When I lived in NYC, one of my favorite places was Henri Bendel's. I loved the distinct shopping bags and the unique and immersive environment of the store's whimsy and beauty, and the affordability of afternoon formal tea. I felt so grown up and special whenever I went. I couldn't believe I could afford anything there at all. Usually, if I bought something, it would've been in the cosmetics section back when I used to think makeup was a necessary part of my professional armor. But mostly, my friend and I would meet there for afternoon tea and gossip and catch up and feel grown up. The only other place I felt that was the basement in Takashimaya's department store, but that's a mourning to discuss another day.
I had very different experiences at Bloomingdales, which felt like a place only the elderly of the Upper East Side would shop at, and Lord & Taylor, where it seemed the high school suburban self-proclaimed JAPS would go (we were so awful as kids - JAPs were Jewish-American Princesses). Barneys was a place I went annually for their mega sale, but other than that sale, I never stepped foot in there because I assumed it was too expensive. Neiman Marcus was where very rich women from out of town shopped. Bergdorf Goodman was where you'd go if you wanted to feel badly about yourself for being an ordinary person, Macy's, which sits in the heart of Koreatown and has thrown the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade for 100 years, was probably the only store that felt accessible. There was also Saks Fifth Avenue which always had beautiful window displays and where it seemed the only thing I might ever be able to afford would be one sock on sale (not even a full pair). It was also where the sales staff kept following my friends and I around for very different reasons - my friend was followed around for being Black and was in need of hyper surveillance in case she stole anything, and I was followed around because I was Asian (they thought I was a Japanese tourist) and presumably flush with cash to burn. So my friend and I flipped the script, as is said, and I followed her around as if I was her shopping companion, picking up clothes after her, carrying her bags, and holding dresses up against her to comment on how beautiful or ridiculous she would look. (It was only 15 years later when I would step into a Saks Fifth Avenue again and find myself relieved that the Houston store was at least less obvious about its prejudices.)
The truth is, none of these perceptions were so clearly identifiable as I thought. I probably can walk into any of the stores and feel welcomed, looked down upon, feel inadequate or triumphant, and transform into someone who walks out the door feeling superior for the experience of having been special enough to buy something. In hindsight, I realize that's how they do a gotcha! I spent far too many hours trying to use these stores to conform my identity around and far too much money to try to prove it - both at a time when I was making so little money that it was possibly the most foolish thing I could do. But whereas my parents' "American Dream" was for my brothers and me to get private college educations, own our homes, and work in professional jobs, my vision of the "American Dream" was to be able to walk into any of these stores and feel like I belonged (which I probably only could've done because my parents' version of this dream was achieved).
Wanting to revisit my youth, I read this book. Plus I loved the title. I had no idea of any of the women profiled. Giant respect for all of them, including the very sad Hortense Odlum whose internalized sexism probably hurt women as much as her achievements helped inspire women and who had an incredibly tragic personal life, especially in relationship to her sons. Of course I shook my head at the distinct gender wage gap, but I loved how the men who asked these women to run their stores had so much faith in them, particularly since they had no formal college education or relevant work experience (well, except for Dorothy Shaver who had worked her way up from the sales floor but really, she benefited from nepotism).
Given the amount of time I spent in these stores so many years ago and how my identity as a young adult was partially formed in and by them, I feel such sadness every time one of them goes out of business. So I feel like this book is the perfect homage to the women who ran Fifth Avenue back in the day, because it was they who created these stores in the images of their personal essences, which allowed me to have the experiences that I had. I thank these women for all they did for me and for being the icons that they were in their time. They probably helped propel feminism (even Hortense, though she did it more than reluctantly - she did it bitterly) more than they ever gave themselves credit for. Bravo to the men who saw their brilliance, and boos to the men like Leslie Wexner and Trump (ugh - I hate even spelling his name!!!) for having snuffed these women out of history.