On the Closing of M&J Trimming

It’s likely that many of you have never heard of M&J Trimming. But ever since I stepped foot in New York City, this gigantic warehouse of trimmings of every description on 1008 6th Ave. near Bryant Park, was on my list of things to do accompanied either by my mother, grandmother or friend creatives. It was therefore shocking, that having headed there yesterday to buy some beret trim for my imagined new line of hats—berets with a braided border topped with with a brooch—that I saw the unfathomable! A huge sign on the door in large letters announcing that the store would be closing and that Everything must go!!!!! 

No!!!! This can’t be!!!! Not again!!!! This was the last, amongst a dozen or so stores on Sixth Avenue from Penn Station to Bryant Part that had managed to stay open post pandemic. All the other jewelry supply and trimming stores had closed. No longer could I head to the city with my pieces of jewelry in progress and buy this or that to visualize or complete a necklace or whatever I was working on. I used to have the luxury of over-choice—so many of these stores—this one selling findings—this one precious stones—this one more fun and junky stuff—until one by one, they all disappeared overnight. Where did they go? Where does anything and anyone go when they are gone?

It was impossible to order online. I realized that I had no idea of the names of stones I had purchased in former days or the size of any bead or button. I just brought in things and matched them up using my eye. When I did decide to order online because there was no other option, I never got what I thought I had ordered and spent a lot of time having to return things. My jewelry repair days were over.

I entered the store with a heavy heart to look around and learn why they were closing. Thankfully, not all of the braids and ribbons had been piled high on the sale tables. There was still the semblance of the old place—row after row of dazzlingly arranged shelves that reached up to the ceiling with beaded and braided trimmings, ribbons, feathers, boxes and boxes of buttons in every size, color and material—how I loved those buttons! I knew exactly where the Czech ones were stored and found them in the same location—a few ladder steps high—though greatly reduced in number. I didn’t need any but for old times sake, I bought two. I often will incorporate one of these intricately carved and iridescent glass beauties for the centerpieces of my chokers. The east side store Tender Buttons, which I had frequented in times past had also now closed and left in its wake, yet another huge button hole! 

I looked around the store mentally curating what was left on the shelves—assigning the contents to future memory. There were stacked boxed shelves containing iron-on braids, shelves with jewelry components, embroidery decals, all kinds of fun things to sew on hats, sweatshirts, blouses or accentuate anything else in your wardrobe. Just looking and imagining the possibilities of what could be done with all of this boggled the mind. You could change the look of an old sweater which a change of buttons! Often I would land up with a bag full of stuff I had no idea what to do with and find stuff I didn’t know I was looking for! I fondly remembered my doll and puppet projects—costumes and outfits studded with rhinestones—or in the sixties, patches of embroidery decals ironed on my jeans, jackets or tee shirts. Some of the beaded clusters sewn onto strips of leather or velvet were affixed to bedroom lamps or used as hair ornaments. And when I was getting married, I ran over there to buy pearls and tulle in the bridal section of treasures to sew my wedding veil. Next to the counter on which a tape dispenser stood, all dolled up in rows of satin and beads, was an older woman in a batik printed dress and huge hand-painted mother-of-pearl drop earrings with a shopping card loaded with the most exotic beaded and embroidered braids. She was getting yards of each bundle. Her eyes were intensely focused on the job at hand. I couldn’t contain my curiosity.

“What are you going to do with those?” I asked her.

“I make crazy jewelry,” she answered, and it took a lot of discipline not to question her further. Suddenly in my mind’s eye, the pile that was growing next to her, turned itself into exotic necklaces. I had a hard time resisting to buy them myself!

In the days that I went with my mother—an annual pilgrimage—she landed up spending a fortune. She never held back—getting yards and yards of braids—to use in her Easter egg projects (an attempt to stop smoking by busying her hands!)—but mostly just to have and do whatever could be done anytime in the future. And if she did nothing at all with them, she enjoyed just having and looking at them. Upon returning home, she would gift me a few of her treasures and I would tuck them away, dreaming of things I could make with them.

Her mother, my grandmother, was a millinery designer and incorporated all of these things in her work. My mother probably had shopped alongside her and developed a passion for it back then, passing it on to me. My Grandmother had worked at a boutique in Paris known as Tout de Main (Everything by Hand) in the 1930’s, creating collages, silk-dyed embroidered beaded scarves to cover the piano, lacy lingerie. Trimmings were her passion. I can only imagine how delighted she would have been to discover M&J Trimmings when she moved to New York in the 1940’s. My mother remembers lugging bags stuffed with trimmings to their apartment on 57th Street already filled with color, art materials and scraps—the mess, chaos and bones of the creative process..

After my mother died, I found suitcases stuffed with trimmings under her bed. There were such beautiful braids of embroidered flowers and gold in different widths, yards of lace trim in pinks and ivories. I brought containers of them to the Westerhoff School for my art students. After fifteen years of making dolls and angels, cards, felted animals jewelry and more, there is still enough for the next ten years! Whenever I set eyes on that box, I can actually feel the projects I worked on in my hands. Like the glue I used to affix them, they are affixed to parts of me. There is still nothing makes me happier than working alongside other creatives with a box of braids and scraps between us.

M&J Trimming opened in 1936 and was part of the fabric of the city’s garment district designed to provide high quality imported trimmings to creative professionals. In the past, many high-end clients, celebrities and fashion designers have shopped there, like Lady Gaga, Victoria’s Secret, Ralph Lauren, Betsy Johnson, Christian Dior— searching for ritzy, luxurious materials. When I asked the owner why the store was closing, he told me that due to the rise in production of overseas garments, local companies are just not buying these things anymore. Handiwork has all been outsourced. Manufacturing is dead in New York City he said sadly and gestured to the street outside. “From garment district to food court” he said. “The city is a shell of what it used to be. Time to look for another job.” 

Meanwhile, at the checkout counter, most everyone in line was either grieving or sharing memories. I did all of my bridal shopping in this store. All of my grand daughters have dresses with trimmings from here. I remember shopping with my Grandmother here for each of my childhood birthdays. It’s all over now. The owner nodded sympathetically in response to each customer. He felt their pain.

And so I ask myself, what is life without the trimmings? Sad, and drab, I think, as I leave the store for the last time, clutching my package of two Czech buttons tucked into a pocket. The closing of this store is just another piece of the embellished fabric of city life, stripped away.

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