THE FASTER LANE / TYLER BRÛLÉ
High praise
It’s Saturday morning high up in the Engadine, the sun is shining, the air crisp and the warm scent of black larch hangs in the air – tingly, damp, clean, dense. We’ve just emerged from a refreshing morning swim across the lake. Nearby, eager picnickers have already staked out their territory by lighting campfires at 09.00. My mother never fails to comment on the piles of wood that are stacked close by for everyone to use and restocked daily by the local rangers. “Imagine if they did this in all the parks in Canada,” she likes to say. And she has a point. Would it work in Canada? Would it work in Ireland? Would people respect the concept? Abuse it? Burn the surrounding forest down? At this point a Toyota SUV belonging to the St Moritz police department slowly rolls past to ensure the day is getting off to a good start. The officers nod and smile in our direction and rumble off along the path.
We could hang around but we’re on a mission, so we dry off, jump in the car and continue down the valley to the village of Sils Maria. Ten minutes later we pull in front of the Giovanoli sport and fashion shops. From the street, Giovanoli’s outlets don’t make too much noise – all sober signage and low-key windows framed by unremarkably solid Swiss architecture. Inside it’s a rather different story. In the main shop devoted to men’s and womenswear there are clean expanses of wood and stone, and rails merchandised by Giovanoli’s favourite palette of navy, greys and various weaves of beige. My colleague Ariel tries on some outfits and my mother goes for some sandals.
On a nearby table there’s a small mountain range of cashmere, tweed, boiled wool and crinkly cotton. A sales associate is rushing back and forth to the stockroom, taking various items towards a voice in the dressing room. Although I can’t see the customer, I know that she’s a Giovanoli pilgrim – in part by the range of garments that she’s selected, in part by the attention she’s receiving. Milan, Munich and Zürich are all close by but this is one of those shops that demands you make the journey up the mountain to enjoy its selection from the likes of Salvatore Piccolo and Sofie D’hoore. As a regular customer from Zürich puts it: “They’ve got you for life after you’ve been once or twice and they know what you like. Also, there are few distractions – you’re up in the mountains, there’s no rush and you walk out feeling as though you’ve had to consider what you’ve bought.”
Two days later we’re in the Frauenschuh shop in Kitzbühel and the same scene is playing out. Outside, the thermometer is creeping towards 30C but inside the rails are elegantly stocked with everything a man or woman would need to look chic in mid-January. All around, staff are tending to another group of pilgrims who’ve clearly made the trip to the Austrian resort for a serious retail hit with a bit of hiking on the side. A few hours later I compare notes with my crew and although we’re not so amazed by the quality of the buying and the passion of the customers (they go hand in hand), we are amazed by the remarkable salesmanship. And therein lies a little clue as to how retail is going to have to evolve in stores large and small: the fine art of knowing how to sell will become more important than ever.
Online retailers might have deep-pocketed, dedicated customers, while luxury mono-brand shops might talk-up high-spending tourists, but they don’t have pilgrims. With many cities challenged by the lack of people working in the towers that are adjacent to main shopping districts (see my colleague Andrew’s column on this topic in yesterday’s Weekend Edition, it’s going to be down to the pull of sharp retailers and evangelical pilgrims to shape a fresh future for how we consume, come together and cement our communities.
