Help!

Help! – The Beatles

The place is dark blue and ill lit. Coming in from the sun dappled street it feels like you stumble into a solar eclipse. Knifed to the wall are bodiless mannequin heads covered in what looks like candle wax. The atmosphere is moody and unstable – vampire’s lair meets the wildest little whorehouse in the West. Behind the entrance a deejay is crouched over a double deck, adding to the general confusion by drowning the place in a beat like a heart in frenzied fibrillation. My man and I are at the Diesel Fifth Avenue store, trying to locate a specific pair of jeans. The Diesel Fifth Avenue store is very current. We convince each other that our temporary night blindness and the consequential bumping into random displays is a small price to pay For Successful Living. As our eyes gradually get used to the semi-dark, we distinguish various piles of jeans mashed together in sideboards in a far corner of the store. I start to fear there is no way we are ever going to find what we came for. We decide to stay close together and wait. Anytime soon now, from all this interior designer’s limbo, our savior should appear.

Shopping for clothes on Manhattan usually means having a personal assistant at your beck and call.
– ‘Hi, I’m Brianna/LeShawn and I’ll be assisting you today. Can I set you up a changing room?’ The second you set foot inside, a girl or boy dressed in the leading smile of the season hurries over to help you out. After all, only they know exactly what the store holds, where everything is to be found and what size you really are.
Not all stores do assistants. Some just have a regular entourage of employees filling racks and cash register. The difference between the two types of store is astounding. Employees in a non-assistant store have no idea what brands the store carries; they couldn’t tell you where you can find that dress in the window if it would save their life. If anything, they will avoid you. Five more hours until my shift ends! their heads loll in dull anticipation.

All this, of course, applies to traditional stores. Diesel Fifth Avenue has little to do with tradition. Tradition is not current. Diesel Fifth Avenue is. However, from the darkened vapor surrounding us, far-away fog-horns (‘I wasn’t joking, try it in a size 12’ and ‘I already set up your changing room’) define the Diesel store as an assistant type of getup. So what is keeping our denim redeemer?

Then, in a sudden outburst of strobe lights, our eyes shoot Polaroids of a highly androgynous silhouette in skinny jeans standing quietly in the far corner. It must be an insider. Up close, the heavy-lidded eyes and pale complexion assure us this boy must spend a lot of time inside the store, but as we sidle up next to him, he looks the other way and appears perfectly unaware of our presence. Is he ignoring us?

– ‘Hi!’ I try. ‘Can you help us?’ The boy blinks. We look at him expectantly. He looks at something infinitely interesting, right over my left shoulder. ‘Hello there!’ I try again. ‘We are looking for these jeans and…’
– ‘Uhhh, yeah, so… I’m… uhhh…. Jimmy…?’ the boy asks rather unexpectedly, his bloodshot eyes slowly swimming into focus. ‘No, we’re not Jimmy. These jeans, we believe the model is…’ I continue, but the boy has already swiveled out of sight. I grab onto my man’s hand. ‘We should just get out of here!’ I whisper. That’s easier said than done. I am not even sure I can feel my way out of this premeditated puddle of boudoir chic. Then the air in front of us seems to condense – and the boy has reappeared, looking even more waif-like than before. This time he’s clutching a pair of jeans. ‘Yeah… so… these should do… Jimmy…’ he mutters blankly as he hands them over. ‘How do you know if it’s the right…’ I start, but my voice trails off. I am talking to thin air. The boy has gone up in smoke. This time he has vanished for good. We happenstance into a dim changing room; the jeans are a perfect fit. Next thing we know, the girl at the cash register is asking us who has been our assistant today. We’re not sure. She seems to understand. Damn, Diesel Fifth Avenue is current.