Tracey Ullman Stocks Up on Lingerie Before a Date With Meryl Streep

NEW YORK — In the new season of “Tracey Ullman’s Show” on HBO, Ullman slaps on wigs, paint, powder, cheek pads and an upsetting array of false teeth. A comedian and a devilishly gifted impressionist, she scampers from Angela Merkel to Jerry Hall, Brigitte Macron to a shoplifting, poop-flinging Judi Dench.

But on a recent Friday afternoon, Ullman, dressed in a bright orange Raquel Allegra linen suit and black chunky sneakers (“my Yeezys,” she said) was playing only herself. And she needed some bras.

“Now here’s the decision,” she said, screwing up her face for emphasis. “How many?”

Ullman, who lives in London these days, was in Manhattan to introduce her show at the Tribeca TV Festival and to chat onstage with Meryl Streep. (They starred in the 1985 film “Plenty.”) With a few hours to spare, she had stopped into Shen New York, a bitsy store on Lexington Avenue near East 72nd Street, just a few blocks from the apartment she sold last year because they wouldn’t let her have pets.

She has been buying Shen’s seamless knit bras for nearly 20 years, especially its classic cami bra. “This is the one you like,” said the store’s owner, Carol Shen, pulling out a skimpier design.

“That’s the sexier, tinier one,” Ullman said. “That when I’m feeling. …” She completed the sentenced with a wicked grin.

Shen mentioned that Judi Dench, whom Ullman impersonates so absolutely that it feels like black magic, is another longtime customer. “She buys pants from us,” Shen said. Unlike Ullman’s naughty Judi, the real-life Judi does not shoplift, at least as far as Shen knows. “This is a very Judi shop,” Ullman said approvingly.

She asked for five of the cami bras in black, three in gray, two in taupe. “They’re lovely,” she said. “And they wash so well.”

“This is like an infomercial,” Shen said, delighted.

Ullman, who can transform her whole self as effortlessly as another woman might switch out her earrings, took the cue, shifting into an American announcer’s voice: “But that’s not all! Mrs. Shen here says if you buy a bra today, we’re going to give you the pants absolutely free, as worn by Judi Dench.” Shen was beside herself.

Ullman, back in her own voice, offered to treat everyone in the shop to a bra. “Bras all around,” she said. (There were a few giggles, but no takers.) She added six pairs of underwear to her order (“Stocking up”) and put it all on the company card. “I wear them during my work,” she said. “I never take those off.” Shen piled them into a shopping bag, and Ullman added, “Delicious little packets.”

“I’m going to treat myself to a new bra today,” Ullman sang.

Her errand completed, Ullman piled into the black chauffeured car that was waiting outside and sped uptown to Blue Tree, a Madison Avenue treasure chest stuffed with jewelry, accessories and cheerful kitsch. It’s owned by Phoebe Cates, a longtime friend. “There’s a great sense of humor with Phoebe’s stuff,” Ullman said.

At Blue Tree, she greeted the saleswomen cheerfully (“Hello, girls” she said brightly) and admired some chunky Lucite handbags patterned in frogs and fish. She toyed with a gold karaoke microphone and then slipped inside a door beneath the stairs. “It’s the kind of store where they let you use the bathroom,” she said.

Ivana Callahan, a saleswoman, said, “No they don’t.” But Ullman is an exception.

When she returned, she showed pictures of her dog, Oscar, and of her son, Johnny McKeown, her date to the Emmys last month. Then she went upstairs to browse the clothes.

She was drawn to a flowered fanny pack (being English she called it a “really trendy bum bag”) and a matching belted dress. “I’m just a funny-looking thing,” she said. “I was never known for my looks so I never cared how men perceived me. I love fashion and I love clothes, but I never dressed to please a man.”

She fingered a striped wool coat (“How delicious,” she said) and looked in vain for a blue-striped top like one she’d bought last year.

Ullman stayed for 30 minutes. She would have browsed longer, but there was just time to grab a bagel before her Tribeca TV Festival appearance, so she promised the saleswomen she’d come back tomorrow.

She hopped back into the car for the one-block drive to the Jewish Museum, which has a Russ & Daughters branch in its basement. She ordered an orange juice and the classic board, as well as a snack for her driver. “Bras, Blue Tree, bagels,” she said, alliteratively.

Ullman, who has racked up a Golden Globe, a couple of BAFTAs and seven Emmy Awards, seemed slightly surprised to find herself still in show business after 40 years. “When I was 23, I thought I might give this all up and be a travel agent because it’s not very dignified,” she said. Her bagel arrived. She stuck her tongue through the hole.

The HBO show sometimes tires her out, she said, “and Angela Merkel’s voice comes out of Theresa May’s mouth. I have to pace myself. It’s like getting ready for an Olympic event.” But she also said that working on the show feels restorative too. “I just like being other people all the time,” she said. “I don’t want to play myself. I don’t want to be myself. I never have. It’s not interesting to me.”