“Follow the hip-looking kids,” says I, as we navigate a maze of escalators and booby-trapped hallways (marked down Chanel can be quite a snare). “I feel like we are about to see Tiffany,” my plus-one replies, descending the escalator at Bloomingdale’s. Donald Cumming of the Virgins, oddly enough, feels the same way: “I feel like we’re Tiffany up here.”
I wouldn’t exactly compare the Virgin’s set to Tiffany circa the mall tour days, and though I’m tempted, I’ll spare everyone the Mallrats parallels (unless one can equate the cast of the cult classic to the likes of Olivia Palermo and Charlotte Ronson). The fashionable young assembly—holding martinis and sushi, bopping to the sounds of “Rich Girls”—was enough to make me stay put, even after the alcohol reservoir had been depleted.