms are so deliriously homey that we're not sure how to resist. A bare bulb and weathered cream woodwork create a soft and flattering glow, which is almost unheard of in this realm of fluorescent lights and dark corners. Each room is equipped with a large mirror, seating and plenty of hooks, providing a comfortable space to daydream about brunches in starched sundresses with boys named Pierce. So you know what, Anthro? Our name's City Paper, and we'll be sure to let you know if we need this in another size.