I KNOW this is hard to believe, but it’s not every day that I go shopping in one of Mohamed Al Fayed’s pea-green stretch Rollers. But it’s not every day that Harrods creates a “revolutionary new shopping experience”.
To be honest, since this is the first sunny day we’ve had in centuries, the blackout glass is a bit depressing. And is that gawper smirking? The good news is that approximately 17ft in front of me reside a drinks cabinet and a video recorder (though, alas, no videos). Another 30ft beyond that is Peter, the very nice driver. What there doesn’t appear to be is a functioning seatbelt. Clearly it would be distasteful to dwell on this, so cue quivery special effects while we fast- forward 45 minutes to my arrival outside Harrods, where Sukeena, the gorgeous-looking head of personal shopping, greets me by the front door and whisks me up to the fashion floor.
Ah, yes. The fashion floor. Despite housing the largest array of major labels in the country — and in greater depth — Harrods has been eclipsed in the fashion stakes for years. Selfridges is wackier and more democratic; Harvey Nichols is more chic; the boutiques offer a more personal service. But with Selfridges in transition and Harvey Nichols’s decor looking tired, Harrods is on a major charm offensive. Last year it poached Suzanne Tide Frater, the woman who helped to put Selfridges on the map as a fashion destination.
After an eight-month slog, Tide Frater has emerged with her first big initiative, a personal shopping service called By Appointment (a little in-house joke, since Harrods no longer has any royal warrants), conceived to woo the discerning, as opposed to merely rich. I think this roughly translates as making things less reminiscent of an airport terminal in Dubai.
Before you get the idea that Harrods is now a beacon of crumbly old, breeding-is-better-than-brass values, I should point out that the five private rooms where clients have their By Appointment appointments are equipped with fitted wardrobes, vast mirrors, armchairs, the modern equivalent of a sofa (ie, a leather bench), at least one personal shopper (I got Sukeena and the unflappably elegant Yodit), endless supplies of champagne and more air conditioning than a 747. There’s lots of expensive embossed wallpaper, chocolate browns, leather and that unmistakable eau de megadosh. In the waiting areas outside are discreet nooks with flat screens and men bearing clinically obese wallets (regrettably, I think customers have to supply the latter). And, my dears, the space — my room, one of the more modest, is the size of a London pied-à-terre.
Although the service is free, money, I fear, still talks. The woman who came in before me dropped £50,000 on summer frocks — and, as Sukeena noted in her down-to-earth Mancunian, “we’re almost three quarters of the way through the season”. Another client is, as I write, waiting for Yodit to call her with news that the new consignment of Chloé bags — any of them, she doesn’t mind which — has just arrived. “She’ ll pay $5,000 extra just to have something no one else has,” says Yodit fondly.
I am not here to spend £50,000. Or £5,000. I am here to find something to wear to the Serpentine Gallery party which will also transform my dysfunctional mob of separates into a working summer wardrobe.
Once you have concussed your inhibitions, there are several wonderful aspects to being personally shopped for, not least of which is that, if you wish, you can lie flat on your back on the bench for two hours, blasting yourself with air-con and Bolly while someone else runs around getting dresses, coats, shoes and lingerie in your size — then runs around changing it all when it turns out not to be your size. (They’ll also do your Christmas shopping, decorate your houses and probably book your holiday.)
The other is having someone with a fresh eye and perspective. I am mad keen to introduce some Lanvin to my wardrobe, yet after narrowing 15 pieces down to two strong contenders, I have to agree with Sukeena that, while the pewter tulle halterneck fits perfectly, it’s too much of a showpiece to be a good buy when it has been seen so much already, not least in a full-length version on Natalie Portman at the Oscars in February. (To invite comparisons with Natalie from EastEnders would be careless enough, to invite comparisons with Natalie Portman is insane.)
The other Lanvin, a bronze pleated halterneck, is lovely, but not my dream Lanvin dress. Nor are the Missonis (wrong colour), Diors (too Palm Beach matron), Pradas (beautiful but too big; they’ll alter but I need instant gratification) and Chanels (too black). I end up in a label I’ve often admired on the catwalk but never considered for myself (another dividend of having someone else do the legwork). A pink halterneck silk dress from Viktor & Rolf with a big bow at the front is pretty and glamorous but also quirky enough to be perfect for an uncontrived summer party look. Sukeena says she has it in black and wears it over T-shirts during the day. A bargain, then. A full- skirted, pale grey unlined nylon taffeta trench from Jil Sander is the ideal cover-up, and I can wear it for hundreds of years, which is good, given the price. Better still, taffeta trenches over halternecks are very Lanvin.
Ultimately it is the staff’s enthusiasm and knowledge that impress most, and the fact that this late in the season there’s so much there — a benefit of Harrods being in a position to ask designers to fulfil late orders and provide one-offs. I don’t even like shopping, but I spent two hours there. Yes, I’d go back, especially now I know that the pea-green Roller isn’t mandatory.
- By Appointment: 020-7893 8000
BIKINI HUNTERS
Shockingly, it suddenly seems that there is no end to the British retailer’s hunger to become service-orientated. John Lewis is offering free 20-minute swimwear consultations this summer, where your adviser will scour the shop floor to find you the perfect bikini to fit and flatter, whatever your shape. Since this could, theoretically, obviate the need to look in a mirror; since bikini shopping runs divorce a close second for stirring up long-buried feelings of degradation and self-hatred, and since John Lewis is a delightfully British blend of nanny knows best and a surprisingly good selection of labels, this could be a very good thing indeed.
If the bikini hunt is successful, you could even go one further and take up John Lewis’s offer to demonstrate the ancient art of packing a suitcase so that you have all you need and no more. Sounds like origami meets Mary Poppins.
Tel: 0845 6049049
