Smell Her Misery! And Be Nice to Those Perfume Sample Girls
In the Soho Bloomingdale’s the other day, a young woman teetering on heels stopped me. “Marc Jacobs, Blush,” she said, proffering a perfume bottle, her finger poised on the nozzle, her face desperate and woebegone. You poor thing, I thought to myself. She earnestly, gratefully, spritzed my pulse points, and I nodded at her sympathetically, Read More