Bergdorf Goodman - New York City, early 1990s

"Myself, I just want to be put into an old Bergdorf Goodman pasteboard box, such as they use to deliver dresses and that's that."  

-- Edna Ferber, 1961

I couldn't agree with her more. I anything ever happens to me, just put me in one of these glorious silver boxes from Bergdorf's and be done with it.

Employing my own "Always have everything wrapped no matter how small." rule, I've managed to amass quite the little collection of BG boxes. Most of these came from bottles of astringent or soap or some tiny trinket.

By the way, the prologue to Gene Wilder's autobiography, Kiss Me Like a Stranger, has the most lovely passage about walking out of the neighboring Plaza hotel. In it, he briefly mentions the BG men's store as well as the fountain that's stamped on the newer boxes. I would highly recommend the audio version of it; whatever they've used as the background music is really charming and he, not surprisingly, does a brilliant job of reading it.

Bergdorf Goodman - New York City, late 1980s

One of my all-time most favorite places to "window lick" as the French say, Bergdorf's (or Bergdoff's as most New Yorkers pronounce it), can't be topped for "of the moment" merchandise. In spite of the fact that I applied for a job there when I was 19 and was turned down (I ended up working for Macy's), I'm proud to say I've never let bitterness or hurt stand in the way of walking into BG's as if I own the place. (Although I was a little embarrassed, when, after they broke the news to me that I wasn't hired, I was discovered rocking back and forth in the shoe section, yelling, "You are lying, Chino! Make it not be true! Please, make it not be true!!!" I guess all hindsight is 20/20.)