Let's Return to the Pleasure of Window Shopping
I grew up in a rain-lashed industrial town near London. Glamour and excitement were thin on the ground. The Swinging Sixties had yet to swing. No telly, no luxuries, no zhoosh. Except at Christmas time. Once a year, the local department store would festoon the window displays with twinkly lights and fake garland.
The hardworking window dresser (singular) would drag out the same exhausted papier-maché reindeer and then cover the floor in a meager sprinkling of artificial snow. Silver stars and oversized snow-flakes dangled from the ceiling above a glittery red sleigh, piled high with basic gifts–alarm clocks, tea pots, gravy boats.
We couldn’t afford any of it. But we didn’t care. We were happy to shop with our eyeballs. The spectacle was free and festive, and that was enough. We were window shopping.
In a bleak post-World War II landscape, it was the jolt of fantasy we needed, a little visual positivity. And how about now?
After spending so much time in lockdown, we all have a fresh appreciation for physical freedom. We are hungry for shared experiences–especially those which take place al fresco—and most especially for that mysterious feeling of elation that social scientists have dubbed “collective effervescence.”
Stores and shops have provided this informal group psychotherapy for generations, no charge. Where did it go? In the half century since it first transfixed me, window shopping has fallen out of favor with the populace, and the retailers. The vast majority of brands have eliminated their enclosed theatrical (and costly) vignettes, replacing them with unobstructed views of the store interior and tantalizing vistas of merchandise.
Creative superstar window designers—I’m thinking of Linda Fargo and David Hoey’s Holiday designs at Bergdorf Goodman, Faye McLeod's surreal Kusama takeover at Louis Vuitton, Leila Menchari's legendary vitrines for Hermes, and of course my own satirical homages to Andy Warhol or the UK Royals at Barneys New York—have continued to waive their magic wands. Yes, from Rodeo Drive to Madison Ave., from the Place Vendome to Rue Saint Honore, from Bond Street all the way to Via Montenapoleone, certain stores still turn it out during the holidays, but does anybody pay much attention anymore?
Blasé pedestrians are more inclined to stare at their phones or take selfies than press their noses against a store window, no matter how fabulous the content. One twirl through Instagram can deliver visual stimulation equal to a thousand window displays.
There is now such an immediacy and availability of merchandise that no customer is motivated to stand on a chilly sidewalk, longing for stuff which can be ordered online at virtually any price. From a purely rational point of view, elaborate window displays no longer serve any purpose.
Still, maybe we have entered a new era where the need to be rational is less pressing. Let’s remember that the real beneficiaries of window shopping were never the stores underwriting the cost, but the crowds on the sidewalk. Window shopping was simply a magnificent feel-good sporting event with no ticket price. And it was very democratic. During my time at Barneys New York, RIP, I would watch as locals and tourists of every stripe milled outside our windows.
The vast majority of the spectators had neither the means nor the inclination to enter the store and purchase an Ala?a dress or a Fendi tote. They came for the side-walk vibe, the warm and life-affirming feeling–collective effervescence!—we experience when we come together.
Here is my window dresser’s wish: When this is all over, we will return to those chilly sidewalks, more effervescent than ever. We will forget about whether we can afford what we’re looking at. We will just enjoy the good vibrations that come with a shared experience.
Where did Holly Golightly end up whenever she felt blue? Window shopping at Tiffany, of course, a fantasy place she loved because “Nothing very bad can happen to you there.”
Of course, it is an illusion, but so what. Illusions are what make life bearable.
Want to help the magicians behind the windows? Support independent contractors now out of work by donating to the Freelancers Relief Fund.
Simon Doonan is a writer and former window dresser for Barneys New York.
This story appears in the Summer 2020 issue of Town & Country. SUBSCRIBE NOW
You Might Also Like