December 24, 2009
Hurry, Hurry, Just Hours to Shop By ROY FURCHGOTT
I admit it. I am a last-minute shopper. And last-minute shoppers pay the price literally and figuratively.
Literally, because when we rush to the nearest mall we often have to pay a premium to buy that ... well, I don't know what — I'm not done shopping.
Figuratively, we pay with anxiety, racing against the clock to find a suitable gift, not to mention having to compete with other sharp-elbowed last-minute shoppers.
Fortunately, technology can make shopping go as smoothly as a sleigh over new snow. Software add-ons, online ways to find gift ideas, mobile apps that hunt down a deal — there is digital help that even a Grinch could love.
Using these tools and following my strategy won't necessarily get you the perfect gift or the best deal, but it should make sure no stockings go empty. Here's how to make your last-minute shopping quick and easy.
PICKING OUT A GIFT Maybe the hardest part of last-minute shopping is thinking of a good present. You could ask your social network for suggestions, but that tips off everyone that you've been lollygagging and may tip them off to their gifts, too.
Instead, try doing the same thing anonymously through Aardvark, a query service that sends questions to people who have designated themselves as experts in their fields. Ask for a gift for a cyclist, for example, and the question will be sent to gift experts and cycling experts. It pings a few people at a time until you get a suitable answer, so you're not bugging a lot of people. For best results, ask a focused question, like "what is a good gift for a 60-year-old opera lover?"
You can also anonymously see what people suggest on Twitter. I like to use Twitter Search. Enter "Christmas gift list" to see lists people have compiled for golfers, children and others. Be advised that there is also a lot of promotional spam out there. A narrower search, like "tennis Christmas gift" gets better suggestions. A site called the Christmas It List culls comments from 50 sites to determine the 25 hottest products. Or check its Twitter site to see day-by-day changes, which show a larger selection.
FINDING THE RIGHT DEAL With some ideas, you can hit the Web, but rather than laboriously check each product at several stores, let Web browser add-ons search out deals and discounts for you.
I like to use the Firefox browser with the add-on Invisible Hand. It works in the background on Firefox and Google Chrome (Internet Explorer is coming, the company says), automatically checking prices at about 50 online stores as you shop. A subtle alert in the toolbar tells you if it finds a lower price than the one you have found yourself.
Another tool for smoothing online shopping is Billeo, which works on Firefox and Internet Explorer browsers when using the search engines Yahoo, Google and Bing. Billeo shows an icon next to a search entry if Visa, American Express, Bank of America or Chase offers a reward for the purchase, or if the retailer is offering a discount. Billeo said it tracked offers from 720 retailers, like Target, Macy's, Barnes & Noble and Wal-Mart.
Billeo also streamlines one big online shopping headache, filling out forms at checkout. Fill out Billeo's form once and it should auto-fill most checkouts you'll encounter, as long as the forms are fairly standard and are not Flash-based.
Need something quick — and cheap — for the office Secret Santa exchange? I like the Web site CouponMap.com. It shows available coupons in your immediate area (the results are shown on a map), so you can print the coupon, run right out and get a discount gift. I've looked at dozens of coupon sites, and find them to be pretty inaccurate, but CouponMap did well. It even found an extra hidden discount on a gift certificate to a local crab house, reducing the price of a $25 gift certificate to $7.50.
The Web site RetailMeNot.com also maps coupon deals for nearby businesses, a total of 40,000 stores nationally, it says. The site then asks users to rate the effectiveness of the various offers, helping to weed out expired deals.
COMPARING ON THE GO If inspiration has not struck and you find yourself milling around the mall, there are still some excellent comparison-shopping tools to use on the spot.
RedLaser, a bar code-scanning app that recognizes the product you are looking at and then goes online to find other prices, has proved to be a huge hit on the iPhone App Store.
Part of its brilliance is you don't have to take a picture of the bar code, you just frame the code with the camera and it quickly and automatically scans and returns results. When you know the Web price, you can decide if it's worth paying extra to have the gift right away — think of it as an optional late fee.
In the past I've relied mostly on the ShopSavvy app for Android, which is now also available for the iPhone. Although the bar code reader can be a bit finicky, it returns not only online pricing but also prices at nearby stores. It gives you an option of calling the store or getting directions.
Bar code scanners do have a weakness. They work best for products that are distributed nationally to a variety of stores, items like books, CDs, DVDs and electronics. They don't work as well on items exclusive to a single chain — those products may have a proprietary code. They tend not to work well on items like clothing and groceries, either.
Some of these weaknesses may be overcome by Google Goggles for Android phones. Using the camera, it conducts a visual search. It can scan writing as well as bar codes, so it can search results based on the writing on a toy's box, a logo or a label. Sometimes that returns a result when a bar code doesn't work. But it's a last-ditch effort: the app is still a work in progress, and doesn't always produce a useful result.
It may not be in the best holiday spirit, but when you're pressed for time in the gift-giving season, you really can phone it in.
Digital Help for Last-Minute Shoppers - NYTimes.com (26 December 2009)
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/24/technology/personaltech/24basics.html?sq=Just%20Hours%20to%20Shop&st=cse&scp=1&pagewanted=print
http://snipurl.com/tuy1v
Showing posts with label Retail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Retail. Show all posts
Thursday, December 24, 2009
A One-Stop Christmas for Dawdlers By DAVID COLMAN
December 24, 2009
Critical Shopper | Mxyplyzyk
A One-Stop Christmas for Dawdlers By DAVID COLMAN
AT this 11th hour of the wild Christmas goose chase — and this is true whether the economy is bustling or bristling — most normal people are afflicted with that weird state of anxiety, anticipation, dread and panic that the Germans call shopenfreude.
O.K., so they don't — but I do.
Unfortunately, the usual cure for shopenfreude is running through an egregious amount of time, money and wrapping paper in the quest for perfect presents. This usually results in a secondary condition known as Spendhal Syndrome, characterized by a severe depletion of energy, money and good will, especially toward those who don't appreciate those presents.
And for what? A few Christmases back, I had put off shopping until the 24th, when I was to go upstate to see family and friends. In a rare trance of efficiency, I packed my bags, took a cab to Mxyplyzyk (Mix-ee-PLIZ-ik) in the West Village and emerged 20 minutes later, heavier in luggage and lighter in spirit.
Ever since, I have wondered why everyone doesn't just do the same. You can spend a lot or a little, and you leave this completely modern gift shop with a couple of bags full of sweet, smart, funny, stylish items that everyone will like better than the things you spent so much time and money on.
It comes down to this: Christmas does not have to be so worrisome. Why agonize over whether this book or scarf or bowl has that ethereal quality of giftiness, being something the giftee would want but never buy for herself or himself. There's no need. There is already an entire gift industry, a virtual North Pole, with actual trade shows — the New York International Gift Fair hits town in just over a month. Why look for things that would make a good gift? Perfectly good gifts already exist, designed and certified by people who know what they're doing.
And there are stores that are not the gift shops of yore, filled with Dresden china shepherdesses, picture frames and eau de cologne, but of today, like Alphabets and Lancelotti in the East Village, Fred Flare in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and, the luxury version, Moss in SoHo.
But for me, Mxyplyzyk, which opened in 1992, its name inspired by Mr. Mxyzptlk, an early, quirky Superman villain, defined the concept. A young man I encountered shopping at Mxyplyzyk last week put it perfectly. "It almost doesn't matter what you buy," he said. "You can pretty much grab anything from here and people are going to love it."
I could not agree more. People always say I'm hard to shop for, but I would be perfectly happy with anything from this place, from the high end, like the World Clock ($210), a map that glows with 24 LED readouts of the hour in every time zone, to the low, like a packet of retro click-open ballpoint pens ($5.95) or a set of little candles styled to look like cartoonish black bombs and labeled "Kaboom!" ($9.95).
There are hundreds of items in the store's carefully edited mix that range from the sincere to the sarcastic, from the organic to the artificial, from the disposable to the heirloom. There are things both useful and playful: a lighter in the shape of a giant match ($9.95), a plastic tape dispenser in the shape of a recumbent cartoon figure ($22.95), delicate crystal bottles cast to look like plastic mineral water bottles ($38).
There are great design addict items, like a multicolor plastic mixing bowl set ($55), a small spherical loudspeaker that can attach to an MP3 player ($50) and coffee mugs decorated with a square of bright color and the relevant Pantone color information ($12.95).
There are lightly whimsical items of décor, like a clear glass piggy bank ($28), wood-laminate trays with photo-collaged images of extravagantly dressed birds ($185) and a porcelain lamp in the shape of an owl ($135). And there are simple, nice items with no trace of humor: a coppery glazed organic vase ($68), a roughly hewn wood lamp with a steel cage shade barely shielding the artisanal bare bulb inside and simple crystal hourglasses ($22 and $28).
Mxyplyzyk was around before the midcentury craze hit and made "design" such a coveted (and pricey) category. But the shop has always been about a great item at a great price — "taking something common and giving it a unique, unexpected twist," in the words of Kevin Brynan, the owner. In the 1980s, he and his partner owned Dot Zero, a "more austere museum-quality" store, as he called it, and he wanted Mxyplyzyk to be less pretentious, less expensive and more fun.
It is certainly that. One of the best aspects of the store is its stock of things for specific tastes and obsessions: The people who have everything don't have this stuff. A small set of soapstone cubes ($22.95) are made to be frozen and served with Scotch or bourbon, which they will chill but not dilute as ice cubes do. (Dad will approve.) There are handmade pear candles in several grandmother-approved colors ($5.95). And for the recycling enthusiast, for whom the orgy of Christmas is one long cringe-athon, there is a ingenious folding basket made of recycled chopsticks ($28) and a clutch studded with keys from old computer keyboards ($35).
There are books for children, like the old-fashioned and useful "Pictorial Webster's" ($35). There are gifts for celebrators of other holidays, like a little green menorah in the shape of a Christmas tree. And there are gifts for the children of celebrators of other holidays, like the book "Yiddish With Dick and Jane" ($14.95).
There are gifts for those skeptical of mankind's appeal, like "In My Humble Opinion" ($20), a calendar featuring hilariously misanthropic quotes, and there are gifts for fans of man's appeal, like "Turkish Wrestling" ($12), a photo book devoted to what can only be described as a highly photogenic sport.
The only drawback to the merchandise is heard in the comment that Mr. Brynan gets from some of his customers. "People say, 'You sell all this stuff that nobody needs, but we buy it anyway,' " he said. "But everything here does work, whether it just makes you smile or it actually does something."
Besides, Christmas isn't about needing. It's about giving.
MXYPLYZYK
125 Greenwich Avenue (near 13th Street); (212) 989-4300.
THE MODERN CURIOSITY SHOP Unlike the many spartan and sparkling design emporiums, Mxyplyzyk is cozy and friendly. Nothing is artfully presented or spotlighted. The place is cluttered with knickknacks and pristine design pieces alike.
SERVICE WITH A WINK The sales staff is witty, efficient and personable, but not intrusive.
LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION The store recently opened a kiosk in the Time Warner Center and fills
orders via telephone and its Web site. The Web site is frustrating, though; there isn't even a search field. Plus, many of the fanciful items should be seen and felt to be evaluated.
Critical Shopper - Mxyplyzyk - Mxyplyzyk in the West Village Is a One-Stop Christmas Shop - NYTimes.com (26 December 2009)
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/24/fashion/24CRITIC.html?sq=MXyplyzyk&st=Search&scp=1&pagewanted=print
http://snipurl.com/tuy17
Critical Shopper | Mxyplyzyk
A One-Stop Christmas for Dawdlers By DAVID COLMAN
AT this 11th hour of the wild Christmas goose chase — and this is true whether the economy is bustling or bristling — most normal people are afflicted with that weird state of anxiety, anticipation, dread and panic that the Germans call shopenfreude.
O.K., so they don't — but I do.
Unfortunately, the usual cure for shopenfreude is running through an egregious amount of time, money and wrapping paper in the quest for perfect presents. This usually results in a secondary condition known as Spendhal Syndrome, characterized by a severe depletion of energy, money and good will, especially toward those who don't appreciate those presents.
And for what? A few Christmases back, I had put off shopping until the 24th, when I was to go upstate to see family and friends. In a rare trance of efficiency, I packed my bags, took a cab to Mxyplyzyk (Mix-ee-PLIZ-ik) in the West Village and emerged 20 minutes later, heavier in luggage and lighter in spirit.
Ever since, I have wondered why everyone doesn't just do the same. You can spend a lot or a little, and you leave this completely modern gift shop with a couple of bags full of sweet, smart, funny, stylish items that everyone will like better than the things you spent so much time and money on.
It comes down to this: Christmas does not have to be so worrisome. Why agonize over whether this book or scarf or bowl has that ethereal quality of giftiness, being something the giftee would want but never buy for herself or himself. There's no need. There is already an entire gift industry, a virtual North Pole, with actual trade shows — the New York International Gift Fair hits town in just over a month. Why look for things that would make a good gift? Perfectly good gifts already exist, designed and certified by people who know what they're doing.
And there are stores that are not the gift shops of yore, filled with Dresden china shepherdesses, picture frames and eau de cologne, but of today, like Alphabets and Lancelotti in the East Village, Fred Flare in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and, the luxury version, Moss in SoHo.
But for me, Mxyplyzyk, which opened in 1992, its name inspired by Mr. Mxyzptlk, an early, quirky Superman villain, defined the concept. A young man I encountered shopping at Mxyplyzyk last week put it perfectly. "It almost doesn't matter what you buy," he said. "You can pretty much grab anything from here and people are going to love it."
I could not agree more. People always say I'm hard to shop for, but I would be perfectly happy with anything from this place, from the high end, like the World Clock ($210), a map that glows with 24 LED readouts of the hour in every time zone, to the low, like a packet of retro click-open ballpoint pens ($5.95) or a set of little candles styled to look like cartoonish black bombs and labeled "Kaboom!" ($9.95).
There are hundreds of items in the store's carefully edited mix that range from the sincere to the sarcastic, from the organic to the artificial, from the disposable to the heirloom. There are things both useful and playful: a lighter in the shape of a giant match ($9.95), a plastic tape dispenser in the shape of a recumbent cartoon figure ($22.95), delicate crystal bottles cast to look like plastic mineral water bottles ($38).
There are great design addict items, like a multicolor plastic mixing bowl set ($55), a small spherical loudspeaker that can attach to an MP3 player ($50) and coffee mugs decorated with a square of bright color and the relevant Pantone color information ($12.95).
There are lightly whimsical items of décor, like a clear glass piggy bank ($28), wood-laminate trays with photo-collaged images of extravagantly dressed birds ($185) and a porcelain lamp in the shape of an owl ($135). And there are simple, nice items with no trace of humor: a coppery glazed organic vase ($68), a roughly hewn wood lamp with a steel cage shade barely shielding the artisanal bare bulb inside and simple crystal hourglasses ($22 and $28).
Mxyplyzyk was around before the midcentury craze hit and made "design" such a coveted (and pricey) category. But the shop has always been about a great item at a great price — "taking something common and giving it a unique, unexpected twist," in the words of Kevin Brynan, the owner. In the 1980s, he and his partner owned Dot Zero, a "more austere museum-quality" store, as he called it, and he wanted Mxyplyzyk to be less pretentious, less expensive and more fun.
It is certainly that. One of the best aspects of the store is its stock of things for specific tastes and obsessions: The people who have everything don't have this stuff. A small set of soapstone cubes ($22.95) are made to be frozen and served with Scotch or bourbon, which they will chill but not dilute as ice cubes do. (Dad will approve.) There are handmade pear candles in several grandmother-approved colors ($5.95). And for the recycling enthusiast, for whom the orgy of Christmas is one long cringe-athon, there is a ingenious folding basket made of recycled chopsticks ($28) and a clutch studded with keys from old computer keyboards ($35).
There are books for children, like the old-fashioned and useful "Pictorial Webster's" ($35). There are gifts for celebrators of other holidays, like a little green menorah in the shape of a Christmas tree. And there are gifts for the children of celebrators of other holidays, like the book "Yiddish With Dick and Jane" ($14.95).
There are gifts for those skeptical of mankind's appeal, like "In My Humble Opinion" ($20), a calendar featuring hilariously misanthropic quotes, and there are gifts for fans of man's appeal, like "Turkish Wrestling" ($12), a photo book devoted to what can only be described as a highly photogenic sport.
The only drawback to the merchandise is heard in the comment that Mr. Brynan gets from some of his customers. "People say, 'You sell all this stuff that nobody needs, but we buy it anyway,' " he said. "But everything here does work, whether it just makes you smile or it actually does something."
Besides, Christmas isn't about needing. It's about giving.
MXYPLYZYK
125 Greenwich Avenue (near 13th Street); (212) 989-4300.
THE MODERN CURIOSITY SHOP Unlike the many spartan and sparkling design emporiums, Mxyplyzyk is cozy and friendly. Nothing is artfully presented or spotlighted. The place is cluttered with knickknacks and pristine design pieces alike.
SERVICE WITH A WINK The sales staff is witty, efficient and personable, but not intrusive.
LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION The store recently opened a kiosk in the Time Warner Center and fills
orders via telephone and its Web site. The Web site is frustrating, though; there isn't even a search field. Plus, many of the fanciful items should be seen and felt to be evaluated.
Critical Shopper - Mxyplyzyk - Mxyplyzyk in the West Village Is a One-Stop Christmas Shop - NYTimes.com (26 December 2009)
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/24/fashion/24CRITIC.html?sq=MXyplyzyk&st=Search&scp=1&pagewanted=print
http://snipurl.com/tuy17
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Critical Shopper | Trixie & Peanut Don’t Catch a Tail in the Fitting Room By MIKE ALBO
December 25, 2008
Critical Shopper | Trixie & Peanut Don’t Catch a Tail in the Fitting Room By MIKE ALBO
IN 1997, My friend Cary found Harry in the East Village, tied to a door and abandoned. He is a Chihuahua, and one of the most neurotic creatures I have ever met. He barks constantly, tries to bite people who are overly affectionate, and has the picky diet of a Pilates-addicted Upper East Side socialite. He is grumpy, paranoid, vituperative, insufferable — but I love the shivery little thing.
These days Harry is getting long in the tooth: he has joint problems from Lyme disease; he has lost weight; he’s developing cataracts. He’s beginning to resemble the post-stroke Bette Davis in looks and temperament. No matter how crotchety he gets, Harry still demands respect, attention, organic chicken and couture.
For Christmas I decided to give my cranky friend a little coat, so Cary and I took him to Trixie & Peanut, a clothing and accessories boutique for the well-kept pooches of New York, because for city animals like Harry, looking stylish is paramount if you want to make it in the dog-run social scene.
The store is among the highly trafficked shops of the Flatiron district and has a glassy entrance and clean white interior. Two dog-employees immediately rushed up and greeted Harry as we entered. This was Annie, a Pomeranian, and Tessa, a Boston terrier. While they sniffed each other’s hindquarters and got acquainted, Cary and I perused the trendy, adorably practical, occasionally scary merchandise.
We first noticed the wigs and hats, modeled by little mannequin dog heads, including a Royal Highness crown and cape ($35), Doggie Mullet wig ($40) and the requisite Reindeer Antlers ($12). Most enticing was the Amber Bobcat Doggie Diva Wig, a chestnut mane styled into a perfect Los Angeles actress blowout. With this and a necktie, your pet could re-enact Jennifer Aniston’s recent cover for GQ, easily.
A thin diagonal table slices through the store. On it are neat piles of tiny fashionable outfits, like T-shirts emblazoned with skulls and crossbones ($19) or with snarky expressions like Chick Magnet and Local Celebrity ($22 and $29).
On a nearby shelf, I saw a soft Sunset Mohair sweater ($59) that comes in beautiful rust colors. Next to it was a Pawtucket sweater with a built-in scarf ($35) and a cable-knit cardigan ($35). Tessa ran around the store in an off-the-shoulder oversize paisley print sweater ($32) that made her look like a hipster in McCarren Park. All of these items were trendy, wearable and within my price range. For a second I thought I had hit the shopping jackpot but then remembered I was a human being.
The shelf of chew toys is, by itself, worth the visit. Here are stuffed critters with names like Biteme Spears, Angelina Grrrowlie and Brad Pitbull, and plush objects like a Chewy Vuitton handbag and a Bark Jacobs shoe. My favorites were the Pee and Poo dolls, if that tells you anything about my sense of humor. Check them out for yourself: if you don’t immediately laugh, we will never be friends.
Sometimes even I find the merchandise frightening, like the stack of fluffy car beds: a Hollywoof Limo and a red Furrari. If I were on a date, and found one of these in the guy’s apartment, I would run out the door without looking back.
But amid the whimsy are more practical items. Collars and leashes come in an array of colors and prints, including studded “punk rock” collars ($25) and an $85 Cheyenne Collection harness and lead set made of woven nylon in a striking American Indian-inspired print.
The pet carrier selection is also impressive. Cary was drawn to a white canvas tote, trimmed in pink with a mesh bottom ($165). Harry climbed inside and seemed relaxed — not an easy feat. A saleswoman explained that the bag is airline approved and holds up to 15 pounds.
Other bags are more chic. A $119 brown faux leather Barcelona bag and a $99 black bag in shiny faux patent leather have hidden mesh screens on the sides, yet still resemble bags you might see at Coach — or at least in a Canal Street knockoff.
THE day after I visited, I called the store’s founder, Susan Bing, who explained that she started Trixie & Peanut in 1999 as a mail-order catalog, naming it after her two rescued boxers. (Peanut is still with us; Trixie died that year.) Ms. Bing could be considered the Coco Chanel of the pet world, one of the first retailers to offer domestic animals decent duds in modern silhouettes.
“When I started, people laughed at me,” she said, “but everything out there was really froufrou, like it was made for the crazy old lady who dresses her dog, or it was really mass market, plaid and boring.” She quickly expanded, starting a Web site in 2000, then opening this space in 2003. Now, trying to imagine the lame, uncreative age before the Four-Legged Fashion Renaissance is like trying to recall how New York women dressed before “Sex and the City.”
It took us a long time to decide which coat was right for Harry. A pretty saleswoman retrieved sizes and colors for us with calm patience. You could tell she had dealt with plenty of dog divas.
Cary slipped Harry into a $25 quilted vest with a baseball jacket-style collar, but he recoiled. We liked a Fargo denim jacket with a faux shearling lining ($39) and a Snappy Pocket Parka with a removable hood trimmed in faux fur ($39) but settled for a light blue fleece Snuggle Suit, also $39. Leaving the shop, Harry quietly padded through Union Square in his new suit.
I’m not sure he liked it. Cary says that when they got home, Harry shot her an annoyed glance. Luckily Trixie & Peanut has an exchange policy, so Harry can pretend to be all gushy and thankful to me, kvetch to all his friends about my tacky taste, then sneak back and get something he really wants. Typical New Yorker.
TRIXIE & PEANUT
23 East 20th Street (between Broadway and Park Avenue);
(212) 358-0881.
BARK A narrow, brightly lighted boutique full of outfits, hats, harnesses, leashes, collars and other accouterments for four-legged fashion victims and their clotheshorse owners.
YAP Much of the merchandise is geared to pint-size pets, but check the extensive Web site (trixieandpeanut.com) for items suitable to bigger dogs. Everything online is available in the shop but may not be displayed.
AWW The human help are pretty, patient and accommodating. The dog-employees are also friendly and put nervous canine customers at ease.
Critical Shopper | Trixie & Peanut Don’t Catch a Tail in the Fitting Room By MIKE ALBO
IN 1997, My friend Cary found Harry in the East Village, tied to a door and abandoned. He is a Chihuahua, and one of the most neurotic creatures I have ever met. He barks constantly, tries to bite people who are overly affectionate, and has the picky diet of a Pilates-addicted Upper East Side socialite. He is grumpy, paranoid, vituperative, insufferable — but I love the shivery little thing.
These days Harry is getting long in the tooth: he has joint problems from Lyme disease; he has lost weight; he’s developing cataracts. He’s beginning to resemble the post-stroke Bette Davis in looks and temperament. No matter how crotchety he gets, Harry still demands respect, attention, organic chicken and couture.
For Christmas I decided to give my cranky friend a little coat, so Cary and I took him to Trixie & Peanut, a clothing and accessories boutique for the well-kept pooches of New York, because for city animals like Harry, looking stylish is paramount if you want to make it in the dog-run social scene.
The store is among the highly trafficked shops of the Flatiron district and has a glassy entrance and clean white interior. Two dog-employees immediately rushed up and greeted Harry as we entered. This was Annie, a Pomeranian, and Tessa, a Boston terrier. While they sniffed each other’s hindquarters and got acquainted, Cary and I perused the trendy, adorably practical, occasionally scary merchandise.
We first noticed the wigs and hats, modeled by little mannequin dog heads, including a Royal Highness crown and cape ($35), Doggie Mullet wig ($40) and the requisite Reindeer Antlers ($12). Most enticing was the Amber Bobcat Doggie Diva Wig, a chestnut mane styled into a perfect Los Angeles actress blowout. With this and a necktie, your pet could re-enact Jennifer Aniston’s recent cover for GQ, easily.
A thin diagonal table slices through the store. On it are neat piles of tiny fashionable outfits, like T-shirts emblazoned with skulls and crossbones ($19) or with snarky expressions like Chick Magnet and Local Celebrity ($22 and $29).
On a nearby shelf, I saw a soft Sunset Mohair sweater ($59) that comes in beautiful rust colors. Next to it was a Pawtucket sweater with a built-in scarf ($35) and a cable-knit cardigan ($35). Tessa ran around the store in an off-the-shoulder oversize paisley print sweater ($32) that made her look like a hipster in McCarren Park. All of these items were trendy, wearable and within my price range. For a second I thought I had hit the shopping jackpot but then remembered I was a human being.
The shelf of chew toys is, by itself, worth the visit. Here are stuffed critters with names like Biteme Spears, Angelina Grrrowlie and Brad Pitbull, and plush objects like a Chewy Vuitton handbag and a Bark Jacobs shoe. My favorites were the Pee and Poo dolls, if that tells you anything about my sense of humor. Check them out for yourself: if you don’t immediately laugh, we will never be friends.
Sometimes even I find the merchandise frightening, like the stack of fluffy car beds: a Hollywoof Limo and a red Furrari. If I were on a date, and found one of these in the guy’s apartment, I would run out the door without looking back.
But amid the whimsy are more practical items. Collars and leashes come in an array of colors and prints, including studded “punk rock” collars ($25) and an $85 Cheyenne Collection harness and lead set made of woven nylon in a striking American Indian-inspired print.
The pet carrier selection is also impressive. Cary was drawn to a white canvas tote, trimmed in pink with a mesh bottom ($165). Harry climbed inside and seemed relaxed — not an easy feat. A saleswoman explained that the bag is airline approved and holds up to 15 pounds.
Other bags are more chic. A $119 brown faux leather Barcelona bag and a $99 black bag in shiny faux patent leather have hidden mesh screens on the sides, yet still resemble bags you might see at Coach — or at least in a Canal Street knockoff.
THE day after I visited, I called the store’s founder, Susan Bing, who explained that she started Trixie & Peanut in 1999 as a mail-order catalog, naming it after her two rescued boxers. (Peanut is still with us; Trixie died that year.) Ms. Bing could be considered the Coco Chanel of the pet world, one of the first retailers to offer domestic animals decent duds in modern silhouettes.
“When I started, people laughed at me,” she said, “but everything out there was really froufrou, like it was made for the crazy old lady who dresses her dog, or it was really mass market, plaid and boring.” She quickly expanded, starting a Web site in 2000, then opening this space in 2003. Now, trying to imagine the lame, uncreative age before the Four-Legged Fashion Renaissance is like trying to recall how New York women dressed before “Sex and the City.”
It took us a long time to decide which coat was right for Harry. A pretty saleswoman retrieved sizes and colors for us with calm patience. You could tell she had dealt with plenty of dog divas.
Cary slipped Harry into a $25 quilted vest with a baseball jacket-style collar, but he recoiled. We liked a Fargo denim jacket with a faux shearling lining ($39) and a Snappy Pocket Parka with a removable hood trimmed in faux fur ($39) but settled for a light blue fleece Snuggle Suit, also $39. Leaving the shop, Harry quietly padded through Union Square in his new suit.
I’m not sure he liked it. Cary says that when they got home, Harry shot her an annoyed glance. Luckily Trixie & Peanut has an exchange policy, so Harry can pretend to be all gushy and thankful to me, kvetch to all his friends about my tacky taste, then sneak back and get something he really wants. Typical New Yorker.
TRIXIE & PEANUT
23 East 20th Street (between Broadway and Park Avenue);
(212) 358-0881.
BARK A narrow, brightly lighted boutique full of outfits, hats, harnesses, leashes, collars and other accouterments for four-legged fashion victims and their clotheshorse owners.
YAP Much of the merchandise is geared to pint-size pets, but check the extensive Web site (trixieandpeanut.com) for items suitable to bigger dogs. Everything online is available in the shop but may not be displayed.
AWW The human help are pretty, patient and accommodating. The dog-employees are also friendly and put nervous canine customers at ease.
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