3 london via new york.

Byline: Sarah Mower

Among buyers, Julie Gilhart is a rock star. At first glance, you might tag her as a low-key fashion-_indie chick: long, loose parted hair, default-expression smile, soft Texan voice, edgy clothes-the absolute reverse of the corporate-linebacker store- executive stereotype. But see the Barneys New York fashion director nip up a flight of stairs on her Marc Jacobs wedges, shirttails flying, to scout an exhibition of young London designers, and the Gilhart rock-star effect is palpable in seconds. Faces pale; backs stiffen; everybody stands by their rails and pretends not to be inwardly begging she'll actually step their way.

To other stores, these nerve-jangled newcomers may not rate a name-check, let alone a personal visit, but that, murmurs Gilhart, digging her notebook out of her Valextra sack, is just why she's hunting here. "Barneys' customers are some of the most confident in the world, zealous about individual style, always looking for someone they don't know, that they can't find anywhere else." A Barneys customer likes to feel she's discovering secrets, but there's a catch: the quality. "We can sell very advanced fashion, but it has to be able to hang next to Alaia, Balenciaga, or Comme," she says. "We have hard criteria."

Gilhart first moves in on Erdem Moralioglu's printed blouse. "You know, we're not really a print store," she says, laughing (an understatement: Barneys still has a minimalist-monochrome _image overhang from the nineties), "but there's something a little subversive about these." Next she tacks right, to meet Richard Nicoll, who is overcome to see she's wearing one of his cotton shirts. "It's really nicely made. Last season, after we saw the whole market, we came back because you did the best," she says, smiling. Pulling out a voile shirt, she points out what any woman would notice in a store: It's almost there, but not quite. "A little longer, you know, and you could wear it as a dress." This is a typical Gilhart comment-slash-suggestion. Part of her mind is whirring on the Platonic ideal of shirtdresses for summer. Another has just dropped a valuable piece of mentoring advice. (Eventually the shirts make the cut.) Gilhart then clocks Todd Lynn, a Gothy Canadian beaming in front of his rail of haute-rocker tailoring. She has his white faille dinner jacket, tailored in the same factory as Balenciaga, on her back within 30 seconds. Small + new + amazing quality: It perfectly fulfills Barneys' criteria. "Sometimes," she nearly yelps, just out of his earshot, "you just know. No one ...