although i pledge fealty to indie perfumery, as is the custom of my people, i still prefer visiting the perfume counter at saks to any hiply-curated boutique.1 at the boutiques they seem to assume that their customers are self-willed, independent-minded, and possessed of a fierce personal taste, which is all very complimentary, except that it adds up to an expectation that you are there to shop for yourself. even if they’re polite about it, you can tell. at saks, they’re a little more conventional, a little behind the times, tweedy with chanel & hermes, & they still seem to believe that your man will be buying for you. it’s not that they’re shocked if you pull out a credit card yourself, far from it, especially not if the bottle says pour monsieur. but they assume that some of the confused men who speedrun a sale in two minutes from mispronouncing the name they’re reading from their phone to purchase, are the sequelae of some of the relaxed young women2 browsing. this consumerism-without-pushiness creates the illusion of a utopian post-scarcity atmosphere, which reminds me oddly of nothing more than star trek tng. take a long lunch on smells & head out trailing the latest no. 5 flanker, with your purse stuffed with 20 little white cards that have mixed up into a hodgepodge great-aunt potpourri. you don’t even need any real investor backing to take advantage of this, as long as it’s plausible to the employees—the well-coifed dilettante at dior with her fat rock & her st x’s elementary bumper sticker, the rail-thin man at byredo with his septum ring flipped up & tucked away for the workday—that you could have such backing. or get it. after all, people meet people everywhere, & it’s not unheard-of for a confused businessman who shows up every christmas eve for a bottle of jo malone orange blossom, to come back this christmas eve asking for jo malone orange blossom & a bottle of maison margiela jazz club.
i say visiting advisedly. online shopping is a different story
&, let’s be inclusive, gorgeous early-twenties men