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Henderson picked up his trade as an assistant to Calvin Klein. "I learned everything there," he says. "He gives you consistency, and he's so clean and precise it's almost ridiculous. He can take a good idea and go on with it forever." Klein's influence shows. Henderson's nifty, sporty outfits are never fussy. But they aren't Calvin rip-offs either, partly because Henderson has avoided the beige-and-black neutral shades that dominate sportswear.
Like many another artisan in search of inspiration, Henderson studies old movies. His last "bride" -- traditionally the final outfit in a fashion show -- wore white silk pajamas. "I wanted her to be like Audrey Hepburn or Doris Day when they were stuck in the apartment. They looked so fantastic." Now he is rummaging his way through the '50s, which, from the viewpoint of someone born in 1957, is an era of sexy, whimsical dressing. For fall he plans to draw on "all my favorite old clothes -- trench coats, pajamas, pea coats, letter sweaters. My bride will be a prom queen, maybe in a big, reversible skirt." To get himself in the mood, he runs around Greenwich Village, where he has bought a brownstone, in his father's old camel-hair topcoat.
So will his new duds look like thrift-shop entries? Of course not. Henderson's facility lies in translation, turning mid-century nostalgia into '90s gear. And he will be prowling Manhattan in search of his next muse. Or maybe exploring his personal Shangri-La, which he pinpoints as "somewhere between Carmel and Big Sur. I'd fly in. There'd be a little sports car, a couple of horses. I could see that." As he well may -- sooner than later.