Yesterday I went to
Henri Bendel, which I think of NYC's answer to LA's Fred Segal, another store that absolutely dazzles me with girly loveliness every time I visit. The people working there are so solicitous, like old school shopgirls, fussing over you, complimenting you on your dress, your shoes. I guess that could get annoying after a while...but I enjoyed myself.
The Chocolate Bar, which has recently closed it's West Village shop, has a beautiful little cafe on the third-floor. I, of course, stocked up on their signature "retro" bars--salty pretzel, my favorite (the salty-sweet thing is such a weakness), and their popular peanut butter caramel for City Guy. Yummy-o!
I usually prefer clean, minimalist decor (think Richard Meier) but I was strangely drawn to this rococo-style arrangement of mirrors and chandelier in the cafe area:
I really do love the chandelier and the mirrors. Everything about the place is so cute and well-designed!
I got a kick out of this display wall in Bendel's book area--all books on fashion, make-up, style, and being a girl, of course.
The quotations crack me up, especially this one by Louisa May Alcott (from Little Women, I presume): "She is too fond of books and it has turned her brain."
I love these note cards and dolls too...oh and the tea set in Bendel signature 's brown and white stripes.
BTW, the little pink book is called "This Little Piggy Went to Prada." It's a children's book! What a hoot! Might not help if you're trying to raise well-adjusted , non-materialistic kids though...
Funny how you live in the City for years and every day, pass the same buildings, some of them famous enough to be visited by thousands of tourists a year, and one day, you decide, hey, I feel like going in, and you do, and you find that a sanctuary from the world has always been just right there, a few blocks from your house....in this case, one replete with grand Gothic arches and scintillating stained glass windows and brass sculpted doors so beautiful you find yourself standing in the doorway as tourists edge past you. And you wander through and find a little gallery no bigger than your apartment where there's an exhibit about your neighbors, and you see photos and read quotes from people you pass every day, and you suddenly feel a bit more at home. And at the end of it all, you step outside and find a lovingly maintained cemetery with gravestones from the 1700's, half of them so worn by the elements that you can't read who was laid to rest there, but you think, that's okay, because by now, they're part of the daisies growing there before you, and you realize you are not alone. You were never alone.
