With Alice as my prod, I slipped on a button-front dress, hiked it up a few inches to turn it into a curve-enhancing tunic, then tried it on backward, watching, transfixed as it became a bubble top with an off-the-shoulder “Flashdance” -era neckline. Shroudlike on hangers, these clothes are far sexier than might be supposed.

I tugged at the drawstring waist of a taffeta anorak ($315) — and, presto, a dress; I worked a black cotton shirt ($195), tying its front sash behind me to give it an hourglass shape that evoked Ava Gardner baiting a toreador in “The Sun Also Rises.”

Alice was unstoppable, jerking me out of my cheesy reverie just long enough to coax me into a bubble skirt. So not me, I grumbled inwardly, but didn’t fight. After whisking it into a mirrorless fitting room where creature comforts were in short supply, I ventured back to the sales floor to assess it, toying with its buttons and watching it morph under Alice’s vigilant eye. “If you don’t like it short, then wear it long,” she chirped. “There is no confinement.”

The concept of convertible clothing isn’t uniquely Chinese, of course, nor is it groundbreaking. The idea was floated at least as far back as the early ’90s by Dolce & Gabbana, which unveiled a series of jersey dresses that transformed via buttons to the wearer’s whim. And a cursory tour of the Web will turn up any number of looks from designers as varied as Norma Kamali and Rachel Roy that can be hitched, sashed, buttoned or draped to take on new forms and uses.

But in a value-driven economy, clothes that do double duty are certainly compelling. Among “frugalistas” and light-traveling frequent fliers, they carry a cachet that has not been lost on luxury marketers. Only last week, Alber Elbaz, the creative force behind Lanvin, unveiled a resort collection highlighted by daytime chemises that reverse to ruffled chiffon or draped tulle for night.

Not that the offerings here are especially wallet-friendly. Persuading yourself that a dress can double as a coat or blouse — or, for that matter, a parachute — is just another way to rationalize parting with sums that do not compare favorably with those of Topshop or H & M.

My friend Cam, who accompanied me on a visit to the store shortly after it opened this month, was tempted to buy some streamlined high-heeled pumps for his girlfriend, until he saw the price. “Four hundred dollars?” He balked. “That could buy 12 pair of sneakers.”

Prices that range from about $195 to close to $500 did not deter a young woman from splurging on a linen tunic marked at just over $200. “You can’t leave here without buying something,” she trilled on her way out the door. It happens she was right.

JNBY

75 Greene Street (near Spring Street); (212) 219-2529.

Source: http://www.nytimes.com