Monday, September 21, 2009


When I go to stores, I like to be left alone to wander and make decisions for myself. I am not an amateur shopper. If I need something, I ask. But otherwise I don't like to be bothered. I think it’s why I gravitate towards large stores. It’s easy for you to get lost among the others. I was especially fond of this fact during the holiday season in New York. Yes, the tourists didn’t know how to use the subway or how to walk less than four across on the sidewalk, but they did provide the perfect cover for my far too frequents visits to lust over a pair of Louboutins that resided on the Saks Fifth Avenue shoe floor in the winter of 2007.

On the way to and from the coffee shop that I've taken up residence in since moving home to Boston, I often pass a little boutique called Looc. I was intrigued by what was on display in the windows, but it wasn't until one afternoon, the sun finally out after a month of hiding from us, that I stepped inside. It was like I had taken a deep gulp of sea air. The inside, all white, reminded me of a small house on the Cape and a sailboat simultaneously. I walked around, taking a moment with the embellished headbands and the Bensimon Collection slip-ons. Softly gliding through the Lerario Beatriz. The Steven Alan. The T by Alexander Wang. On the shelves, next to shoes and bags by Tila March, lay small tokens that one might find in a house stuck in the recent past. An empty bottle of Chanel Nº5. A yellowing copy of Jacqueline Kennedy, A Woman for the World. I wanted to spend an afternoon there with a book. And maybe return later for a headband.

In the end, everything is a trade off. In the larger stores, there is the anonymity that I love.

But I would also never find an old bike sitting by one of the front windows, dried flowers ornamenting the handlebars as if someone had meant to only leave it sitting for a small while before forgetting to come and retrieve it.

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