Shop 'til you drop it.
I lost my scarf this weekend, which was unfortunate. It was a very nice scarf given to me by my parents, so I was sad to see it go.
But the worst part was, I lost the scarf while shopping. At Barney's. (Explanation to follow.) So on top of losing my scarf, I had just spent a semi-ungodly amount of money on other articles of clothing, and was suddenly faced with the necessity of spending more.
Also, when one loses one's scarf at Barney's, and one does not usually buy one's clothes from Barney's, one gets into conversations like this:
AG: Oh no! Bettina*, I've lost my scarf!
Bettina (*name of Barney's employee changed to protect the innocent): Uh oh! Well, what brand was it?
AG: Oh, you know, it was, um, the (insert some brand name here) brand.
Bettina (with a slight pause and glower): Oh. Well, we don't sell that brand here, so at least that'll make it easier to find.
OK, let's just say it: Barney's is fucking bananas.
These days, bananas has two meanings: the kids call things they like bananas, as in, "OMG that new Jonas Brothers song is bananas!" And there is also the traditional meaning of fucking crazy, as in, "You must be bananas to think that Sarah Palin has the wherewithal to lead this country in a fruitful direction!"
I describe Barney's as bananas because it suits both uses of the word. It is bananas because there are some beautiful, beautiful clothes there that are known to bring hipsters and Upper East Siders to their knees. It is also bananas because it is filled with nutjobs who are crazy simply because they don't think spending what I pay for a month's rent on a tie is bananas.
Up until this weekend, my only experience of Barney's was through the infamous Barney's Warehouse Sale, where tons of their merchandise is shipped to a dingy loft space in Chelsea and sold for cheap, cheap, cheap. My friend Liz and I used to go there every year and play the "Buy The Ugliest Thing You Can Find For Under $5" game, which resulted in such memorable purchases as the neon yellow palm tree board shorts, and the plum/avocado/mustard striped polo. One year at the Barney's Warehouse Sale, I actually made $15, because the line to checkout was so long, and some douchebag paid me $20 to take his stuff up to the register for him. So I paid $5 for my ugly ass purposely-ripped graffiti t-shirt, took his $20 and snickered all the way to the bank.
This should have prepared me for how bananas the real Barney's is! I was trying on a dress shirt (the dressing rooms there are sort of these haunted-mansion-secret-passageway deals, where the salesperson presses some inconspicuous looking wood wall panel, and it opens to reveal a posh little room with a chaise and several handsome throw pillows) and when I came out, a Gentleman in a Great Rush was ushered into the room right after me. He apparently needed a shirt right then and there, so he shoved a wad of $400 cash into the salesman's hands, changed into the shirt, and walked out of the store. This is bananas both ways, because a) it was a very nice shirt, and b) when I'm out and suddenly need a shirt to wear, I go to, like, Conway or something. But I'm guessing it's less satisfying to shove $8.99 into a salesperson's hands than it is with $400.
I ventured out to Barney's after reading much ado about the great fiscal crisis of the high-end retailer this year. True enough, there was loads of stuff on sale, even though "on sale" meant that it was reduced from "Are You Out Of Your Fucking Mind?" to "You Want Me To Pay What? Well, Maybe Just This Once."
There are lots of very attractive people that shop at Barney's, and as the salesperson rang up my spiffy new jacket, I thought, I'm gonna look pretty impeccable in this myself.
If was both comforting and disheartening to realize that I'd better look impeccable, because just like all the other dapper gents at Barney's, I'd certainly paid for it!
But the worst part was, I lost the scarf while shopping. At Barney's. (Explanation to follow.) So on top of losing my scarf, I had just spent a semi-ungodly amount of money on other articles of clothing, and was suddenly faced with the necessity of spending more.
Also, when one loses one's scarf at Barney's, and one does not usually buy one's clothes from Barney's, one gets into conversations like this:
AG: Oh no! Bettina*, I've lost my scarf!
Bettina (*name of Barney's employee changed to protect the innocent): Uh oh! Well, what brand was it?
AG: Oh, you know, it was, um, the (insert some brand name here) brand.
Bettina (with a slight pause and glower): Oh. Well, we don't sell that brand here, so at least that'll make it easier to find.
OK, let's just say it: Barney's is fucking bananas.
These days, bananas has two meanings: the kids call things they like bananas, as in, "OMG that new Jonas Brothers song is bananas!" And there is also the traditional meaning of fucking crazy, as in, "You must be bananas to think that Sarah Palin has the wherewithal to lead this country in a fruitful direction!"
I describe Barney's as bananas because it suits both uses of the word. It is bananas because there are some beautiful, beautiful clothes there that are known to bring hipsters and Upper East Siders to their knees. It is also bananas because it is filled with nutjobs who are crazy simply because they don't think spending what I pay for a month's rent on a tie is bananas.
Up until this weekend, my only experience of Barney's was through the infamous Barney's Warehouse Sale, where tons of their merchandise is shipped to a dingy loft space in Chelsea and sold for cheap, cheap, cheap. My friend Liz and I used to go there every year and play the "Buy The Ugliest Thing You Can Find For Under $5" game, which resulted in such memorable purchases as the neon yellow palm tree board shorts, and the plum/avocado/mustard striped polo. One year at the Barney's Warehouse Sale, I actually made $15, because the line to checkout was so long, and some douchebag paid me $20 to take his stuff up to the register for him. So I paid $5 for my ugly ass purposely-ripped graffiti t-shirt, took his $20 and snickered all the way to the bank.
This should have prepared me for how bananas the real Barney's is! I was trying on a dress shirt (the dressing rooms there are sort of these haunted-mansion-secret-passageway deals, where the salesperson presses some inconspicuous looking wood wall panel, and it opens to reveal a posh little room with a chaise and several handsome throw pillows) and when I came out, a Gentleman in a Great Rush was ushered into the room right after me. He apparently needed a shirt right then and there, so he shoved a wad of $400 cash into the salesman's hands, changed into the shirt, and walked out of the store. This is bananas both ways, because a) it was a very nice shirt, and b) when I'm out and suddenly need a shirt to wear, I go to, like, Conway or something. But I'm guessing it's less satisfying to shove $8.99 into a salesperson's hands than it is with $400.
I ventured out to Barney's after reading much ado about the great fiscal crisis of the high-end retailer this year. True enough, there was loads of stuff on sale, even though "on sale" meant that it was reduced from "Are You Out Of Your Fucking Mind?" to "You Want Me To Pay What? Well, Maybe Just This Once."
There are lots of very attractive people that shop at Barney's, and as the salesperson rang up my spiffy new jacket, I thought, I'm gonna look pretty impeccable in this myself.
If was both comforting and disheartening to realize that I'd better look impeccable, because just like all the other dapper gents at Barney's, I'd certainly paid for it!
posted by Adam at 12:32 AM
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