It is unclear to me when I awoke to the psychic stimulus that is shopping. Until I was 24 years of age (after graduating from law school) I was dependent upon my parents for stuff. My mother (never my father) looked after whatever I required. I was merely a delivery destination. Frankly, during my prep school, undergraduate and graduate studies I hadn’t much but the faintest interest in shopping. My preoccupation until then was my education. Whether my mother bought me something from Ashbury’s annual antique sales, Alyea’s Jewellers, Nordiska Kompaniet, Georg Jensen or Flesher Furs, I seldom had any part of the initial commercial transaction other than supplying the obvious details of product, colour and size.
I say stimulus when referring to shopping because latterly it evokes not only the requisite activity but also an unforeseen energy. Shopping has now a spiritual enhancement in addition to its glaring materiality. Shopping for me is now as much an achievement as creating a well crafted contract or a scintillating inter vivos trust agreement, maybe even a corporate “shot-gun” clause. Detail in both shopping and the practice of law became an imperative.
The historic shopping limitations changed immediately following my law school graduation when I began articling for Messrs. Macdonald, Affleck, Barrs. &c. on Sparks Street in Ottawa. I needed to look the part. Somehow I learned of Palette Tailor (also on Sparks Street towards Elgin Street). Palette (I think his first name was Fred) was an exceptional tailor. If I hadn’t developed an expanding girth, I would likely continue to deal with Palette. At the time however I had begun living at the Mayfair Apartments at the corner of Metcalfe and MacLaren Streets. Though I had a small apartment, it was a well appointed building. I was developing an interest in nice things. I was having my dress shirts made on Slater Street.
Judiciously my parents concluded spoon-feeding me after my call to the Bar. But I wasn’t long discovering endless modes of expression with my new-found capital. There is so much one needs in this life! Granted, my father bought me my first car but subsequently I wasn’t hesitant about investigating dealerships on my own.
When I bought my first little house on St. George Street in Almonte, JoAnne Trudeau (whose father was CEO of the holding company that owned Holt Renfrew) visited me from Toronto and brought with her a housewarming gift – 1 long-stem rose. When I hadn’t a proper vase, I set aside the rose overnight in a makeshift container then the following day – a Saturday – immediately went to Robertson Galleries on Laurier Ave.W. in Ottawa where I bought a Lalique vase which I have and cherish to this day.
Lalique is a French luxury glassmaker, founded by glassmaker and jeweller René Lalique in 1888. Lalique produced glass art, including perfume bottles, vases, and hood ornaments during the early twentieth century.
It has been a downhill slide since then! Soon I located the exclusive Steinway dealership in Eastern Canada; namely, Lauzon Music on Wellington Street in Ottawa. It was a miserable rainy Thursday night that I was alone with Kenny Lauzon at his store arguing about price (though admittedly I called upon the Royal Bank of Canada to pay for it). Thereafter I unfurled countless resources to amuse my shopping endeavour. But remarkably it wasn’t until I met my partner in 1996 that I acquainted myself with yet another cognitive level of shopping.
I no longer recall the exact information promoting this particular adventure 30 years ago, but I recall the circumstances of my partner’s automatic bank machine with exceptional clarity (it was in Westboro). The retailer – a Chinaman located on Somerset St. W. in Ottawa – accepted only cash. Not only hadn’t I the amount of cash required (though I knew I could get it later from any one of the four Canadian chartered banks where I maintained – contemporaneously – a Line of Credit), I also hadn’t the brains to use an automatic teller. Remember the days of walk-in banks? So on that chilling Saturday morning my partner withdrew a sizeable sum of cash from his bank machine, gave it to me and I in turn delivered it forthwith to the retailer. In exchange he gave me a 24K gold necklace.
Those summary accounts were – and are – to this day the highlights of my shopping sprees; that is, discounting the frazzle surrounding precious Persian rugs, original works of art, complicated watches (Rolex, Breitling and Cartier), technological devices (IBM and Apple), Egyptian cotton, bespoke jewelry, solid mahogany furnishings, brass lighting fixtures, sterling silver cutlery, Crown Derby flatware, Tom Ford eye ware and did I mention cars? But what surmounts these trifling components is the less obvious – but more notable – characteristic that austerity (in the character of my partner) contradicted profligacy (in the character of moi). Never has my partner complained of my bad fiscal policy. Nonetheless lately I have become my own throttle in these matters.
Partly my parsimony is the product of no longer having any interest in buying more. But today – as the result of taking Ozempic for the past two years – I finally confessed my need for a new pair of pants. You no doubt consider this an odd deprivation. Let me excuse the deprivation by assuring you that I prefer being built for comfort, not speed. Anyway…today I ordered a smaller pair of long and short pants. Both pants are made by Roundtree & Yorke (of the Dillard’s company). It is possible that I will continue to lose more weight in the future, but my partner and I agreed that one size smaller is sufficient for the moment. Meanwhile I have a collection of other long and short pants – though they are not of the quality and integrity of those I have ordered to supplant the current models. In any event, I basically wear the same thing every day – same size, same colour, same product – just keep it cycling through the laundry.
What amuses me in all this pettiness is the extraordinary delight I have derived from undertaking a commercial enterprise of this menial nature. It has at least the distinction of being the first deal I have struck since President Trump’s imposition of tariffs (and the associated rebound from Prime Minister Mark Carney with his own tariffs on imports). I have naturally positioned the delivery of the goods onto my calendar. I now await receipt of the first communication from the parcel delivery agent. Naturally I intend to preserve the outsized models of the identical apparel I have already. One never knows when carrot cake will revive its allure. Meanwhile however I can live with myself in spite of this moderate indulgence (the delivery cost as much as the long pants).