1 June 2009
12:45 pm
Last week, in an effort to boost sales, corporate decided to spend a pile of dough by bringing in a market research panel. So in a quiet, painfully well lit conference room, a cluster of female consumers meant to represent a cross selection of our "key customer base," pawed the latest collection and let us know exactly what they thought of each piece. The good news? Word on the street is that they specifically loved the hardware that I sourced! I guess they called it out more than once during the day. This is extra notable because I hear that in between inhaling danish, the ladies really let us have it. Apparently, there was a helluva lot they didn't like, but they love, love, loved my stuff!
The bad news? I saw the group when they broke for lunch, and honey, they were total trolls. Their trolliness was such that I became completely suspicious of their endorsement. We are talking fanny packs, and unwaxed 'staches galore. I guess my feeling was—what does it say about my taste that it's totally copacetic with that of the greater NYC troll population? Yes, I know that criticizing the appearances of women who've paid me major compliments makes me sound like a person struggling with a profound lack of gratitude. Oh you were gonna say bitch? Well... yeah, that word works too. Regardless, I'm completely clear that it's wrong to look a gift horse in the mouth—or in this case, a stable full of gift horses. But as I often remind you, I am a person of weak character and dubious morality, so stop shaking your head like that. What did you expect?
Anyway, on Friday afternoon, Claire stopped by and told me that she was very proud of "her little breakout star". She said corporate was also super jazzed. Amazing! What a fabulous note to end the week on. That night, Bloke and I went out, and toasted each and every drink, "To trolls!"
