Mad about Madison!

Yesterday Fate, disguised as my best friend KD, saw fit to lead me to Madison Avenue in the 60's and 70's. KD, in her quest to try on every single wedding dress in New York had booked us an appointment at a certain bridal atelier, beloved by socialites and movie stars, and which sits at 77th and Madison. Having some time to kill, I walked up the avenue from 59th street.

Anchored by Barney's at the southern end (60th street) this stretch of Madison really is magical. The store windows are filled with desirables, from Givenchy to Gucci, to Jimmy Choo to Floris (the gorgeous soap shop, where you MIGHT be able to afford something.) It was a beautiful day and I was happy just to watch the hustle and bustle of people going in and out of the stores.

Unlike downtown, (my usual stomping grounds,) with its affected layers of disinterest, Madison is about shopping and luxury to the highest degree. If you are rich enough to shop there, why bother with the pretense of cool? Instead enjoy and indulge, and maybe stop for a coffee at the old school 3 Guys diner or a steak tartare at La Goulue. Just make sure to keep your dog tucked in its bag under the table.

The thing I liked the most about Madison Ave was that even though it was filled with lots of international luxury brands, there were still pockets of localness, and indeed, the place felt much more like a true neighborhood, then a tourist trap. It's just a neighborhood where, when you need a little something to wear, you run out to Carolina Herrera, instead of the Gap. For example, as an older lady walked her well-groomed Pekinese, a man from the Penhaligons shop came out with a dog biscuit. The woman, who was elegant, stopped for a chat with the gentleman, while the dog enjoyed its snack.

I strolled and window shopped, and dreamed about all the glorious clothes, so close yet so far away. I, hidden behind my sunglasses, looked closely at everyone who walked past. It was like being a tourist in your own city, imagining who everybody was, and what they were up to.

From now on, when I start hearing Petula Clark in my head, urging me to go "Downtown," I think I will head uptown for a stroll instead.