Tiffany & Co.: The Great Pale Blue Hope
Written: Apr 08 '00 (Updated May 29 '00)
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I'm not really sure what happened to taste in America. Certainly, this has never been our most remarked-upon national characteristic, but there had always been, in this country, quiet pockets of understated style where a comfortable traditionalism was the order of the day. In the last several years, however, a number of retailers upon whom one could heretofore rely to outfit such a, dare I say it, lifestyle, have gone the way of the carrier pigeon and sterling grape scissors.
Gucci, once purveyor of the preferred social climbing shoe, has now mounted an ad campaign that looks to be peopled by a half dozen junkie rentboys recently kicked out of Le Rosey. Brook Bros., which F. Scott Fitzgerald boasted was responsible for hiding the shame of American millionaires, is trying to remake itself as some sort of Banana Republic for the fashion-challenged sixty-year-old. "21" serves nouvelle cuisine. The latest Mercedes looks like an obese Hyundai.
That the Lilly Pulitzer brand has staggered back on the scene, a la Lazarus in a blindingly hot pink floral golf skirt and those thongs from Palm Beach that look like tiny day-glo potholders sewn together with Summer camp lanyard, does little to reverse the trend.
Thank God there's still Tiffany's, that lovely old sanctuary of high ceilings and dark wood paneling on Fifth Avenue. Stuffy? Of course. That's the point. Harry Winston is where you buy things for your pouty second wife, the stewardess. It also, of course, goes over big with showgirls who won't put out.
Cartier has always been for those people who spritz themselves with aerosol Evian water on an airplane, or are named Evita or Maria Callas. Lauren Bacall could get away with Cartier, but only just. This is the kind of stuff you might want to sew into the hems of your garment if you went to Radcliffe and find that you've been rather suddenly deposed from the Prime Ministry of Pakistan. Actually, you would probably want to have someone else do that, since I doubt you sew very well.
Bulgari works best for successful actresses of a certain age, often shortly after they've had their lips plumped. It's just a Susan Lucci kind of place. But Tiffany's, ah, even having its name given to this generation's crop of girls once called Brandy and Cinnamon cannot diminish it.
The front doors are still heavy, the carpeting is still the most comfortable walking surface in all the five boroughs, and the long glass cases on the first floor still contain beautifully lit and crafted bijoux and trinkets. The brilliance of the diamonds, the limpid depths of the colored gemstones, the gorgeously worked gold and platinum--all the yards of wonder arranged along the gray felt--are still enough to elicit a sharp intake of breath by the most hardened of Gabors.
These are items for ladies and gentlemen of the old school--sapphire bracelets, sterling hip flasks, lorgnettes for the opera inlaid with mother-of-pearl, engraved card cases--a veritable Merchant Ivory prop room. There are certain, in my mind lamentable, concessions to current style--namely the Elsa Peretti and Paloma Picasso designs, but Schlumberger still reigns, and therefore I have a reason to live and suck up to authority.
A paneled elevator with a uniformed operator whisks you up to the second floor, where you can find the stationery, china, crystal, and sterling. This is an airy, white room, and one of its many lovely features is that no one will walk up and spray you with perfume, ever. It is also one of the last places in this country which performs the art of hand-engraving with anything like aptitude. If they would ever do this on items not purchased in the store, as they did in the famed Audrey Hepburn vehicle from the Truman Capote short story, they have ceased the practice. Tiffany & Co. will, however, engrave anything from a child's drawing to a signature or wedding invitation for you on glass, sterling, or just about any other surface you are likely to find on an indigenous objet.
If you would like prompt service, wearing a pair of Belgian Shoes will probably guarantee that you'll get polite attention from the sales staff even if you have pierced your nose. An attitude will not. Concentrate on getting the footware right, don't crack your gum, say please and thank you, and you'll do fine. Pearls, as Kmennie so wisely pointed out, help. If you are inclined to snap your fingers or pound the glass of the display cases, you would be happier at Zale's or Fortunoff anyway, so please get in your Joey Buttafuoco mobile and stomp on the gas. That is, after all, why they invented Great Neck.
The catalogs are not, today, the sympony of splendor I remember from my childhood--no more great emeralds, tiny sculptures made from baroque pearls, or stunning rubies. They used to have a technicolor two-page spread devoted to each gemstone, which is how I decided, at age seven, that I would like to someday have an aquamarine engagement ring.
Now it really is a guide for mail order--the nice, safe wedding and baby presents one would order from afar, not the one-of-a-kind pieces you could only imagine being worn in Saudi or Monte Carlo or pinned to Queen Elizabeth's sweater.
If you receive wedding gifts from Tiffany's, hopefully you will get more than one or two, in which case you can trade them in for one really groovy thing. You will get crystal, unless you are marrying the Sultan of Brunei. Remember that Tiffany wineglasses break faster than acrylic fingernails. You might as well just drink ouzo out of them once and throw them into the fireplace, saving yourself the agita of trying to treat them carefully and watching them splinter, one by one. For the same price as six of them, you will get infinitely more enjoyment out of a monogrammed sterling yo-yo, believe me, and these are actually quite well-balanced and fun to do tricks with.
All in all, Tiffany & Co. is still very Henry Mancini, in a good way--an FAO Schwartz for growups. It is worth just taking a walk through, the next time you're in New York, especially if you've had a martini with lunch. You can spend a very pleasant hour or so here, without buying anything at all, and you will run into neither Madonna nor Leonard DiCaprio. That's pretty much my definition of an ideal afternoon, right there, which is why I avoid Barney's like the plague.
When the revolution finally comes, I am heading for Tiffany's, my spiritual homeland. At least then I can go out in a blaze of glory, dripping with pearls.
Recommended:
Yes
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cornelia
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Member: Cornelia Read
Location: Berkeley, California
Reviews written: 100
Trusted by: 333 members
About Me:
Disorganized mother of twins by day, crime fiction writer by... um... day.
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