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NEW YORK — At Screaming Mimi’s, an upscale retro mall south of Manhattan’s Meatpacking District, store manager Dani Cabot displayed a variety of belts: a wide belt from Donna Karan, a minimalist belt from Claude Montana, and one described by Cabot “A dramatic Moschino moment”.
Actress Patina Miller considered these options, but not for long. “I think we’re dramatic,” she said. She buttoned the gold buttons at her waist, smoothing the fabric of Bill Blass tiger-print skirt.
Miller, 37, who broke out on the Broadway production of “Sister Action” about a decade ago and then won a Tony for starring in “Pippin,” is no stranger to high-level drama. Or tight. While promoting the second season of the Starz series “Power Book III: Raising Kanan,” which premiered on August 14, she also appeared nearly every night as a witch in the Broadway revival “Into the Woods.” (In September, when she begins filming the third season of “Raising Kanan,” she’s sticking with the musical with its latest sequel, which only runs weekends.)
Still, she sneaked away on a recent weekday afternoon, combing through second-hand hangers of luxury goods for inspiration for her “Raising Kanan” character Raquel and herself.
“It took me hours to find anything,” she says, walking toward a row of 1990s designer looks. “Sometimes I just like to look around and see all the colors that I wouldn’t wear.”
She wears a dizzying array of hues in “Into the Woods,” including a purple robe complete with a cape. In “Raising Kanan,” the prequel to the original “Power” series, the protagonist’s mother, Raquel, favored a softer palette of mostly glossy blacks and blood reds, intended to convey her status as the queen of the early ’90s. (As an adult, Kanan was played by Curtis Jackson, better known as 50 Cent, in the previous “Powers” series, the series’ executive producer whose own mother inspired La Quill.)
This afternoon, she’s just herself, dressed in muted earth tones—brown sandals, tan-blue tank top, blue straw hat, gold hoops. Medium plot.
She held up a purple suit, giving it the look of a puppet. “Absolutely not,” she said.
Sorting through the hangers, she recalls her acid-washed ’90s style, modeled after the girl groups of the day: Salt-N-Pepa, TLC, En Vogue. She points out that these same looks are in fashion again. “I just love how the things that are popular continue to be popular,” she said, stroking a Geoffrey Beene blazer.
Back then, in the small town of South Carolina, Miller’s clothes were from Goodwill, which her single mother, a pastor, could afford. Miller’s mother used the money she saved on her clothes to pay for piano lessons and encouraged her daughter to sing in the church choir. (That encouragement helped her land a spot on Carnegie Mellon’s drama program, which led her to Broadway and then shows like “Mrs. Secretary of State” and “Mercy Street.”)
“This is a 15-year-old woman who didn’t have a high school education, but she found a way to nurture me and invest in me,” Miller said. “I just come from very strong women.”
Is she interested in her own strength and power? “If I didn’t say a little bit, I’d be lying,” she said. “I want to be in control of my life. I want to be as strong as possible.”
That at least partly explains why she makes a career of playing strong women. A witch can cast spells on anyone within her reach. Raquel, the Iron Fist in a collection of luxe leather jackets, proudly calls himself “the last bitch”. Both want to protect their children from the world, but the world — and the children — has other plans. It’s easy to play the villain, but Miller prefers other options.
“They’re fighting for something; they’re fighting to have their voices heard,” she said. “It’s more fun to play with love,” she added.
She retreated to the dressing room with a load of hangers, first in a Bill Blass dress (“Oh, dress it up!” she said) over a button-hole shirt by Gianfranco Ferré. The striking belt made the outfit go into overdrive, so she swapped the blouse for a more restrained Calvin Klein blouse embellished with horn beads. She adjusted the hem of the skirt and pulled the waist down.
“My problem is my hips,” she said. It seems far-fetched to describe anything about Miller’s physique as a problem. But for sure.
She asked for a couple of shoes, but there were only a few size 10s in the store, and when Cabot brought her a pair of Ferragamo flats, Miller politely dismissed them as “kind of a church girl.” (In the actual ’90s, she was fed up with the church girl looks.) Miller went barefoot and made a Lack-like face in the mirror with split eyes and open mouth.
“Separately, they’re a vibe,” she said of the shirts and skirts. “And this belt, it’s definitely a vibe.” But none of the feelings fit her, she decided. Next, she tried a Missoni three-piece from the 1970s. “Not Luck,” she said, putting on her coat. “But with my skin tone, perfect.” The fit of the shirt, however, was ill-fitting. Back on the shelf.
Comme des Garçons shirts are too girly and white turtlenecks are too thick for summer. She tried on a leopard-print Vivienne Westwood tunic with a Donna Karan belt. It almost worked. A sea green Halston kaftan? “I’m so bored. I always choose black,” she said. She tried on a pale pink jacket. Then, in the menswear section, she spotted a black blazer that Cabot had styled with a gold collar to make Miller look like a dance floor queen.
“Very, very Beyonce,” Miller said, admiring herself in the mirror. “It’s totally Beyonce on the horse. It’s a vibe, but it doesn’t have to be me.”
She said she has struggled to find the weakness in her strong character and found it in herself. “Because I think softness is also a good thing,” she said. “A little soft is not bad. Black girls can’t do that. We always have to be strong because that’s the best way we know it. But when I see the hardness, the strength on the page, I always think, we’re still What can you say?”
So she picked a softer, brighter piece from the shelf: a dark green Karl Lagerfeld silk blouse.
“That color is going to be amazing to you,” Cabot said.
“Oh, I know,” Miller replied.
She decided to buy the shirt and the Donna Karan belt too. But Cabot and owner Laura Wells surprised her by giving her the shirt as a gift. “Come back and see us!” Cabot said.
“Of course,” Miller said as he paid for the belt.
Putting on her sundress, she walked to 14th Street, and her own image, Lack, looked back at her from the bus shelter. “I’m everywhere,” she said proudly.
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