Barely 5 minutes in and I was charmed and led away to a salesman in the Bulgari corner. Now don't think for a second that I'm a naïve shopper. I live in London and if there's anything I perfected in, apart from shoving my way into the tube and shouting curses at tourists foolishly loitering in the middle of Oxford Street, is dodging the charm of a sales person. However this time I could not. Perhaps it was the fact that I was now the typical naïve tourist, who loses IQ points with every country separating tourist from home. But I'd like to think this was due to the rarely-mentioned New Yorker charm. Bollocks to the tales of the 'New Yorker attitude'. If there is anything that I have learned so far from my trip is that the attitude in European cities makes New Yorkers look like Mother Teresa. Their charm is more toxic than their bark. A further five minutes later and this salesman had me beginning to believe that I really did need that $195 Bulgari moisturiser because having diamond dust is great for my face. Like a sailor hypnotised by the Sirens' song, I was captured by this utterly useless and unnecessary product. But then logic rang out in my head like Orpheus' lute and I sped out of there as fast as I could before I could do any financial damage to myself and my dear parents.
It wasn't long before I was lured into the very bowels of Tourneau, a luxury watch-retailer where I had hoped they could revive the Armani watch my parents gave to me as a graduation gift.
'That would be 15 dollars without tax ma'am.'
I gave the salesman a look of disbelief. I reluctantly nodded and seated myself on their velvet couch. I looked up at the salesman again and this time he gave me the 'kabayan' look. Fifteen minutes later he walked up to me with my watch in hand.
'Here you go Miss. Have a nice day.'
'But - You.. Ok.'
Rescued again by one of my brethren I took my watch and proceeded with my Upper East Side odyssey, which led me to Abercrombie and Fitch, its lair guarded by half-naked male beauties. The mere sight of it was comical. There was a bloody queue for A&F reaching all the way around the corner. Like a members-only club in Mayfair, male models manned the entrance like Whiskey Mist bouncers, letting one in and one out at a time. Queueing for a mediocre shop, with mediocre products, with mediocre design for stupidly high prices? I think I'll join the 'I'm-not-a-sucker' queue' please. Onwards to the Apple Store at 59th and 5th. Squealing like a little school girl in the Willy Wonka-esque glass elevator I descended towards something better than a Chocolate factory - Apple in the Big Apple, meaning CHEAP. Cruising along from iPad to iPod I dragged myself out of Geekville to Bookwormville at Barnes & Noble at 86th and Lexington.
Books, glorious books! How I love Barnes & Noble. Although it looked like the regular super bookstore it had the vibe of the local library. People sitting cross-legged with books and papers sprawled across the floor, study groups gathered at a coffee table… It had the size and the selection of Waterstones but lacked any of the pretention British bookstores have. People were reading books they haven't purchased on the carpeted floor… and they were not being told off! So I filled my basket with books, sat cross-legged on the floor with my Frappucino and read my heart out. Not bad New York, not bad at all.
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