Dispatch from the Front Lines of Christmas at Bergdorf
The psychology and combat behind how a good outfit happens.
Yesterday—the Sunday before Christmas and the first day of Hanukkah, both on the 25th of this year—I decided to go to Bergdorf Goodman in an uncharacteristically masochistic move. I had my eldest dog, Birdie, with me. I decided she needed a little outing after being cooped up and healing from surgery. As we made our way up Park in a yellow cab, I realized immediately what I’d gotten into. As we passed Louis Vuitton and Tiffany, with lines wrapped around the corner, my body filled with dread. Oops.
I thought I’d be clever and walk in on the 57th Street entrance, which drops you right into the (typically quiet) fine jewelry floor. No. Immediately, I was sucked into a horde of black puffer coats, all shuffling around like doddering Michelin men, many looking around like it was their first day on earth. The mix of tourists, panicked last-minute locals, and extremely disassociated men was really a funny sight to behold if I could have stood still and taken it in. But I made a quick beeline for the elevators. I had specific targets in mind.
As I stepped onto the third floor, I was met with peace. Gone were the crowds. It was just me, Birdie, and a handful of women who looked like they knew exactly where they were going. I first walked to the Loewe boutique, where I picked up a fantastic white poplin shirt cut high on the hip, almost in a horseshoe shape.
Models walked around the sales floor, dressed head-to-toe in Loewe and Montclair. The store was broiling hot inside; two were kitted out in full ski looks. “Are y’all dying? I asked. They laughed. “Thinking cold thoughts!”
The salesperson showed me a photo of one of the models she’d styled in the shirt earlier. It was shown with pink barrel-leg jeans and heeled Terra loafers from the brand I bought last year. The two sculptural silhouettes were made for each other — the shirt cutout allows for the full shape of the pant leg to show, and the rounded pant leg fills the space the shirt’s high hip leaves on the table. The look inspired me, and we threw it into the fitting room.
But that wasn’t my primary mission: I was hunting for Phoebe. (Philo, that is.) Shopping on phoebephilo.com is such a nuisance between customs and returns that it sucks all the joy from the process, and I wanted to lay eyes on some specific pieces in person. I went straight down the hall, all the way to the left, where the store had moved the Phoebe boutique since opening a few months back. It was completely quiet.
The seating recalls a built-in version of RH’s “Cloud” sofa collection (despite its ubiquity, it is a perfect piece of furniture, no notes) —a fantastic, soft foil to the sharp clothes. I tried the Bombé shield sunglasses first, which squeezed me in the temples and gave me a nearly instant headache. Next.
The deep plum of the waisted leather jacket from drop two is even more decadent in person, glossy and juicy enough to bite into. Same for the lavender Drive bag, which I never looked twice at online, but IRL was a soothing spot for my eye to rest. Given that I don’t have the color elsewhere in my wardrobe, I thought it might be cool as one of those “matches nothing, goes with everything” pieces.
I grabbed the Dahlia brooch for the fitting room, maybe because it scratches a Carrie Bradshaw-shaped itch buried deep in my Millennial brain. The liquid pink silk of the cargo trousers called me, too, now that I already had pink pants on my mind. I discovered they have an elastic back — another undaunted foil of soft comfort to courageous pants. A black sweater with leather elbow patches waved at me. Then, structured black trousers with another sneaky, easy elastic waist. Smart heeled loafers! Cinnamon sequins so red they burn! Fashion blackout imminent!
Birdie watched me happily from the floor, cozy in her little La Ligne sweater, garnering plenty of attention of her own.
In the fitting room, the white Loewe shirt (size 40, a US 8) fit perfectly in the body, but I felt like I wanted the cuts to be just a touch lower on my leg. They didn’t have another size, but my salesperson (very chic in her own right, with slicked-back hair in a red and white oxford from the brand tucked into logo-banded trousers and fuzzy suede Terra loafers) showed me another riff on the same shirt, this time in black wool where the hip cut is revealed via a set of buttons. (Her skin was so dewy for winter in NYC that I asked what her secret was. It was this.)
I’d worn Row cashmere track pants (I like them so much I bought a backup pair) with Jil Sander sock heels, a pairing inspired by a silhouette in a Pinned ecomm image. The shirt looked perfect with them, and an outfit was born. Sold.
I mentally flagged the lavender Phoebe bag for later, rang up the brooch, and wore the Loewe shirt out.
By then, Kevin had arrived. I wanted to make a quick lap around the shoe floor. He perched himself on a sofa next to another abject-looking man and immediately became part of a tapestry. This classic department store sight can only be described as “men who have entirely given over control of their day.” I wanted to see a pair of wild-looking Bottega shoes I’d spotted online. Having tried them on now, I like them even more. Oops, again!
We naively popped up to 7, thinking we’d grab a bite in the restaurant. HA! The hordes found us. We shared a silent look that said, “fuck this,” and headed home… but not before one last stop down on the beauty level, where I had a tunnel vision for Dries. Kevin was annoyed by this detour, until they gave him champagne.
Buying perfume online is like trying to find meaning in a Pauly Shore movie. I wanted to smell the Dries fragrances, especially Neon Garden, which I love for the name alone. But I ended up walking away with Rosa Carnivora, a subtle rose bouquet that I was surprised to like, given that I usually wrinkle my nose at anything powdery. I also treated myself to one of the brand’s pocket mirrors I’ve wanted forever. Happy Chrismukkah to me, love me.
But I was still thinking about that original Loewe shirt. At home, I hopped on Net-a-Porter and found it in the same shade of bubblegum pink as the horseshoe jeans I’d seen earlier. They had a full, unbroken size run, so I decided to Uno-reverse the look a bit and wear the pink shirt with black barrel-leg jeans I already own from Frame. I may take up an inch in the ankle now to wear with the Terra loafers.
Out of curiosity, I looked up my new black shirt too. It looked like a whole lot of nothing online — bad, actually! This is a testament to the importance of shopping in person, even if it means facing the holiday shopping crowd… in New York City… two days before Christmas.
(Oops.)
Oh to be dropped into the universe that is Bergdorf’s, and two days before Chrismakkuh no less. What a gift this was to live vicariously through your shopping adventures! Am obsessed with the Loewe-inspired outfit. How brilliant to cut shirts around the barrel shape. A totally new S/H silhouette.
Did you get the lavender drive bag???? It’s stirred feelings in me but I can’t find it online