What would you wear if you could attend your own funeral?
Don’t ask Nadia, the tart protagonist of the Netflix series “Russian Doll,” who dies and springs back to life in each of the eight episodes, never surviving quite long enough to seriously ponder the question.
Chances are Nadia would deck herself out in some variation of her rock ’n’ roll tomboy look, the raffish composite of tweed boy coat, black blazer, tie blouse and skinny jeans she wears to her job every day. It’s an all-purpose getup, accessorized with steel-rimmed shades, an unruly mop of cherry-tone hair and an ever-present cigarette.
Her look is no fashion statement, truth be told. But then again, “Russian Doll” doesn’t purport to be about fashion, a point of little concern to the viewers attempting to shop the show’s wardrobe online.
Those watching attentively know that Nadia makes only minor wardrobe adjustments for her 36th birthday bash, given by her aggressively fashionable friend Maxine (Greta Lee). As played by Natasha Lyonne, who wrote the series with Amy Poehler and Leslye Headland, Nadia is a creature of habit, not much given to tweaking her functional day-to-day look.
Still, her choices aren’t predictable. The series, an eerie hybrid of “Sliding Doors” and “Groundhog Day” that flirts with the notion of alternate universes, casts Nadia as a software developer who adroitly dodges every Silicon Valley sartorial cliché.
“We wanted her to step away from the culture of ‘Mr. Robot,’ the idea that every developer wears a hoodie,” said Jenn Rogien, the show’s resourceful costume designer, who has also dressed the cast of “Girls” and “Orange Is the New Black.”
“We needed these characters to feel cool and interesting,” Ms. Rogien said. “But we also needed them to feel like real people trapped in a very strange circumstance.”
To that end she ditched stereotypes in favor of individualized costumes meant to represent the full spectrum of Lower East Siders, the mash-up of artists, musicians and outliers who once lent the neighborhood its excess of color and the ambitious newbies who come to shop, dine, party and pose.
“It’s important to me that these people don’t read as caricatures, that their clothes aren’t costumes,” Ms. Rogien said. Paraphrasing Diane Arbus, she stated her credo: “The more specific you can be in telling the story, the more realistic it is, and the more universal it becomes.”
She applied that principle to the cast, outfitting most of the characters somberly, their costumes rendered chiefly in tones of black, gray and sludge. That deliberately muted aesthetic was meant to underscore the show’s darkly comic and unsettling themes. “It reflects a world that is a little off-tilt,” she said.
Natasha Lyonne stars in the Netflix series Russian DollCreditNetflix
All tones of blue and green were struck from the production, Ms. Rogien said. “Blue in particular connotes a calm and tranquillity that is not present in ‘Russian Doll.’”
There are striking departures, nonetheless, underscored by the lighting as well as the clothes. Tompkins Square Park, where swathes of the action occur, is shot in a rich, amber light. Nadia, if she is still kicking on the morning after her party, wears a scarlet blouse to work. The occasional intrusion of color, Ms. Rogien explained, “projects the sense of a strange warmth in a very cold world.”
Nadia’s friend Maxine also breaks form. Tending the bar and mingling with guests, she is worldly in a shimmering sea-foam green top, silvery chain vest and layers of jewels. Her character, as Ms. Rogien irreverently posted on her Instagram feed, is “a mixed media fashion collage with a side of chicken.”
Alan (Charlie Barnett), who shares Nadias’s penchant for dying time and again, is more self-effacing than Nadia. His nondescript button-down shirt, Shetland wool sweater and windbreaker is a pretty convincing preppy disguise.
He is all but invisible alongside self-styled mavericks like Lizzy (Rebecca Henderson), an art handler fond of vintage combat boots and carpenter’s overalls that match her thatch of white-blond hair.
Ruth (Elizabeth Ashley), a therapist and Nadia’s surrogate mom, has a preference for wide-leg trousers, wedge ankle boots and stacks of fancy heirloom rings. She is “always professional, always on point — saves the drama for the clothes,” Ms. Rogien posted on Instagram.
Like a lot of New Yorkers, Ruth is partial to a high-low mix. In one instance, she wears a tangy cocktail of Marni, Zara, Rachel Roy and Ugg. Many New Yorkers can relate: It’s a mix that’s accessible and, to judge from Ms. Rogien’s feed, highly covetable.
“I was surprised by how many DMs came with questions about where things were from,” Ms. Rogien said. “I didn’t expect that.”
Emily Winokur, a personal shopper and costume designer, had to know, “What brand is the red blouse? (It is H&M.) Magda Magdalena Jakubik, a photographer, had a single urgent question: “Bra?”
Alas, Ms. Rogien and her team tracked down the clothes and accessories nearly a year ago when the series was in production from sources that included Forever 21, Dries Van Noten, Banana Republic and Levi’s.
No sense, then, scouring her Insta for fabulous finds. Not that it matters. “My great hope,” she said, “is that these posts are inspiring people to be more adventurous in their own lives.”
