by Karyn Bosnak
After figuring out where I was on the map, I was relieved to see that I was not in Brooklyn, but one more stop and I would have been. I totally missed my stop. I looked down at my watch and realized that I had two minutes to get to my appointment before I was late. Crap. With that I went upstairs and flagged down a cab. I hopped in and gave the driver the address of the salon.
A few minutes later, the cab pulled up to the salon, and I paid him and jumped out. The salon was on the bottom floor of a brownstone on a beautiful tree-lined residential street. It wasn’t big at all. It was very quaint. I walked in the front door and gave my name to the guy at the front desk. He told me to have a seat.
While he summoned my hairstylist, I looked around and felt very comfortable. It was a very peaceful place. The walls were painted red, and it was dark and cozy.
A few minutes later, my stylist came out and introduced himself. He was of medium build and had brown hair and brown eyes. He was good-looking. And I think he may have been straight.
“Hi, Karyn. My name is Vlad,” he said.
“Hi,” I said, “sorry I’m late.”
“No problem,” he said.
I followed Vlad to the back of the salon to his chair. He looked at my hair and convinced me to skip the single process and just get highlights and lowlights instead. It would make it look more natural and would go “better with my skin tone,” he said. I trusted him, and went along with the plan.
For the next hour, Vlad put foils in my hair. He really took his time and I kind of liked it. It was relaxing. Red Salon wasn’t one of those big salons with bright lights and a million people. Everyone’s station was kind of hidden, and very private. Vlad and I had a very nice conversation. He told me all about his girlfriend (I was right!), and I told him all about Chicago, and why I moved to New York and he understood it. Usually when I told people that I moved to New York to be alone, they were always like, “Huh?” But Vlad understood what I meant. I love hairdressers. They are always so nice.
When he was done foiling, he sent me to sit under a dryer in the back. I fell asleep. I’m not sure how long I was under there, all I know is that I was awoken by another guy who was really, really cute. He led me to the shampoo chair in a back room. The lights were dark and there were candles burning on the wall. It was very soothing. Now what I’m about to tell you might have never happened. I might have still been sleeping under the dryer and dreamt the whole thing. But something’s telling me I wasn’t.
It started out very innocently. I sat down in the chair and leaned my head back against the bowl. The shampoo guy—I didn’t get his name—started to remove the foils, and rinse out the color. He then put some shampoo in his hand and started rubbing. And rubbing…. He was massaging my head, and soon moved to my temples. And then moved to my neck. And ooh…I was in pure ecstasy. My spine started tingling, and soon my whole body was too. This is why they charge so much at these New York salons! I was so turned on from this shampoo guy! Did he like me? Or did he do this to all the shampoo-ees. I didn’t even remember what he looked like, but I was ready to give him my flower. Oh wait, I gave my flower away a long time ago. Let me rephrase that—I was ready to give him my virtuous body. Yes, my virtuous body!
If anyone had so much as touched the tops of my thighs, I would have been sent over the edge. One wrong slip of a knee would have sent me into orgasm heaven. Boy, did I enjoy that shampoo! Almost fifteen minutes later, he tapped me on my shoulder to signal that he was done. I didn’t even realize that he had rinsed and conditioned my hair. I opened my eyes and stared at him in a daze from my spot in the shampoo chair. I didn’t want to get up. I wanted a cigarette and I don’t smoke. That shampoo was one of the best things that has ever happened to me in my whole life. It was by far much better than some sex I’ve had.
Reluctantly I got up and walked back to Vlad’s chair in a daze. My eyes were half open. I had that come-hither look going on.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” I said, smiling, “just fine.”
With that, Vlad started cutting my hair. He cut the back with a razor, to make it look all jagged and funky. It was so cool! It was very Meg Ryan. It was cooler than any cut I had ever had. And the color was even better. He really was right, it did go better with my skin tone.
When it was all said and done, I went to the front to pay. The total was $295 before tax and tip. I figured I needed to tip Vlad at least 20 percent, and I had to give that shampoo guy at least $10—but he was worth so much more. I bet he gets a lot of dates doing what he does. I was tempted to ask him out, except that I’m too shy, and he probably wasn’t on my team anyway. So the total ended up being $387. I was only allowed to charge the total and tax though, not the tip. I had a feeling this was the case, and was prepared. So I gave them my Amex card and forked over $70 cash for the rest. It was a lot, but it was so worth it. Getting your hair done in New York is just expensive, I guess.
I left the salon and wandered around the West Village for a while with my new haircut. I had my new sandals on too. And I still had that come-hither look in my eye. As I walked down the street, I noticed that a few people stared at me. Yep, my haircut’s hot! I know it. I strutted down the street like I owned it. Until I tripped on a rock. Then I slowed down.
After buying a cute red silk top in a store off Bleecker, I noticed a bunch of people gathering around a store, or was it? A bakery? Yes, it was a bakery. The sign outside said Magnolia Bakery, and the line was out the door. It smelled so amazing! I think I read about that place in my New York magazine. Maybe I hadn’t and just used that as an excuse to get a treat. But I hadn’t eaten since before I got my hair done, and that was hours ago. And I worked up quite an appetite after that shampoo. I was hungry and decided to wait in line and buy myself a treat.
I waited in line for almost fifteen minutes. I noticed that everyone was buying a cupcake, so that must be the thing to get. It was self-serve and I got to pick out my own. I opted for a yellow cupcake with pink frosting and white sprinkles. I like pink.
I walked outside and sat down on a bench and bit into my cupcake. Holy smokes! It was dreamy. This cupcake was not like your normal bakery cupcake. This cupcake tasted better than even your grandma’s cupcakes. It was dee-lish!
I sat outside with my new cool hair color, and my new cool haircut, while wearing my new cool sandals and ate the best cupcake of my life. The breeze was perfect. I smiled. Today was heaven.
THE FIVE B’S: BLOOMINGDALE’S, BERGDORF, BENDEL, BARNEYS & ME
By the time Monday came, I went to work and felt great with my new haircut and color. Everyone commented on how great it looked and I felt like the $387 was so worth it. As I sat down at my desk to get started on my day, the phone rang.
“Curtis Court?” I answered.
“Is Karyn there?” said a cute-sounding guy’s voice.
“This is Karyn,” I said.
“Karyn, my name is Sam. I am a personal trainer at Crunch and I see that you just joined.”
“I did just join, Sam!” I said, flirting back.
“Well, did you know that you get one free personal training session when you join Crunch?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t know that,” I said.
“What’s your fitness goal, Karyn?” Sam asked.
“To burn fat,” I said.
“And what are you doing to burn fat? Don’t tell me running on the treadmill.”
“I am running on the treadmill.” I hope Sam didn’t look at my chart and see that I hadn’t been there in over a week.
“You need to build muscle to burn fat more efficiently, Karyn,” he said. “I can show you how to do that.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yes, do you want to come in for your complimentary training session?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” I replied, “when do you want to do it with me?” I asked. I then blushed because I just asked him when he wanted to do it with me. “I mean—well, you know what I mean,” I continued.
Sam laughed.
“How about next Wednesday around eight P.M. sometime,” he said.
“Eight P.M. on Wednesday sounds great,” I said. “Should I ask for you?”
“Yep, just check in like always, go to the locker room, then check in at the personal training desk and ask for me.”
A personal trainer! I was so excited! And he sounded so cute! All of my workout clothes were such a mess. I would need something nice to wear. I had to look cute. And besides, new workout clothes would motivate me to get back on the fitness wagon.
THAT SATURDAY I decided to venture out in search of workout gear. I walked outside and took a left on 57th Street. My plan was to go to Niketown. I passed it frequently on the way to work, and holy Jordans it was huge!
A few blocks later, as I approached Lexington Avenue, I looked to the right and noticed an enormous building a few blocks down. It took up the whole block and had to be at least eight stories high. At the front of the building, a bunch of national flags were billowing in the breeze. I wondered what it was. Was it an embassy? I knew I lived by the UN, but I thought that it was in the opposite direction of this.
I decided to check it out because I wasn’t in that much of a hurry to get to Niketown. As I approached the building, I started to read the large letters above the entry doors that spelled out the name of the building. What was it spelling? B-L-O…I was over a block away and couldn’t tell. As I got closer I started to make out some more letters. B-L-O-O-M…Could it be what I thought it was? My heart started to flutter. B-L-O-OM-I-N-G…Yes, yes it was! That big building with the flags wasn’t an embassy at all! That big building was Bloomingdale’s!
Holy sweet Jesus I found home! I had never seen such a large department store in all of my twenty-seven years on this earth! We had a Bloomingdale’s in Chicago, but it wasn’t that big. This one took up the whole block! And with all the flags it looked so regal! I picked up my pace to get there more quickly. I couldn’t wait to get inside. As I approached the corner and the entry, I was startled by a car horn.
A disgruntled cab driver gave me the finger and yelled at me as he almost ran me over. I looked up and realized that I didn’t have a Walk sign and was almost in the middle of the street.
“Ooh, sorry,” I said, pointing at the store, smiling, “Bloomingdale’s.” The cab driver just looked at me and shook his head.
I love shopping and have since I was a little girl. When my sister and I were little, we were two little homely kids. I was kind of greasy, and she had crazy curly hair that stuck up everywhere. We didn’t have many friends. But when I was eight years old, my mom bought me a yellow satin roller-skating jacket that said “Hot Rollers” on it, and all of a sudden all of the kids in school liked me. It was a hot jacket—let me tell you. You could say I learned the power of clothes at an early age.
Things only got worse as I got older.
When my mom married my stepdad, we started spending the weekends on his boat on Lake Michigan. (He was a big boater.) My sister and I were still a bit grubby, and now all of a sudden we had to start hanging around the rich kids—the kids of my parents’ boating friends. And I’ll be honest—my Hot Rollers jacket didn’t fly too well with those kids at the lake. They all had on Polo and stuff, and didn’t want to be our friends and that hurt our feelings. We would cry sometimes. So my mom, doing what any mom would do, bought us Polo, too, so we’d fit in with the other kids. And it worked. As soon as we showed up with the little horsies on our shirts, they liked us.
The “power of a Hot Rollers jacket” turned into the “Power of a Polo.” And as I got older, that Polo shirt turned into Guess jeans, Vuarnet sunglasses, and eventually: the Gucci purse.
My love of purses began in high school. I went to a private all-girls Catholic high school, and we had to wear a uniform, which consisted of your typical plaid skirt and polyester blazer. With that, we had to wear solid color socks and a solid color top with a collar. Not very creative. So the way the girls expressed themselves was with their purses. Your purse became like an ID tag. It became your shield. It became who you were. And I didn’t want to be the girl with the Liz Claiborne clutch. Because at my high school, the Liz Claiborne clutch didn’t cut it. It was private, and a lot of the girls that went there came from wealthy families. At my high school, you needed to have a Gucci, a Louis Vuitton, or a Fendi. By the time I hit high school, the “Power of a Polo” turned into the “Power of a Purse.” As I got older, I never let go of my love of designer goods.
Anywho, back to Bloomingdale’s. I backed up and got back on the curb and waited for the little walking man to turn from orange to white, signaling it was okay for me to cross the street. I waited and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Just one little street stood between the largest Bloomingdale’s I had ever seen in my life and me. I watched all the people go in and out of the store while I waited on the curb. And waited. A few minutes later, the green light turned yellow, and then red. The cars stopped. And finally, the little walking man turned white, as if to say, “Come, my child. Come follow me into the promised land.” That little white walking man held the keys to heaven, I mean Bloomingdale’s. And he decided when you were allowed to come in. He was the gatekeeper. I looked up at him and bowed. He knew how important it was to work this corner.
I put one foot in front of the other and stepped off the curb. I walked across the street in what seemed like slow motion. A few moments later, I had arrived. I looked at the series of doors. They were big and heavy. I picked one and pulled it open. I was inside. I looked around at all the people and took a deep breath. I was in the purse section. How perfect!
I started to walk around. My mind was moving so fast that I barely comprehended what I was looking at. They had Louis Vuitton and Fendi, and Versace and D&G. The purses were endless!
I made my way to the other side of the store and came across the sunglasses counter. I love sunglasses! Purses and sunglasses! How perfect. I tried on a pair of killer Gucci shades. They were burgundy and too big for my face. But that was the way they were supposed to look. Paired together with my new hair, they looked amazing. I looked amazing. I had to have these sunglasses. As I handed over my Amex card, I justified the purchase to myself. I hadn’t bought a new pair of sunglasses in quite some time. In fact, almost two seasons. So one pair of sunglasses at $240 was just like getting two pairs at $120 each season. And that wasn’t too bad.
Sunglasses in hand, I made my way to the next floor. I looked out onto row after row of brightly lit counters and mirrors. This must be the makeup floor. How perfect! I love makeup! I love purses and sunglasses and makeup! They had every brand name you could think of. Prescriptives, MAC, Bobbi Brown, Trish McEvoy—you name it. I was like a kid in a candy store! The counters were endless. I think they went on forever! In the distance I saw an escalator heading up and decided to see where it went. I was on a mission. I wasn’t leaving this store until I had examined every square inch of it.
The second floor was the home of women’s clothing. It was so big and there were so many clothes. Now I’m no sports expert, but I’m guessing that it was the size of several football fields. I immediately pulled out my cell phone and called my friend Naomi in Chicago.
“Hello?” she answered.
“You are never going to believe where I am and it’s the most amazing place I’ve ever been to,” I said.
“Where?” she asked anxiously.
“Bloomingdale’s. I have just discovered Bloomingdale’s in New York. And it’s the biggest place I have ever been in my whole life. You have no idea how big it is. I wish I had a camera so I could take a picture and send it to you. It’s that big.”
“Really, tell me more!” she said, excited.
“Okay, I am approaching a section called Elements. They have the cutest clothes in the whole world in this section. It’s very girly stuff and very nice. And ooh, it’s expensive,” I said, picking up a price tag. “Have you ever heard of Rebecca Taylor?”
“No,”
Naomi answered, “who is she?”
“I have no idea, but she designs some cute clothes! Here’s a lovely pink silk sleeveless top that’s a hundred forty dollars. And this section is only one section out of like a hundred! And I’m only on the second floor. I haven’t even been to the others. I’ve never seen anything like this ever. The Chicago Bloomingdale’s has nothing on this place.”
“No way. Oh, I have to come!” she said. “I think at the beginning of next month some people are going to New York for business. I bet you that I can tell my boss that I have some really important business to do there too and that they’d let me go.”
“Oh my gosh, you have to come! You’d never believe it.”
“Tell me more,” she said.
With the Rebecca Taylor top in hand, I proceeded to walk Naomi through most of the floor before hanging up. Yes, this is what excited girls do when they find cute clothes. At least that’s what my friends and I do anyway. Whether we are in the smallest boutique or the biggest department store, we call each other when we find great stuff. I discovered that the whole back half of the second floor was the shoe section. They had lots of shoes.
Three hours later, after buying that top, and exploring more women’s clothing on the third and fourth floors, and furniture on the fifth floor, and housewares on the sixth floor, and bath and bedding on the seventh floor, and children’s clothing on the eighth floor, I took the elevator all the way back down to one. I was exhausted. I was speechless. As much as I didn’t need the Rebecca Taylor top, I decided to look at it like it was part of an investment in a new wardrobe. Yep. Slowly, I was going to phase out all of my baggy, cute Midwestern clothes, and replace them with chicer, tighter, New Yorkey things.
As I left Bloomingdale’s, I turned to get one last look. Wow! It was so big! And it was just three blocks from where I lived. I decided to skip Niketown for the day and headed down 60th Street toward Central Park to see what I could find to eat. I was light-headed and realized that it was probably because I hadn’t eaten anything. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day! I pulled out my new sunglasses and put them on. When I got to Madison Avenue, I noticed that Barneys was to the right. Oh no! Not another one! This city is like one big shopping mall. Everywhere I turned there were stores. I bought a hot dog from a street vendor and sat on the sidewalk and ate it. It was good. When I was finished, I decided to just browse through Barneys to see what they had.