Shopaholic Takes Manhattan
Page 57
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I wander through the perfumery, gazing around at the elegant Art Deco paneling; the high, airy ceilings; the foliage everywhere. God, this has to be one of the most beautiful shops I’ve ever been in. At the back are old-fashioned lifts which make you feel you’re in a film with Cary Grant, and on a little table is a pile of store directories. I pick one up, just to get my bearings… and I don’t quite believe it. There are ten floors to this store.
Ten.
I stare at the list, transfixed. I feel like a child trying to choose a sweetie in a chocolate factory. Where am I going to start? How should I do this? Start at the top? Start at the bottom? All these names, jumping out at me, calling to me. Anna Sui. Calvin Klein. Kate Spade. Kiehl’s. I am going to hyperventilate.
“Excuse me?” A voice interrupts my thoughts and I turn to see a girl with a Saks name badge smiling at me. “Can I help you?”
“Um… yes,” I say, still staring at the directory. “I’m just trying to work out where to start, really.”
“Were you interested in clothes? Or accessories? Or shoes?”
“Yes,” I say dazedly. “Both. All. Everything. Erm… a bag,” I say randomly. “I need a new bag!”
Which is true. I mean, I’ve brought bags with me — but you can always do with a new bag. Plus, I’ve been noticing that all the women in Manhattan seem to have very smart designer bags — so this is a very good way of acclimatizing myself to the city.
The girl gives me a friendly smile.
“Bags and accessories are through there,” she says, pointing. “You might want to start there and work your way up.”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s what I’ll do. Thanks!”
God, I adore shopping abroad. I mean, shopping anywhere is always great — but the advantages of doing it abroad are:
1. You can buy things you can’t get in Britain.2. You can name-drop when you get back home. (“Actually, I picked this up in New York.”)3. Foreign money doesn’t count, so you can spend as much as you like.
OK, I know that last one isn’t entirely true. Somewhere in my head I know that dollars are proper money, with a real value. But I mean, look at them. I just can’t take them seriously. I’ve got a whole wodge of them in my purse, and I feel as though I’m carrying around the bank from a Monopoly set. Yesterday I went and bought some magazines from a newsstand, and as I handed over a twenty-dollar bill, it was just like playing shop. It’s like some weird form of jet lag — you move into another currency and suddenly feel as though you’re spending nothing.
So as I walk around the bag department, trying out gorgeous bag after gorgeous bag, I’m not taking too much notice of the prices. Occasionally I lift a price tag and make a feeble attempt to work out how much that is in real money — but I have to confess, I can’t remember the exact exchange rate.
But the point is, it doesn’t matter. Because this is America, and everyone knows that prices in America are really low. It’s common knowledge. So basically, I’m working on the principle that everything’s a bargain. I mean, look at all these gorgeous designer handbags. They’re probably half what they’d cost in England, if not less!
As I’m hovering over the DKNY display, an elderly woman wearing a gold-colored suit and carrying a Gucci tote comes up to me.
“Which one matches?” she says. “This… ” She holds out a tan satin bag. “… or this… ” She holds out a paler one. “It’s for evening,” she adds.
“Erm…” I look at her suit and at the bags again — and wonder how to tell her they don’t match at all. “The thing is, they’re both a kind of brownish color… and your suit’s more of a golden, yellowish…”
“Not the suit!” she exclaims. “The dog!”
I look at her perplexedly — then spot a tiny face poking out of the Gucci tote. Oh my God! Is that a real live dog?
“Don’t hide, Muffy!” says the woman, reaching into the bag and hauling it out. And honestly, it’s more like a rat than a dog — except a rat with a Gucci collar and a diamante name tag.
“You want your bag to match your… dog?” I say, just to be sure.
“If I can’t find anything, I’ll just have to have her hair tinted again.” The woman sighs. “But it’s so time-consuming…”
“No, don’t do that!” I say hastily. “I think the paler bag goes perfectly.”
“I think you’re right.” She gives it a critical look, then nods. “Thank you for your help. Do you have a dog?”
Ten.
I stare at the list, transfixed. I feel like a child trying to choose a sweetie in a chocolate factory. Where am I going to start? How should I do this? Start at the top? Start at the bottom? All these names, jumping out at me, calling to me. Anna Sui. Calvin Klein. Kate Spade. Kiehl’s. I am going to hyperventilate.
“Excuse me?” A voice interrupts my thoughts and I turn to see a girl with a Saks name badge smiling at me. “Can I help you?”
“Um… yes,” I say, still staring at the directory. “I’m just trying to work out where to start, really.”
“Were you interested in clothes? Or accessories? Or shoes?”
“Yes,” I say dazedly. “Both. All. Everything. Erm… a bag,” I say randomly. “I need a new bag!”
Which is true. I mean, I’ve brought bags with me — but you can always do with a new bag. Plus, I’ve been noticing that all the women in Manhattan seem to have very smart designer bags — so this is a very good way of acclimatizing myself to the city.
The girl gives me a friendly smile.
“Bags and accessories are through there,” she says, pointing. “You might want to start there and work your way up.”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s what I’ll do. Thanks!”
God, I adore shopping abroad. I mean, shopping anywhere is always great — but the advantages of doing it abroad are:
1. You can buy things you can’t get in Britain.2. You can name-drop when you get back home. (“Actually, I picked this up in New York.”)3. Foreign money doesn’t count, so you can spend as much as you like.
OK, I know that last one isn’t entirely true. Somewhere in my head I know that dollars are proper money, with a real value. But I mean, look at them. I just can’t take them seriously. I’ve got a whole wodge of them in my purse, and I feel as though I’m carrying around the bank from a Monopoly set. Yesterday I went and bought some magazines from a newsstand, and as I handed over a twenty-dollar bill, it was just like playing shop. It’s like some weird form of jet lag — you move into another currency and suddenly feel as though you’re spending nothing.
So as I walk around the bag department, trying out gorgeous bag after gorgeous bag, I’m not taking too much notice of the prices. Occasionally I lift a price tag and make a feeble attempt to work out how much that is in real money — but I have to confess, I can’t remember the exact exchange rate.
But the point is, it doesn’t matter. Because this is America, and everyone knows that prices in America are really low. It’s common knowledge. So basically, I’m working on the principle that everything’s a bargain. I mean, look at all these gorgeous designer handbags. They’re probably half what they’d cost in England, if not less!
As I’m hovering over the DKNY display, an elderly woman wearing a gold-colored suit and carrying a Gucci tote comes up to me.
“Which one matches?” she says. “This… ” She holds out a tan satin bag. “… or this… ” She holds out a paler one. “It’s for evening,” she adds.
“Erm…” I look at her suit and at the bags again — and wonder how to tell her they don’t match at all. “The thing is, they’re both a kind of brownish color… and your suit’s more of a golden, yellowish…”
“Not the suit!” she exclaims. “The dog!”
I look at her perplexedly — then spot a tiny face poking out of the Gucci tote. Oh my God! Is that a real live dog?
“Don’t hide, Muffy!” says the woman, reaching into the bag and hauling it out. And honestly, it’s more like a rat than a dog — except a rat with a Gucci collar and a diamante name tag.
“You want your bag to match your… dog?” I say, just to be sure.
“If I can’t find anything, I’ll just have to have her hair tinted again.” The woman sighs. “But it’s so time-consuming…”
“No, don’t do that!” I say hastily. “I think the paler bag goes perfectly.”
“I think you’re right.” She gives it a critical look, then nods. “Thank you for your help. Do you have a dog?”
