Is Shopping the Ultimate Act of Optimism?
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About two years ago, right around now, Bergdorf Goodman opened a speakeasy on the second floor of its men’s store. It was a brasserie-style eatery called Goodman’s Bar, where a customer might hold court with a shopping bag overflowing with Brunello Cucinelli in one hand and a lobster BLT in the other. Hypebeasts compared fits; bankers traded stock tips.
Then, of course, Everything Changed. Commerce switched to the web. Slowly, in-person visits returned, if by appointment only. And when the city finally came roaring back, so did the shoppers—local, domestic, and international. Goodman’s Bar regained its spot as the watering hole to be seen in after you’d spent a good chunk of your bonus, a lounge for those who relish the camaraderie of other members of the same lifestyle tribe.
“They were immediately back in the store,” says Bruce Pask, men’s fashion director, with an amazed chuckle. “Stores have become more than transactional. There can be a sense of community here.”
Bergdorf isn’t alone. Despite inflationary concerns, retail set records last fall, and the expectation of economists was that brisk consumer spending would continue into the holiday season. That’s because the urge to experience the contact sport of shopping is as old as recorded history. Think of the great spice markets and souks of the Middle East, the bustling bazaars of the Roman Empire, and the agoras that served as the anchor to public life in ancient Greece.
Next Stop: Lisbon
Avoid boring Avenida da Liberdade. Buy bespoke— leather gloves at Luvaria Ulisses, handmade dress shoes at Sapataria do Carmo, signature blue-and-white tiles at Solar.
“Shopping was a social event,” writes Mary Harlow in her forthcoming book, A Cultural History of Shopping in Antiquity (Bloomsbury). “In Athens, this sometimes meant that shops were literally ‘talking shops’ where men gathered to discuss politics, philosophy and gossip.” Long before social media became ground zero for social movements, these markets had a central function in daily life, and it was there that you asserted your role, pedigree, and place in the pecking order. Or, as Harlow says, “Male shoppers in Rome, or at least those known to us from the sources, use shopping as a backdrop to social performance.”
So did Barbra Streisand when she performed “Second Hand Rose” and “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?” at Bergdorf’s in 1965, or whenever Carrie Bradshaw stepped inside Barneys New York (RIP). The rush of crossing that threshold and finding something on the racks comes from the adrenaline of self-actualization and the promise that these looks will exist outside a dressing room. Maybe the salesperson will be a mirror, and in them you will see all your flaws and potential, and the future will suddenly snap into focus. Cut to you skipping out of the shop, bag in hand, reborn.
Next Stop: Montreal
Check out the high-end, conceptual elegance of SSENSE, the low-key charm of Clark Street Mercantile, and the boho-chic neighborhood La Petite-Patrie, with shops like Betina Lou.
“I feel so proud when I put something into someone’s life and they light up, they become a better version of themselves,” says Blythe Marks, a Los Angeles–based vintage dealer who counts the actress Hari Nef and the photographer/director Luke Gilford as fans. “That’s the joy of shopping. People are being vulnerable and putting their trust in my hands.”
We’re all descendants of hunters and gatherers, and, in a way, what a boutique owner or a personal shopper does is a continuation of that tradition. It wasn’t for nothing that Jesus often went to marketplaces to proselytize, Marks says: “That’s where people were gathering! It’s where gossip and culture and beauty and pain, and all of the fullness and richness of humanity, were flourishing. It’s a place of connection.”
Museums are obvious temples of culture, and there’s always a surfeit of buzzy social stimuli at the local trendy restaurants and bars, but to really understand the underlying flavor of a place, try out the most popular shopping district in town next time you travel. There are the clerks in Venice Beach, in their ripped-jeans beach bum ensembles, who won’t so much talk you into buying the Elder Statesman as they will persuade you it’s a spiritual calling. Then there’s the imposing sangfroid of the salespeople in Paris, who treat shopping, especially for Saint Laurent, like a holy act. The Brits are all still amateur Twiggys, certain that scrounging around for an ensemble, perhaps mint condition Biba, is all part of a heady dream that may just set your life on a new course. Exhibit A: Anya Taylor-Joy in Last Night in Soho, where a peach chiffon shift is the skeleton key to a young woman’s trippy, and macabre, coming of age.
Next Stop: Mexico City
Indulge at Carla Fernández, who works with indigenous artisans, and Goodbye Folk, known to locals for its thoughtful curation.
In certain cultivated browsing experiences, we are connected not only to the act of acquisition but to the artisans who create the things we wear. It wasn’t so long ago that we knew the people who made our clothes personally, if we didn’t make them ourselves. Today some of that is lost, but at certain emporiums a bit of that is restored.
“Our customers see something on the rack, and they love to hear the story behind it,” says Pask. “Who made it, and where, and what processes were used, and what the inspiration was. A great store experience helps add some magic to the brand.”
Marks scavenges for one-of-a-kind rarities like an haute couture Indiana Jones, but she derives the most pleasure from the intimate act of connecting vintage clothing to new owners, like guiding overlooked rescue pets to would-be parents.
“The ideal shopping experience is one that teaches you something about yourself—even if you walk away with nothing,” she says. “And you become a deeper, more curious, more astute shopper or, even, human being.”
For all you know, your next personal epiphany is right around the corner on the designer floor, where the spring collections have just landed.
This story appears in the February 2022 issue of Town & Country. SUBSCRIBE NOW
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