My friend and I have just retreated from the shops of 5th Ave to find solace in a quiet cup of coffee sitting outside in Bryant Park. We’ve just agreed that neither of us enjoyed getting “rugged” — retail mugged… that thing that happens only in America when you are besieged by the unrelenting exuberance of a shop assistant hoping you’ll buy.
Growing up my brother and I often found ourselves in an Anne Taylor changing room watching our mother trying on what struck us as 5 identical white blouses. We were unable to help — never convincing enough regarding which one we definitely liked best.
And so I used to be grateful when mom got rugged. Some grown up could gush and run about to grab different sizes to resolve the 5 shirt conundrum — which set my brother and I free to stare at the carpet and wait for the trip to Anne Taylor to eventually come to an end.