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Byline: Sally Singer
Forgive me, Lord, but I have shopped. Yet I never had more fun or more success or felt less guilt than at the first-ever 7th on Sale in 1990. I didn't work in fashion at the time-I was a lowly book editor-and so I wasn't there for the glamorous opening gala. Instead I bought a ticket for the first day of the public sale, queued up at the New York Armory, and spent two hours buying the most wonderful things: a navy double-faced cashmere jacket from YSL, a black velvet LBD from Carolina Herrera, Marc Jacobs's beach-ball sweaters for Perry Ellis. When I rushed back to the office with my haul, a colleague said, "How do you know if it fits?" "You must know your sizes in the various designers!" I replied. "There simply isn't time!"
Of course, the sense that "there wasn't time" dominated the mood of the early nineties in ways far more meaningful and tragic. AIDS hit this city-this nation-hard, and the fashion industry was among the first to realize the enormity of the crisis and to take ...