Personal Shoppers Now
Available in Panama
By Matt Landau
"I'm with my personal
shopper, can I call you
back later?" were some
the most fulfilling
words that had come out
of my mouth in a long
time. I had often
regarded personal
shoppers much the way I
did spiritual advisors,
as pointless ways rich
people disposed of their
income. But upon moving
to Panama and getting my
one of my own, the
concept of a personal
shopper suddenly took a
turn for the shrewd.
Pascale is a
professional personal
shopper originally from
Switzerland who made a
living in New York City
telling people how they
should dress. And while
I never knew Pascale in
New York City, I
imagined here there in
her element, shopping
with her client on
Madison Ave. for a
special event that
night. "Now this silver
sarong" her client might
have asked while looking
over her shoulder in a
mirror. "Would it match
well up against a red
carpet?"
Pascale speaks with a
slight European accent
which has a tendency to
make even the simplest
of accessories sound
sexy. "Today Matt, we
may just find for you
zee perfect timepiece."
I didn't even know what
a timepiece was, but I
knew I desperately
wanted one.
For those of you who
don't know, my fashion
sense is one of
monotony. I have a
small, reliable
collection of clothing
pieces that I wear
interchangeably every
day of the week and
while some might
describe my style as
boring or lame, I like
to label it as
unswervingly chic: the
Landau summer collection
of 2005, 2006, 2007 and
2008. My outfits though,
while nice in make and
model, are always more
or less the same.
I entered the mall
behind Pascale feeling
more confident in the
presence of retail that
I ever have before. It
was not unlike showing
up at a potluck with
Martha Stewart in tow.
Once-intimidating
storefront manikins
didn't have anything on
me with Pascale by my
side.
"Zo what we are looking
for today?" Pascale
asked me, as we passed a
large man standing in
front of a store called
Louis Vuitton. He was
holding a gun. I gave
him a cocky little wink
as I replied.
"I'm thinking about
mixing a dressy
element," I expressed,
"like a velvet jacket,
with something more
informal like blue
jeans." I said this
because I had just read
an article about a
certain Wine Valley
Social Club and wanted
anxiously to appear to
be in the know.
Pascale shrugged off my
comment. "Maybe we just
walk to Zara, no?"
Once in the swing of
things at Zara, Pascale
did a sort of analysis
on what colors looked
good on me and which
ones did not. "Zees
khaki shirt" she said.
"I sink zees khaki shirt
look too...too much like
safari for you." And
while I wasn't terribly
aware of what style
sense we were going for,
I was fairly sure safari
wasn't it.
She proceeded to throw
together, almost
effortlessly, several
outfits that looked
really really really
good; nothing I would
have ever picked out on
my own; a great a mix of
linens, pastels, and
traditional...versions
(I don't even know the
word I'm trying to use
here). I'd come out of
the dressing room and
Pascale would look at me
the way a painter looks
at a half-finished
canvas, her head tilted
to the side as if to
say, something's not
quite right here. She
even had the man at the
shop hemming my pant
legs (a service I didn't
even know was offered at
Multi Plaza).
At the cash register,
Pascale decided to
switch a blue shirt we
had selected for a pink
one, and with the most
natural of instincts, I
turned to the people
waiting in line and
shrugged. "That's my
personal shopper," I
smirked. "She does this
all the time." |
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