Orchard Street Sign Post. Photo by Vogue
Orignally prepared for the CornellAAP Blog, this writing was never published. In this post, I detail a day I spent on Orchard Street exploring the historical Tenement Museum, shopping for fabrics, second-hand, and custom-made fashion, and eventually ending my day with a brunch at 6 pm. Through my lived experience, I also attempt to unravel the underlying layers of history that have contributed to the current urban fabric of Orchard Street.
Orchard Street is one of the quintessential representative roads of New York City’s Lower East Side, historically known as the Garment Manufacturing capital of the United States. The street was notable in the 19th and 20th centuries for its immigration waves of German and later Jewish Immigrants and their culture of street carts and vendors. By the 21st century, it has faced waves of gentrification as the manufacturing industry began making way for newer fashion shops, cafés, and bars. Today, it is known for its trendy nightlife, young population, and active streets that blend curated urban chaos with editorial-worthy polish.
All links in this post are non-affiliate. I just really love New York.
1800s: Tenement Museum
The Tenement Museum entrance and bookshop. Photo by Wikipedia.
Like many immigrants arriving to New York in the 20th Century, I did not mean to go to the Lower East Side. Yet, like so many others so many times before, I find myself winding up there by chance.
It started with a beautiful afternoon. Powder blue skies and unnaturally warm for February, and too perfect to be wasted by being in studio working on ARCGIS mapping. We had just finished a visit to the Award-winning Danish Urban Design Studio Henning Larson with Professor LeCavalier’s Agents and Agencies seminar class and a quick lunch with my studio mates at Wan Wan (now permanently closed). The others scattered, some going home, some going to studio, and some going to other museums. Too tired to work but determined to make the most of the weather to go home, I found myself wandering Downtown Manhattan on a lonesome flânerie.
It was the gift shop of the Tenement Museum that caught my attention first. The Museum stark contrast to the surrounding shopfronts spilling out onto the street with its dark metal detailing, and sharp interior design visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass. One immediately knew it served a different purpose from the rest of the urban fabric, even without the bright red sign outside declaring it is ‘the Tenement Museum’.
Why not? I thought. My professors had recommended the museum to the class many times before. It was never the top of my list – one cannot ignore the allure of the overwhelming plethora of world-class museums in New York City like the MOMA, the Met, or the Whitney. I am here already, and I had a couple of hours to spend. So why not give the Tenement Museum a try?
The process of buying the tickets was surprisingly easy. Even though one is not allowed to go into the Museum without a tour, they had tours running approximately every 15 mins, for various guided experiences. I waffled between tours featuring the lives of Jewish Women in the 1900s and Irish Catholic Immigrants after the Irish Famine, and eventually settled on a tour for Schneider’s Saloon, a bar that acted as a living room for the German immigrants of the Lower East Side during the Civil War, as well as a meeting point for clubs and political organizations. I waited around the gift shop until the time of my tour, flipping through historical Urban Design books like Five Points by Tyler Anbinder and The Color of Law by Richard Rothstein, until a young woman dressing in all black with a bright blue surgical mask called for our group to assemble and head out.
The actual museum itself was a small, unassuming townhouse that blended in perfectly with the neighboring fabric of the Lower East Side. It was an abandoned tenement house that had been acquired by the historian Ruth Abram and social activist Anita Jacobson in 1988 and restored with primary material to resemble what it had looked like historically. The effort to bring this establishment back to life is not simply an act of preservation but an act of reclamation, ensuring that the stories of those who sought refuge and opportunity on American shores are preserved and shared with newer immigrants.
Stepping into the restored bar itself is like visually stepping back in time. From the dark green wallpaper lining the walls and the stained wooden panels that served as trim, to the slightly murky beer glasses that lined the countertop, the atmosphere of the bar comes back to life. The tour guide informs us that the spaces was once twice as large and would have filled to the brim with German immigrants, particularly on a Sunday afternoon where most of the residents would be off from work.
The 1800s saw an influx of German immigrants, opening businesses that would come to define the area: bakeries filled the morning air with the scent of fresh bread, while at night, beer gardens echoed with the sounds of laughter and camaraderie. Saloons such as the Schneider’s Saloon were more than a place for neighbors to get a drink, it was a shared community living room. It was a hub for communal childcare, a station for political voting, and a meeting place for social groups such as the Freemasons, amongst many other functions. Bar owners, like John and Caroline Schneider, the historical owners of the now restored saloon, were seen as pillars of the community. The tour guide tells us that John was a notary as well as a saloon owner and was responsible for officiating many of the documents that changed hands on Orchard Street at the time, catering particularly to German-speaking immigrants as he was bilingual. Caroline Schneider’s life was significantly less written about, but on her death, she was commemorated by the community with a large stone pillar over her burial site that must have taken a small fortune to erect.
The late 19th century, however, also saw the rise of many temperance movements in New York City. Drawing on a mix of Puritanical ideals and new reformist zeal, these advocated targeted areas like Orchard Street for their campaigns. They argued that alcohol was responsible for a host of social ills, including poverty, crime, and the disintegration of families. Their efforts were multifaceted, including the distribution of literature, the organization of rallies, and the establishment of temperance societies, sometimes even in the heart of neighborhoods dense with saloons and immigrant communities, to preach the virtues of sobriety. This clash of values on Orchard Street was a microcosm of the national debate over alcohol, which would eventually lead to Prohibition in the early 20th century.
Schneider’s Saloon was one of the 200 German Saloons in the Lower East Side that was targeted during this time. The saloon focused lifestyle of the German immigrants took a significant hit as many of these community meeting hubs were forced to close, particularly during the ban of alcohol on Sunday in the Early 20th century. Many of the owners of these saloons eventually moved away from Lower East Side with rising rents, making way for the influx of Jewish immigrants and garment makers that defined the Lower East Side in the 1900s.
1900s: Shopping, Shopping, Shopping
View of shoppers in the streets of Lower East Side in 1898. Photo by the Tenement Museum
Since I was in the area, and it was not a Saturday when the shop would have been closed for Sabbath, I stopped by Zarin’s Fabrics to test a few fabric samples. Founded in 1936, the store at 69 Orchard is among the oldest residents on Orchard Street. Branding itself as “New York’s ‘Largest resource of discounted designer fabrics’,” the three-story store is filled floor to ceiling with any kind of fabric one can imagine in a dazzling, kaleidoscopic display of colors and textures. Ever since one of my undergraduate friends majoring in Fashion Design recommended the shop to me upon learning that I am looking into beginning a cosplay hobby, it has quickly become one of my favorite Lower East Side finds for unexpected statement fabrics.
Orchard Street was one of the neighborhoods emblematic of New York City's melting pot identity. A hub for Eastern European Jewish immigrants since the late 19th century, the street burgeoned into a bustling marketplace. The street's commercial life thrived on small, family-owned businesses, including garment shops, pushcarts, and kosher delis. Economically, these shops, built around the fashion industry, provided employment opportunities to immigrants and others in the community. They were part of a larger ecosystem that included garment factories, wholesalers, and retailers, contributing to New York City's reputation as a global fashion capital.
Furthermore, many of these shops were social hubs where business transactions were often intertwined with community interactions. Shop owners and employees typically knew their customers by name, offering personalized service that fostered a sense of belonging and community.
Zarin’s Fabrics was one of these shops. Harry Zarin, the founder of Zarin’s Fabrics, was born in Gomel, Russia, and moved to New York with his family when he was ten. According to his Grandson and current owner of Zarin’s’ Fabrics, Billy Zarin, the space “was so small that (Harry) couldn’t have people in the store. He was only able to fill the store with his inventory, which was bolts of fabric.
After having moved their location around the Lower East Side several times, setting up shop on Grand, Allen, and finally Orchard Street again, the shop has settled into the three-story building it occupies now after a fire eviscerated their previous warehouse.
The post-war era brought about urban renewal projects that threatened the street's traditional character. Rising rents and changing demographics led to the displacement of many businesses, and many families grappled with poverty, lived in overcrowded tenements, and faced employment challenges. Despite the relentless march of urban development and the shifting sands of demographics, places like Zarin’s Fabric persist, remaining as vibrant threads in the city’s cultural quilt.
Zarin’s Fabrics celebrated its 80th anniversary in 2016, joining the ranks of Mendel Goldberg Fabrics (72 Hester St) and others as the true old-school shops of the Lower East Side. These storefronts harken back to when the district produced up to 70% of women’s clothing in the United States and was known as the garment manufacturing capital of the nation. Even now, almost a century after the heyday of Orchard Street’s garment production, these shops are still the favorite of fashion designers. The splendid array in these shops has attracted everyone from John Glaser (Head of the Wardrobe department on Bridgerton) to Taylor Swift and Emma Stone (both looking for chair upholstery), to, reportedly, Saudi Princesses who came to their store with their entire Secret Service entourage and line of limousines. I walked out of the store with a bundle of fabric Swatches that ranged from 25$ to 50$ per yard, or 1.50$ per swatch.
As I emerged from this historical shop, swatches in hand, I realized that the sun was starting to set. Deciding to eat before I go home, I began to wander into the next era of the street’s culture.
2000s: Sunday to Sunday
After a full day of walking, the craving for comfort food hit me hard. It did not matter that the time was nearing 6 pm, my heart was set on breakfast.
Sunday to Sunday, nestled at 88 Orchard Street, answered my call.
Since its opening during the pandemic, the self-described “all-day restaurant-cafe-bar…weekday workspace, the perfect Thursday and Friday night date spot, and the go-to for weekend group brunch, all to a killer soundtrack” served brunch from 8 am to 6pm Monday to Sunday. It joins a brand-new Equinox gym, designer brands like Alexander Olch (where a single tie could set you back approximately $150) and a whopping 20 modern art galleries that had popped up on Orchard Street over the last decade. It is one of the many brand-new bars and restaurants that have opened on Orchard Street, a boom in development exacerbated by the pandemic.
The modern demographic composition of Orchard Street is characterized by a younger, more affluent population, including professionals, artists, and entrepreneurs drawn to the neighborhood's urban charm, cultural richness, and prime location. As I sit in the restaurant-café-bar, a group of Parson’s film students were sitting on my right, talking about their application for a grant about their documentary on Costa Rica. On my left were a group of Vogue editors talking about attending a Broadway show later that night. This influx of new residents often comes from outside the city or even the state, attracted by the allure of living in a historically significant and culturally vibrant area. This group typically includes singles and young couples, many without children, seeking the lifestyle amenities that the Lower East Side offers proximity to nightlife, arts and entertainment, and a diverse culinary scene.
The demographic shift has been facilitated by the development of luxury apartments and condos, replacing, or juxtaposing with the older tenements that once defined the neighborhood's landscape. This shift has implications for local businesses and the cost of living, with an explosion of upscale boutiques, gourmet eateries, and trendy cafes catering to the tastes and budgets of a wealthier clientele, often at the expense of establishments that served the needs of the earlier, more diverse, and economically varied population.
For long-time residents and descendants of immigrant families, the changes are bittersweet. On one hand, the influx of investment has brought improvements to the neighborhood's infrastructure, increased safety, and a new vibrancy to the area. On the other, there is a palpable sense of loss as the neighborhood's affordability declines and its historical and cultural legacy is overshadowed by modern developments where a one-bedroom apartment can go for over $6,500 in rent a month. The gentrification of Orchard Street has led to a decrease in affordable housing options, pushing out many who can no longer afford to live in the area—a phenomenon that mirrors the displacement faced by their immigrant ancestors under very different circumstances.
The neighborhood's transformation has sparked debates about preservation versus progress, community versus commodification, and the role of history in a rapidly changing urban landscape. Initiatives to preserve the architectural and cultural heritage of the LES, including the designation of historic districts and the efforts of community organizations.
Conclusion
I left Orchard Street at dusk just as the lights were flickering on in the restaurants and bars surrounding Sunday to Sunday. I walked down the cobblestone road and watched as the owners of second-hand vintage shops, art galleries, and the few family-owned boutiques lock their doors. Lost in thought, I reflected on the day.
Once known for its tenements, bustling markets, and a vibrant tapestry of cultural identities, Orchard Street today is a blend of the old and the new, where luxury apartments rise alongside century-old buildings, and trendy boutiques occupy spaces once home to family-run businesses.
Orchard Street's evolution is also reflective of broader trends in urban development, where questions of accessibility, diversity, and sustainability come to the fore. As luxury condos replace tenements, and artisanal coffee shops occupy spaces once filled with the sounds of immigrant life, there's a growing conversation about how to create inclusive urban spaces that honor their histories while embracing the future.
If you want to read more on the modern evolution of Orchard Street, Vogue has a really good article on it from 2021. Read it here!
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