So, I decided to check out this baby after seeing the ad in one of the Conde Nast rags and being a fan of their suits. So after work I wandered over to my local Barney's (Chicago), which I'd never set foot in.
Store directory says: Men's fragrance, 5th floor. So I trek up to 5 and wander around through the labyrinth of racks with <5 items per rack. Come across something that looks like a fragrance counter. Turns out it's only skin care products.
So back I head down, this time to the basement, where the cosmetics are.
As soon as I emerge the phalanx of black-clad cougars and queens running the operation turn and give me the most disturbingly overt full-body-scan. I feel like I've just walked into a human x-ray machine. I nonchalantly wander around, pick the most matronly-looking of the cougars, and ask her if they have mens' fragrances here.
"No, that's on 4 or 5".
OK, so having already checked out 5 without success, I head back up to 4. while 5 was the tailored clothing, 4 is the trendy Varvatos, Paul Smith, Vince etc. youth-y stuff. Initiate nonchalant floor patrol #2 -- all the while being studiously ignored by the sales people who act as though they're paid commissions based on how snooty they can be. Come up dry. Approach a nice-looking girl who is doing something behind a counter. "Hi, do you have a men's fragrance section?"
"No, I only fold boxes. Sorry!" (Wow, they can afford a dedicated box-folder? Who'd have thunk given that I saw all of 7.5 customers in the entire store.)
So I approach one of the other salesmen. Ask the same question.
"Oh, you have to go to the basement". I retort, "but I was told your mens fragrance is on this floor or the one above". At this point the guy gives me a withering look and goes "oh, but us guys on the floor wear the stuff in the basement ALL THE TIME, like the Comme des Garcons stuff." (translation -- "us higher life-forms have evolved to the point where we wear unisex or womens' fragrances, unlike you, you Calvin Klein-wearing neanderthal or whatever it is you're wearing.")
By this point I am beginning to gnash my teeth. Figuring that -- by process of elimination -- my best bet probably IS the basement that I was emphatically told did NOT have mens' stuff, I return to the lair of harpies that had directed me elsewhere ten minutes earlier. And this time I resolve to check out the racks for myself.
So I initiate nonchalant patrol #3. Ah, a ray of light -- I see the Frederic Malle section, with a battery of little bottles pretentiously stored in some kind of refrigerator that looks more like a safe in a Swiss bank, so as to convey perhaps that the ingredients are supremely fragile and exclusive. My internal self-confidence rises: clearly, there are a FEW mens' juices here. So I complete my rounds but come up dry. No Costume National.
Finally, in desperation I identify benign cougar #2. "Do you have Costume National?"
"Yes, we do, over there, let me show you." Yes!!!
We head over. And they have the accursed bottle! She sprays me a strip. It smells nice enough. But by this time my quest has taken on a life of its own; I MUST bring this expedition to a close, successfully. So I rashly say "give me a bottle".
A couple of minutes later I'm threading my way through the nest of cougars and queens, clutching my little black Barneys bag, and being subjected to shameless full-body-scan #3. Finally make it to the exit. Whew! Mission successful -- out of the belly of the beast.
As for the juice: as is so often the case, I have to report, unfortunately, that it smelt nicer in the store than it does at home; it's nice but nothing amazing. It certainly has the strength and projection of an EDP, but the scent itself is disturbingly like a softer, well-rounded version of Banana Republic's Black Walnut; heavy on the cedar, with the sweet, well-blended touch of a Caron or Guerlain.
Nice, but not worth the price. But possibly worth the adventure!
Store directory says: Men's fragrance, 5th floor. So I trek up to 5 and wander around through the labyrinth of racks with <5 items per rack. Come across something that looks like a fragrance counter. Turns out it's only skin care products.
So back I head down, this time to the basement, where the cosmetics are.
As soon as I emerge the phalanx of black-clad cougars and queens running the operation turn and give me the most disturbingly overt full-body-scan. I feel like I've just walked into a human x-ray machine. I nonchalantly wander around, pick the most matronly-looking of the cougars, and ask her if they have mens' fragrances here.
"No, that's on 4 or 5".
OK, so having already checked out 5 without success, I head back up to 4. while 5 was the tailored clothing, 4 is the trendy Varvatos, Paul Smith, Vince etc. youth-y stuff. Initiate nonchalant floor patrol #2 -- all the while being studiously ignored by the sales people who act as though they're paid commissions based on how snooty they can be. Come up dry. Approach a nice-looking girl who is doing something behind a counter. "Hi, do you have a men's fragrance section?"
"No, I only fold boxes. Sorry!" (Wow, they can afford a dedicated box-folder? Who'd have thunk given that I saw all of 7.5 customers in the entire store.)
So I approach one of the other salesmen. Ask the same question.
"Oh, you have to go to the basement". I retort, "but I was told your mens fragrance is on this floor or the one above". At this point the guy gives me a withering look and goes "oh, but us guys on the floor wear the stuff in the basement ALL THE TIME, like the Comme des Garcons stuff." (translation -- "us higher life-forms have evolved to the point where we wear unisex or womens' fragrances, unlike you, you Calvin Klein-wearing neanderthal or whatever it is you're wearing.")
By this point I am beginning to gnash my teeth. Figuring that -- by process of elimination -- my best bet probably IS the basement that I was emphatically told did NOT have mens' stuff, I return to the lair of harpies that had directed me elsewhere ten minutes earlier. And this time I resolve to check out the racks for myself.
So I initiate nonchalant patrol #3. Ah, a ray of light -- I see the Frederic Malle section, with a battery of little bottles pretentiously stored in some kind of refrigerator that looks more like a safe in a Swiss bank, so as to convey perhaps that the ingredients are supremely fragile and exclusive. My internal self-confidence rises: clearly, there are a FEW mens' juices here. So I complete my rounds but come up dry. No Costume National.
Finally, in desperation I identify benign cougar #2. "Do you have Costume National?"
"Yes, we do, over there, let me show you." Yes!!!
We head over. And they have the accursed bottle! She sprays me a strip. It smells nice enough. But by this time my quest has taken on a life of its own; I MUST bring this expedition to a close, successfully. So I rashly say "give me a bottle".
A couple of minutes later I'm threading my way through the nest of cougars and queens, clutching my little black Barneys bag, and being subjected to shameless full-body-scan #3. Finally make it to the exit. Whew! Mission successful -- out of the belly of the beast.
As for the juice: as is so often the case, I have to report, unfortunately, that it smelt nicer in the store than it does at home; it's nice but nothing amazing. It certainly has the strength and projection of an EDP, but the scent itself is disturbingly like a softer, well-rounded version of Banana Republic's Black Walnut; heavy on the cedar, with the sweet, well-blended touch of a Caron or Guerlain.
Nice, but not worth the price. But possibly worth the adventure!
