Very civilised
Going to the Club21 stores at the Hilton is always such a civilised affair, even at this time when the sale is on. It's also a very dangerous affair, as I found this morning, with the year-end bonus payout around the corner and my DBS Black Card giving me "extra 10 per cent off sale items" everywhere.
Deciding that I would have the full luxe experience, I parked the car at the Four Seasons where I got a lot immediately and had to saunter past only a few Volvo XC90s and Mini Cooper Ses to get to the lift. An elderly ang-moh in tennis gear (we're talking late 60s here) and this pretty, young Malay girl were my companions in the lift. "I hate this Christmas music, it drives me mad!" he grumbles in his grandfatherly way. "It's that time of year, hon!" says the Malay girl in a thick British accent (to his American one). "What's that?" he says, unable to hear her mumbling. She bristles slightly: "I said -- IT'S THAT TIME OF THE YEAR, HON!"
Right, so finally the door opens and I'm off to Paul Smith to get a respectable wallet so that people can stop bitching about how my current one is fraying and falling apart (Guys, it may be J-Fold, but it's CULT ok?). There are Japanese ladies in kimonos milling about outside the store, where a mini-art exhibition is being launched. One is welcoming guests in soft, polite tones. Very civilised.
Inside Paul Smith, the choice is between a slate grey wallet in "washed leather" ("very special material", says the sales assistant) with a fake red precious stone stuck on it. Like a nipple, I think, as I run my thumb over it. The other is a tan-coloured wallet with a print on it, a drawing of buckles. I go to the mirror with both and make like I'm paying at the cashier (wondering, fleetingly, if I'm big enough for these wallets). They're both nice (of course they are). The sales assistant waits for his moment, then unobtrusively makes his assessment: "I think the grey one is nicer. Because you'll still like it three months from now." "Three days, you mean!" I say. HAHAHAHAHA, we both laugh loudly - then I buy the grey one. He puts the wallet in the nicest paper carrier with lovely Christmas tree pencil drawings on it, topped off with a little bow. Very Japanese, very civilised.
I waver at the Club21 mens shop, wondering if I should go in. I'm in the market for a suit, you see, and there are lovely Jil Sander ones hanging on the rack. Throwing caution to the wind, I go in anyway. Of course, the supervisor M. is around and he cheerily says hello c7676 (he remembers my name!). M., if you can picture him, is a stylish, fat Malay guy. He is gentle and slightly giggly, but utterly measured in his assessment of how clothes look on people. He talks and laughs with you, then in the next second, orders his assistants around in a stern, Empress Cixi-like voice. The overall effect is deadly. You feel like you're being served by the Queen herself. You can score some points by flirting with him (and I totally do) but that doesn't really change the imperative: Buy something, or else you can never come back to the store again.
Thankfully, there are lovely Comme des Garcons t-shirts going for 50 per cent off (original price $189). M. is a little busy so I try a dark blue one in L, which fits snug. Later when I tell him, M. says: "Oh please, you're an XL!" Deciding already that I will buy more stuff than I intend, I try an XL in an even nicer design. It fits, but in a different way (more day than night, if you know what I mean). "Buy two," he advises. "Different silhouette..." So I do. Then, while waiting for the Jil Sander suits to be brought down (there's public humiliation for his staff when this happens: "Aiya, Han, how can you bring the jacket and not the pants! This is a suit: that means the jacket AND the pants."), we discuss the Commes des Garcons/Fred Perry polo shirts also on offer (50 per cent off $369). "I lurve this one," he murmurs, pointing to a Fred Perry polo shirt that looks like it was worn to a paintball session. "You should try it." Of course I try it. It looks a little loose ("the L is PERFECT, don't even waste time with the M!") but I buy it anyway (it's my first Fred Perry).
Thankfully, the Jil Sander suits didn't fit. "Stop building up so much!" he says disapprovingly, adding to the by-now mammoth pile of back-handed compliments about my size. Just as I'm paying, another one for good measure ("I love your watch, it's so nice..."). I finally struggle out of the store, smiling wearily at black-clad staff all chiming "Thank you for coming!".
As I said, I love shopping at Club21. Very civilised.
Deciding that I would have the full luxe experience, I parked the car at the Four Seasons where I got a lot immediately and had to saunter past only a few Volvo XC90s and Mini Cooper Ses to get to the lift. An elderly ang-moh in tennis gear (we're talking late 60s here) and this pretty, young Malay girl were my companions in the lift. "I hate this Christmas music, it drives me mad!" he grumbles in his grandfatherly way. "It's that time of year, hon!" says the Malay girl in a thick British accent (to his American one). "What's that?" he says, unable to hear her mumbling. She bristles slightly: "I said -- IT'S THAT TIME OF THE YEAR, HON!"
Right, so finally the door opens and I'm off to Paul Smith to get a respectable wallet so that people can stop bitching about how my current one is fraying and falling apart (Guys, it may be J-Fold, but it's CULT ok?). There are Japanese ladies in kimonos milling about outside the store, where a mini-art exhibition is being launched. One is welcoming guests in soft, polite tones. Very civilised.
Inside Paul Smith, the choice is between a slate grey wallet in "washed leather" ("very special material", says the sales assistant) with a fake red precious stone stuck on it. Like a nipple, I think, as I run my thumb over it. The other is a tan-coloured wallet with a print on it, a drawing of buckles. I go to the mirror with both and make like I'm paying at the cashier (wondering, fleetingly, if I'm big enough for these wallets). They're both nice (of course they are). The sales assistant waits for his moment, then unobtrusively makes his assessment: "I think the grey one is nicer. Because you'll still like it three months from now." "Three days, you mean!" I say. HAHAHAHAHA, we both laugh loudly - then I buy the grey one. He puts the wallet in the nicest paper carrier with lovely Christmas tree pencil drawings on it, topped off with a little bow. Very Japanese, very civilised.
I waver at the Club21 mens shop, wondering if I should go in. I'm in the market for a suit, you see, and there are lovely Jil Sander ones hanging on the rack. Throwing caution to the wind, I go in anyway. Of course, the supervisor M. is around and he cheerily says hello c7676 (he remembers my name!). M., if you can picture him, is a stylish, fat Malay guy. He is gentle and slightly giggly, but utterly measured in his assessment of how clothes look on people. He talks and laughs with you, then in the next second, orders his assistants around in a stern, Empress Cixi-like voice. The overall effect is deadly. You feel like you're being served by the Queen herself. You can score some points by flirting with him (and I totally do) but that doesn't really change the imperative: Buy something, or else you can never come back to the store again.
Thankfully, there are lovely Comme des Garcons t-shirts going for 50 per cent off (original price $189). M. is a little busy so I try a dark blue one in L, which fits snug. Later when I tell him, M. says: "Oh please, you're an XL!" Deciding already that I will buy more stuff than I intend, I try an XL in an even nicer design. It fits, but in a different way (more day than night, if you know what I mean). "Buy two," he advises. "Different silhouette..." So I do. Then, while waiting for the Jil Sander suits to be brought down (there's public humiliation for his staff when this happens: "Aiya, Han, how can you bring the jacket and not the pants! This is a suit: that means the jacket AND the pants."), we discuss the Commes des Garcons/Fred Perry polo shirts also on offer (50 per cent off $369). "I lurve this one," he murmurs, pointing to a Fred Perry polo shirt that looks like it was worn to a paintball session. "You should try it." Of course I try it. It looks a little loose ("the L is PERFECT, don't even waste time with the M!") but I buy it anyway (it's my first Fred Perry).
Thankfully, the Jil Sander suits didn't fit. "Stop building up so much!" he says disapprovingly, adding to the by-now mammoth pile of back-handed compliments about my size. Just as I'm paying, another one for good measure ("I love your watch, it's so nice..."). I finally struggle out of the store, smiling wearily at black-clad staff all chiming "Thank you for coming!".
As I said, I love shopping at Club21. Very civilised.
posted by rookcub at
5:05 PM
2 Comments:
i love this post. keep 'em coming!
you should submit this one for publication in the s.t. 'life' section - a very amusing article and from what i remember of the life section, it could do with stuff like this
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