For the Stars, a Fitting Room of Their Own

IMAGINE it as a steadycam shot, the way Michelle Pfeiffer might: through the two sets of double glass doors that the doorman pushes and pulls open for you, then a sharp right and a left into a white-sycamore wood-paneled elevator. It ushers you to the top floor, then there's a long runway walk to women's evening wear, and a narrow doorway slips you into a pale, polished space, as pure and private as the inside of a shell.

It is the V.I.P. fitting room at the Giorgio Armani store at 760 Madison Avenue, and if you are Ms. Pfeiffer, Mel Gibson, Jodie Foster or Cuba Gooding Jr., you are a client here.

It is a place that no one except the people who work in it, and those who are invited to use it, know about.

So it is, too, at Dolce & Gabbana -- through the doors at 825 Madison Avenue, up the sweeping limestone staircase to the second floor, toward the glassed-in Sicilian garden terrace. Secreted to one side, the V.I.P. fitting room has crimson velvet walls -- the color of revenge.

And at Calvin Klein at 645 Madison Avenue, sequestered on the third floor, the V.I.P. room is as large, bare and white as a small chapel. The store's elevator directory is as mum as a convent nun: beyond Men's Wear on ''2'' is a simple, unexplained ''3.''

At Prada, 28 East 70th Street, a wall closes behind you on the sales floor, leaving you alone with your own importance -- and two assistants -- in a wide sea of soft green light. The wall was observed sliding into place behind Sandra Bullock as she glided through, Prada backpack on her back, one afternoon not long ago.

With the recent royal flush of big-name fashion boutiques being built in New York, a new genre of personal space has come to power: the celebrity or V.I.P. fitting room. This is not about finding your size. This is about finding your place in the world. The level of finish -- ordinary silk walls give way to suede in the exclusive rooms at Armani -- and the level of service -- Versace on Fifth Avenue flies in fitters from Milan -- tell you quickly where you stand.

Part hotel suite, part secret chamber, the well-appointed, well-staffed V.I.P. fitting room is a logical, late-1990's confluence of celebrity and design -- club-going or winning the right restaurant table reinterpreted as the act of trying on clothes.

''With fashion crossing over so much with Hollywood, these rooms have become important,'' said Marin Hopper, the fashion director of Elle magazine, who by dint of her status in the industry also uses these rooms when she shops. ''It's separate, it's private. You get maximum attention. You know everyone from Madonna to Demi Moore is going to want that. It's a way of being sure you've got the store's full attention.''

Jason Weisenfeld, vice president of public relations for Barneys New York, said: ''With this rash of new boutiques -- all these magnificent hospitals on Madison Avenue -- it's become de rigueur -- the V.I.P. dressing room.''

Seated in a copper-colored silk armchair in a raffia-paneled room at the heart of the Barneys V.I.P. enclave on the third floor of its Madison Avenue store, Mr. Weisenfeld, who helps direct celebrity services, added, ''It's a new concept, a competition you might say.''

The new V.I.P. fitting rooms are typically large spaces rather than traditional, closet-sized fitting rooms, equipped with the kind of amenities that a small jet might offer -- telephones, fax machines, televisions and bars. They cater; they accommodate entourages. They work by appointment, when possible. They are often the tip of the iceberg of a store's celebrity services department. They find you; you don't find them.

Invitation-only fitting rooms are one more twist in the knot between fashion and Hollywood, which now includes dressing stars for big-view movie events like Oscar night and then featuring them in big-bucks advertising campaigns. Hollywood glamour sells clothes; clothes create Hollywood glamour.

In their head-dive to drape some of the most photographed figures in the world, designers and department stores show little fear -- or shame. ''We want to over-service this customer,'' said Tommy Hilfiger, whose hyperbolic new store in Beverly Hills has a 400-square-foot celebrity fitting room -- larger than the average New York studio apartment.

''With a view,'' the designer added. ''That's important.''

The beige, neo-Georgian room has a full-service bar, access to a wine cellar, pigskin suede sofas, humidors stocked with Cuban cigars, satellite television, Peter Beard photographs on the walls and original Andy Warhols. A Wolfgang Puck cafe next to the store supplies meals.

When the 25,000-square-foot store at the corner of Rodeo Drive and Little Santa Monica Boulevard opened in November, the staff worked with the William Morris Agency to create an A list and a B list of film, television and music celebrities. The lists guide the staff in making appointments for its V.I.P. salon, which is considered by many the current high-water mark of celebrity dressing rooms.

''B list people are treated like A list people, but if A list people are in the salon, B list people have to wait,'' Mr. Hilfiger explained. "A lot of celebrities don't make appointments, or they book for four and show up at seven. We get a call from valet parking that someone has arrived. It's awkward when someone's already using the salon. Maybe we need two.''

Mr. Hilfiger has learned a great deal about the tastes and expectations of his famous clients.

''Gwen Stefani, singer of No Doubt, the new Madonna -- we suddenly realized that we should have not only Dom Perignon but Cristal,'' he said. "The Wayans brothers -- we realized we should have different vintages of Cristal. And aged Scotch.''

In addition to hiring away specialized staff from competitors like Armani, Valentino and Hermes for the V.I.P. salon, the Hilfiger boutique has also hired celebrity services staff from the Hollywood industries it caters to, strengthening the bridge between the businesses.

In New York, Sharon Weil, director of special services at the Calvin Klein store, handles celebrities when they appear. She explained how it works: ''The doorman radios our central security office; they call my office or page me. I meet them, introduce myself and take it from there.''

On the Tuesday before Christmas, Brad Pitt and a bodyguard walked through the door. Ms. Weil, alerted, showed them to a private fitting room.

''There were people trying to approach him,'' she said. ''A few women who saw him walk in the door followed him into the store. They were not there to shop -- we were on the men's floor.''

Conversely, Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York, arrived recently by appointment.

''She came in after the store was closed,'' Ms. Weil said. The Duchess and her entourage of two security people, two ladies-in-waiting, two stylists and a hair and makeup person made a good case for large fitting rooms.

''We had beverages and hors d'oeuvres,'' Ms. Weil said. ''She had business in regard to raising money for Princess Diana's foundation -- some dinners. She was appearing on Larry King and Oprah. So she needed suits and evening things. We had everything ready. I pick all the clothing; someone from visual helps me set up the room.'' (The visual services department of Calvin Klein is responsible for store display.)

Ms. Weil had special praise for Nick and Jacob, two hawk-eyed doormen who recognize every stripe of celebrity and report it to her quickly from their post at the door. ''Wayne Gretsky, Brian Leech, the drummer from U2 when he walked through -- I mean, who knows that?'' she said.

Increasingly, celebrities themselves have begun to employ professional stylists to keep their shopping appointments with them.

''I'll get a call from the stylist,'' said Michael Sharkey, the director of special services for Barneys in Beverly Hills, whose personal clients include Harrison Ford, Cindy Crawford and Vanessa Williams. ''Most celebrities are hiring stylists who have done major movies, like Colleen Atwood, a well-known costume designer. Or stylists like L'Wren Scott, who works with Herb Ritts.''

The Versace flagship store in New York, housed in a former Vanderbilt mansion at 647 Fifth Avenue, turned over its entire sixth floor to celebrity services when the building was renovated as a boutique in 1996. The marble-lined ''roof-top tempietto,'' as the sixth floor is described by its Milanese architects, Laboratorio Associati, has an outdoor terrace on Fifth Avenue, two large skylights and balconies that overlook the staircases and shopping floors of the store below. It is essentially one large V.I.P. fitting room: Roman-circus-sized, not inappropriately.

Known as the atelier, the floor is accessed only by elevator key.

One evening recently, during the week preceding the opening-night gala for the Versace retrospective at the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Costume Institute, the spacious atelier showed itself to full advantage: it was intimately crowded with the machinery of publicity.

The actress Bai Ling, Richard Gere's co-star in ''Red Corner,'' was choosing a Versace dress to borrow for the party.

If V.I.P. fitting rooms were conceived to give privacy to public figures, the Versace atelier is privacy staged as a public event -- as only celebrities could understand.

Balancing a red and gold Versace cup and saucer -- she had asked for hot water when she arrived -- Ms. Ling moved between the dressing mirrors and the baroque sofas and chairs like a figure at court. A roving, revolving audience of publicists (three), fitters (five), Versace boutique employees (two), a reporter, a photographer and a photographer's assistant attended her. Angelo Azzena, the head fitter and something of a celebrity himself, arrived from Milan with Donatella Versace to supervise fittings for the party. He supervised Ms. Ling's visit that day.

Sting, Elizabeth Hurley and the important models -- Kate, Naomi, Stella -- had already been seen. Salma Hayek was that night. Cher was the next day.

Ms. Ling tried on five dresses over three hours. Her first choice was an $18,000 black-widow, bridal-veil dress, although to accommodate her height it would be necessary to cut a foot off the bottom.

Mr. Azzena assured her, with the veiled grace of a wine steward who knows the first bottle isn't in the cellar, that his choice -- a turquoise gown -- was the better one.

''Blue is the color of the sky and the ocean,'' Ms. Ling said, philosophically proposing her fate.

Not surprisingly, the roomful of people completely agreed.