Derring Dude

She’s tall, blonde and 29, self-assured, effervescent and knows what you want. As DC Magazine recently wrote, “Kelly Muccio plays the role of the girlfriend you’ll never have.” So when she offers you a drink and her attention, it’s useless to resist.

Falling under Muccio’s spell is the essence of the Lost Boys experience. You don’t walk into a row house in D.C.’s tony, historic Georgetown neighborhood seeking the cookie-cutter store you’d find in Everymall, USA, after all. The lure of a great boutique is the finely tuned vision of a passionate and knowledgeable owner — and so much the better if that vision intersects yours in a meaningful way.

For some, Lost Boys may require thinking a little out of the box. Set in such a seemingly buttoned-down hive that is our nation’s capital, the place has a nice West Coast vibe — cool and on the casual side with an emphasis on subtle quality. This probably is not an accident as Muccio spent some of her formative business years in personal finance out in La-La Land, home of the breezy, sometimes-gritty, details-turned-upside-down look that adorns her store, from display area to fitting rooms.

The joint is cozy and welcoming, nicely balanced between mod and vintage, and more haunt than habitat.

Tired of rat-racing from 9 to 5, the economics major from Chantilly, Va., quit her “numbers” gig, packed a couple bags and left the driving to Greyhound, all the way to New York, where she quickly climbed the ranks to national sales associate at Tommy Hilfiger. It’s obvious that Muccio developed her fashion chops in such a red-white-and-blue environment. Most of her handpicked pieces are from designers doing an updated turn on American classics.

Her lines — Steven Alan, Band of Outsiders, Rogan, to name a few — are not as “hard to find” as some publications have put it, but the way Muccio has curated them just makes more sense. She says she is so determined to have new offerings, she tries to turn her inventory on an almost weekly basis. And she has a sturdy confidence in her choices. I liked the way she allowed me to have my way with her space, as is my wont. The closest thing to a hard sell at Lost Boys is a slight insistence on accepting a refreshment.

I’d like to think Muccio sensed my disdain for the overly obsequious, income-profiling clerk. Once, a salesperson at the place in Seattle famous for its shoes and customer service told me so many times how “awesome” a pair of pants made my “ass” look, I didn’t buy them, even though I saw what she meant. My favorite associate in my hometown is a woman who told me the first time I met her how much she hated the way a pair of jeans looked on me; I’ve been buying from her ever since.

Not that Muccio is any wallflower or is not willing to impart her wisdom on the fashion illiterate. She in fact offers formalized consultation, a part of the business that will get its own space with the impending opening of the Black Room.

Far from being lost and waiting to be found, Lost Boys has in less than two years become a “thing” in a city of things, the recipient of a public-relations whirlwind with Muccio at its vortex. Google her or her store and you’ll find Muccio as a female version of Forest Gump, appearing on Good Morning America, in the pages of the Wall Street Journal and just about any relevant magazine or blog you can think of. Still, the place manages to retain the feel of exclusivity and lack of overexposure.

Lost Boys, the name, is a takeoff on Peter Pan’s gang of misplaced adolescents, only here with Muccio cast as the caretaking Wendy. Everything in fact is so seamless here that a sales associate who arrived just before I left also was named Kelly. “To make things easier,” the head Kelly mused.

The owner of Lost Boys may have been kidding, but hers being a place of such delightful fantasy, I’d like to think not.