I have been following reports of the goings on at the Hermès Sample Sale, which opened to the public today, on Racked New York. Their reporter arrived at 7:55am and did not enter the sale until 9:18am. A post at 3:24pm reported that the wait was around two-and-a-half hours. Needless to say, this sample sale is not for the faint-of-heart. And thank goodness for all the people in the queues that it's a beautiful day - lovely light; a bit nippy, but tolerable.
I no longer have the wherewithal for sample sales. When I first started going to these sales, they were usually crowded, but there was often no line. It was as if the people who went to these sales were part of a secret club. I bought lovely things at sample sale prices: a grey silk/cotton Philosphy shift or a thick cashmere Michael Kors tee shirt for $50. Then one Sunday night, I heard Carrie Bradshaw mention "sample saling" on SEX AND THE CITY. I knew it was over. Lines appeared outside the sales, the wait got much longer and the prices much higher.
The very first sample sale I ever attended did not even take place in New York. I was in Paris and spotted a little notice for an Hermès sale in Libération. Being the fashion-obssessed student that I was, I went, probably skipping one lecture or another. It was a half-hour wait outside on a very cold March morning. Once inside, I was stunned to see people grabbing things as they appeared on the sales floor. The M.O. was grab first, evaluate later. I felt a weird disconnect between the ultra refined image of Hermès and the savage behaviour I saw around me, but I got into the spirit of things. At the time, scarves were the equivalent of $50! I bought presents for my mother and sisters, not to mention myself. I emerged breathless and triumphant.
My most remarkable Hermès find, however, was not at that first sample sale. The most unexpected find would be in a non-descript space on Broadway between Broome and Grand streets. This was, again, many years ago when Soho was in the midst of its change from arty neighbour to the mall that it is today. The art galleries were all but gone, but the established mall stores had not quite made their ubiquitous presence felt. Sales would take up residence in store spaces for a few weeks at a time and then disappear, never to be seen again. The shopping area I loved was Nolita. It was in its heyday. Ordinarily, I would never have walked into any of these random sales, but my friend had found a Miu Miu dress in one of them. She wanted to go have a look. I thought, why not. The most temporary, ugly store fittings housed some real designer odds and ends. I wandered over to the scarf display. There was a large contingent of Ferragamo scarves and the salespeople knew what they were. I browsed casually, not expecting to find a bargain when I spotted a blue scarf covered in calligraphy. I tried not to gasp visibly. I asked to have a look. It was the real thing. It had no price tag. I took it over to the cashier. The manager looked at the scarf; I looked nonchalant. He said he would give it to me for $30. I bought it immediately. No one could quite believe my story. I imagine I have the same reaction when I read of people finding Kelly bags in faraway thrift shops for $100.
