By appointment only
Nick Foulkes succumbs to the charms of a human storewide search engine Iam a terrible snob when it comes to apparel. I have been having clothes made for me since the beginning of my twenties. There are times when I leave my house and the only items of clothing that I am wearing that have not been made for me are my socks and underpants. I mention this to establish a context. It was probably with a mischievous twinkle in her eye that the fragrant Sarah Standing sent me along to Harrods to experience 'By Appointment', the recently launched personal shopping service for men.
I imagine my prejudices against personal shopping are shared by many Spectator readers, pace those who happen to be highly paid footballers, or Russian oligarchs. If I had ever thought about it, the very notion of personal shopping for men would have tended to strike me as a bit Candy & Candy ... all limited-edition man-bags, heavily branded sunglasses and ludicrously expensive special cuvee champagnes. And my first impression of the By Appointment area in the basement of Harrods seemed to bear this out Imagine a series of grandeluxe padded cells decorated in the best VIP-zone style: cloth-of-gold walls, R&B soundtrack, PlayStation handsets, football memorabilia, a bar covered with single-malt miniatures, a display of specially packaged Krug (the house champagne), and a bottle of Richard Hennessy, a preposterously expensive cognac that was about a grand a bottle when I stopped drinking ten years ago. Even the mineral water has been given the VVIP treatment and is served in shaped half-litre bottles that reminded me of the old Imperial pint of champagne.
Apparently the place is very popular with young footballers, who come here between practices, and I can't say I am surprised. However, I was not prepared for my reaction: I really began to take to this blinged-up basement, I felt safe here and I started to understand that this was the perfect place from which to view the overwhelming offer of what is arguably the world's fullest service department store.
People used to whinge and snipe about Harrods being a bit vulgar, but you don't hear that so much any more. Perhaps a bit of shininess is no longer so unacceptable. Maybe the rest of society has caught up with Harrods: it is quite easy to imagine the Blairs browsing the hall of luxury looking for leaving presents for the staff.
I am sipping mineral water and picking at sushi in my subterranean stronghold, with Seema, my personal shopper, and her seemingly infinite phalanx of assistants presenting the latest yet-to-be-launched gold-and-rubber Bvlgari scuba chronograph, the glitziest diamond-sprinkled suit fabric from Brioni, the softest, palest Bamford cashmere, and the most outrageous snakeskin (with head attached) belt from Flavio Briatore's Billionaire Couture. We occupy two rooms: one in which to look at the watches, while the other, bigger one is hung with clothes, strewn with shoes and luggage. I began to get the hang of it.
Much as Dante was guided through the nine circles of the Inferno by Virgil, so Seema helped me navigate both literally and figuratively the seven floors of Harrods — a labyrinthine retail Disneyland where you can buy everything from a shower that gives you a tan while you wash, to a guitar case designed by Hedi Slimane, to a digital Koran with matching compass. It is a lot to take in — enough to fry the synapses, never mind the credit card.
By Appointment and the almost clairvoyant Seema act as a storewide search engine. You just feed in the vaguest information — say, 'Where can I find jeans that will make me look like a Bollywood star?' Within minutes one of Seema's acolytes will have arrived with a pile of neatly folded, ready-distressed, hideously expensive and, well, just hideous denim for you to inspect. 'I can make it work for you but you have to got to want it to work and to understand it,' says the ever-optimistic Seema. Express an interest in handheld computers and all the data is gathered from Sound and Vision. Ask how to reset the perpetual calendar on the Blancpain wristwatch and a miraculously wellinformed young man from the watch department appears at your side to deliver a lecture on the more esoteric points of haute horlogerie.
It is all very confidence-boosting, and so when Seema says, 'Let's go shop the floor and then come here and make sense of it,' I am slavering like a newly minted lottery winner ready to wallow in retail excess. It is difficult not feel important — and men like to feel important — striding purposefully through the shop, imperiously selecting a wooden spoon here and a Breguet watch there, leaving one of Seema's understudies to make a note and have it dispatched to the By Appointment bunker. In a spirit of curiosity, I swing by the women's personal shopping area — all blond wood and cappuccino tones — it does not seem nearly as much fun as my gilded, padded subterranean lair.
This is the service for those who love shopping and, strangely enough, for those who loathe it too. For the former it is like having your golf pro with you as you tee off, or having the services of an ace shooting instructor at your side in the butts. For the latter, after the first visit you need never step inside a shop ever again: By Appointment does it for you, right down to keeping a list of what you gave whom for Christmas — just so you don't buy the wife the same Birkin bag twice in a row.
BY APPOINTMENT AT HARRODS Tel: 020 7893 8000 Email: byappointment@harrods.com
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