Ah, springtime. Rites of spring. In Ohio,where I grew up, that means dogwood blossoms, forsythia blooms, lilac bunches. Baby chicks and bunnies, birdsongs, and smiles on faces that were taut with resignation after the fourth freak snowstorm of the winter. In April. Signs of life after a gray, lifeless winter season. Yes, springtime on the East Coast or Midwest is a welcome life affirming event that comes to people who need it. People who can survive lousy weather and not complain too much, people who can cut their own wood or work all day in a professional environment while wearing layers.
Now that I live in sunny Southern California, the seasonal changes are harder to discern, but apparent once you have lived here long enough. Slightly sunnier weather. Slightly less chill in the air. Time to trade in the outerwear which formerly consisted of long sleeve t shirts from J Crew to short sleeve t shirts from J Crew. You will know when summer arrives because then you can pull out the tank tops from J Crew.
I happened upon another Los Angeles rite of spring the other day when I stumbled into Saks Fifth Avenue, the Beverly Hills outpost. One doesn't usually stumble into Saks. One usually clicks into Saks, or alternatively clacks into Saks, but trust me, I stumbled. I had been in a rush in the morning, so I had left the house wearing sneakers, jeans and J Crew, but no make-up ( I know, I know). I found myself in the neighborhood and decided to pop in just to take a look around.
It was mobbed. I mean mobbed. Lots of clickers and clackers. And here is the strange part. If you have ever been to the cosmetics department at Saks, you know what normally happens. Well coifed sales ladies rush you,literally run to you with sprays of perfume, or worse yet,make-up brushes flying frantically promising to touch up your face with their latest product. It's literally death by face powder. But this time, I passed several feet with no assault. And, actually, I deserved to be attacked that day. No makeup. Barely washed face. Girls, I needed face powder. But, no one came to my rescue. The fembot sales force were running frantically to and fro behind counters, huffing and puffing and handing over huge Saks bags stuffed with product.
I went up to a counter that looked friendly-ish, and asked a beautiful and beautifully made up sales lady what was happening. Raised coifed eyebrow. Sculpted nose sniff. "It's the yearly %15 off cosmetics sales. If you had a Saks card, you would be notified by mail...." Ok- nobody puts cosmetics on sale. Nobody. But Saks evidently does and if what I witnessed was any indication, it was something that these women looked forward to every year. Needless to say the saleswoman didn't have a lot of patience with me trying on lipstick. I don't blame her, there was real money to made elsewhere.
So, the in the know do it like this. They call the day before, and order over the phone (with Saks card of course). They reserve their cases of La Mer skin cream ($150 a pop, so 15% means something there), bags of YSL touch eclat (don't ask- I won't tell), and Chanel #5. Crates. Cases. Gallons. And these are put into bags that are set all over every available space. Then, at 9 am on the day of the sale, they swarm their counter and retrieve their loot. We are talking thousands of dollars of product.
It was a sight to behold. I was too overwhelmed to truly take advantage of the sale. I stood there like a cultural anthropologist taking notes, observing the purchases. What does all of this mean? Why do these women stock up on La Mer as if it were canned tuna? Obviously, we all want to stop the aging process and La Mer kind of promises that. It's the proverbial hope in a jar.
Isn't that what spring is all about? Hope? New green shoots of leaves after a season of dormancy. Sunshine after gray (and you really don't know the color gray unless you have spent winter in Ohio). Bailout and federal stimulus and profits after,well economic meltdown. We all need that feeling of hope to keep us going and making progress with our lives.
So here's hoping you find your hope in a jar. Be it religion, or lilacs, or Springsteen. Or vats of La Mer.... .
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