Shopaholic Season

Last weekend I had a craving to cruise Nordstrom. Maybe because it was the first store to give me a good deal on Prada, or maybe I was being brainwashed by a series of Instagram posts promoting a Café Forgot pop-up at their uptown location. Either way, I was feeling nostalgic for ‘90s-era department stores, when tacky fur hats and piles of bogo underwear flanked cases filled with obnoxious costume jewellery and cheap digital watches. Plus I was on the hunt for some new granny accessories: a pair of black leather opera gloves and a cashmere balaclava, and I couldn’t think of anywhere better to browse.

A rainbow of oversized cashmere beanies lured me in, as did a Loro Piana scarf I could never afford and a pair of Balenciaga sunglasses that were “totally moi” in the mirror but totally unreasonable to wear in real life. Upstairs, Max Mara teddy coats tempted my basic side, while the expertly merchandised Café Forgot section reminded me that I’m probably too old to shop there.

I didn’t try anything on. Instead, I ironically checked the price tags on rock-stud Louboutins and Versace platforms, and imagined that I was in a VR world packed with brightly colored t-shirts and bags with kaleidoscopes of rhinestones made by brands I’ve never heard of. Nevermind that the prevailing aesthetic was “kooky millennial” and easily shoppable on Amazon. Nordstrom buyers have a point of view. They like things shiny and fluorescently lit.

I’ve been complaining that there’s nowhere to shop in New York for years now. Gone are the once affordable thrift stores and the club kid boutiques. Even the cutely curated vintage shops are picked over and overpriced. Nothing new is made well, and if it is, I can’t afford it. Some of the things I can’t afford aren’t made well either. Just a few weeks ago, I passed a SoHo storefront packed with hot pink outfits from an expensive, reputable fashion house. Their hemlines were as wonky as a Sottsass mirror. Still, no one seemed to care.