Recovering a Classic

Using a tape measure falls just within my admittedly limited DIY capabilities, and I took the dimensions to the store to meet Lorraine on a handsome late Friday afternoon.

I arrive early, and as it turns out, the measurements were unnecessary. Zarin Fabrics has a book of sample chairs and how much fabric should be required. Our chair most closely resembled a chic Mies van der Rohe. Inside, I had a smug little smile.

Zarin Fabrics is to fabrics what Wal-Mart is to pretty much everything else. There are rows after rows of spooled fabric in hundreds of colors and types: corals and checks, purples and prints. And all the shoppers have English accents -- plumy tones must make it easier to convince potential clients of your taste.

Like shag carpeting, solid orange isn't as popular now as it was in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and the options were limited to about five. I was armed with my digital camera and kept viewing a picture of the chair as reference.

By the time Lorraine arrived, I'd chosen a favorite, a $40 per yard chenille. Now there's a sentence I never thought I would type.

Unlike President Bush, Lorraine isn't a decider. She's more of a reservationer. When unconvinced, she casts doubts without being an overrulerer. She worried that maybe my orange was a bit peachy and that the material didn't have quite the pleasing pebblyness of the original fabric.

I couldn't decide whether it was emasculating to have Lorraine question my taste in fabric or just the opposite.

But, for whatever reason, when we couldn't agree upon a replacement, I put my foot and my credit card down, and we walked out with $130.15 of textile in a plastic bag. We returned home and put the fabric atop the chair. It was a hell of a lot more orangey -- not peachy (I'd never admit that), but sherbety. Anyway, we were already halfway there.

Let the Upholstering Begin

I then brought the chair and the fabric back to Boerum Hill Restoration.

Benjamin has owned the store since 1978 and seen the neighborhood change more than once. In the past, this area was almost all antique shops; it later turned toward modern furniture, and now it's evolved again, to restaurants and clothing boutiques. "It used to be, 'Let's go do Atlantic Avenue.' People would spend the whole day here," says Benjamin. "The Internet and eBay have affected the business. There are maybe six of the original old guard still around."

	Work in Progress

His business is split more or less evenly between restoration work and vintage office furniture such as roll-top desks and stackable barrister bookcases. "I call it turn-of-the-20th century Ikea," Benjamin says of the latter. "It's all modular."

The workshop is in the basement of the building, and Benjamin employs a freelancer from the Bronx named Geraldo the Upholsterer. I didn't get to meet him, but he does great work. That was my second thought when Benjamin finally showed me the made-over chair.

My first thought? Orange sherbet city! But, back to the work: stunning. The buttons and piping were perfectly recreated. The padding was a pleasing balance of plush and firm.

For $250, I felt like I had a brand-new old chair.