Badgley Mischka Opens in New York ON A DAMP AFTERNOON in the second-tier dressing room of the new Badgley Mischka boutique, I happened upon a clear cellophane packet containing perhaps the most brilliant retail innovation since the escalator: the Disposable Fashion Mask. Manufactured by a company called True Fit Try On, which also does a brisk business in "hygienic liners" for bathing suits, this translucent mask, sort of a Ped for the face, with holes only for the eyes, enables the wearer to try on expensive clothing without worrying that her makeup will soil the neckline. It also lends even the most conventional of garments a transgressive "Bring Out the Gimp" frisson, surely unanticipated by Messrs. Badgley (Mark) and Mischka (James): Parsons graduates, partners in work and life and reliable purveyors of ye olde Hollywood glamour since 1988. In this period they have expanded from frocks into shoes, bathing suits, coats, jewelry and glasses, all tastefully spangled, never screeching into Dolly Parton territory. I think of these guys as the genial Emperors of Embellishment, riding out several boom-and-bust cycles, not to mention waves of minimalism, with their bottomless sacks of sequins and bugle beads. But they have never before had a store in Manhattan, perhaps because even in the best of economic times the city's jittery energy is more hospitable to the avant-garde than the "timeless." A resident is just as likely to express status wearing shredded-neck Yohji Yamamoto that makes her look like Kermit the Frog in mourning as with basic signifiers like satin and sparkle. Badgley Mischka, however, steadfastly refuses to compromise the Southern-belle aesthetic that has made the label a mainstay of red carpets, bridal aisles and charity benefits. The tone is set at the entrance with a large chandelier dripping with crystals. The floors are reclaimed wood: white and lightly battered. The rooms are unnervingly spacious. And the help is unfailingly gracious. On my first visit, searching for a nice formal to wear to the Emmys rather than my typical vintage freak show, I was quizzed about budget by Marcus, a clerk on loan from the Beverly Hills store, and shunted quickly to the "collection" area, where there's a small selection of gowns straight from the MGM playbook. A single-strapped number with goddess draping ($740, less on eBay) recalled the one in that famous publicity still from "The Killers" with Ava Gardner posing on a table under a hanging lamp. In the movie, she wears it at a party while singing "The More I Know of Love," and Burt Lancaster's character is immediately a goner. Or, as his date says in resigned voice-over, "Right then I knew the boat had sailed, and I just got my things and went home." The only color in stock was purple, though, which made me look less like Ava in her prime than an uncooked late-summer eggplant. "We can order it in sapphire," Marcus assured, futzing with the bodice. "We can take it in here, and here, and" - giving my chassis a quick once-over - "Spanx. God's gift to man. To woman! I was curious about the room on the far end of the store where the four-figure "couture" frocks are kept, their spirits doubtless freshened by a view of a lovely garden, but Marcus waved me away with a well-meaning "don't even go there" sort of motion. There is also a V.I.P. room upstairs; bridal is subterranean, swallowing a parade of modern Persephones. I went there again with a vengeance last Saturday, when the place was deserted, probably because it was Yom Kippur. Joan Rivers, a congregant at Temple Emanu-El a block away, caused a great ruckus when she swanned through Badgley Mischka's fall show last year, and I imagined the Fashion Police would have no problems with the silver-and-gold strapless "mermaid deco" ball gown ($6,875) into which I was ever so cautiously ushered by a pair of saleswomen, Norvys and Angeline. Why was I swimming in a size two smaller than my usual? That's couture! Norvys said with a twinkle. I gathered that when you are paying as much as a used car for a dress, a little ego-stroking is part of the deal. Any bourgeois concept of privacy also flies out the window. "And here are the boobies," Angeline said, hustling inside the (first-tier, plush-carpeted) dressing room with a pair of foam bust boosters known in the industry as "chicken cutlets," and plunging her hands into the corset area with the enthusiasm of a teenage boy. "When you get dressed for the evening, you shouldn't have to work hard for it," Mr. Badgley told People magazine in 1996. If I had invested in Apple stock then, I might have been able to spring for the next dress I tried, a backless Geoffrey Beene-esque gray flannel column with rhinestones at the collar and bobbing down the back of the neck ($4,495), obviating the need for a Harry Winston loaner. Instead I just got my things and went home. Badgley Mischka 24 East 64th Street, (212) 644-4934; badgleymischka.com. TEAM Known for their eveningwear, the affable designing duo of Mark Badgley and James Mischka have opened their first store in New York: "the only store in the city," a poster declares with uncharacteristic grandiosity. GLEAM This is the premium stuff; there is no evidence of their bridge line, Mark & James, and though the lines of the clothes are simple, pretty much everything is festooned with a little special-occasion furbelow. DREAM No snobbishness here; the staff seems to want to make Cinderellas of all customers.