The season of intrepid shopping is almost upon us. The very thought puts the heart crossways in many people, while others have heart palpitations of another variety at that very same thought; sheer, almost orgasmic excitement, writes Ailish Connelly
How many shopping days till the man with the white beard arrives and we all pitch up at midnight Mass? We won't mention it for fear. Fear that we are not doing it right, fear that we are not good enough at it, not clever enough at spotting the bargains. Fear that there won't be enough time, that it will be all gone before we get there. Fear that we are not in the zone of the know, if you know what I mean. I came back from a trip to New York recently, business and pleasure combined, and all anyone wanted to inquire about when I got home was what had I bought there? Had I found iPods for half nothing? No, couldn't be bothered. Did I get the Nintendo games? Yes, that I managed, for fear of the kids. And what did I think of Woodbury Common, a shopping mall somewhere in New York state that I didn't get to because I'm not a very dedicated shopper? Obviously, I'm missing out.
Was I delighted with Macy's? No, because I didn't actually get there either. Ditto for Bloomingdales, Saks, Neiman Marcus, Tif- fany's, Gap, Nike, Restoration Hardware and the hundreds of other shopping emporiums that the Irish have deified in their quest for fabulousness, American style.
I did make it between the hallowed doors of the venerable institution, Bergdorf Goodman, to gape and sniff the hushed exclusivity. And to gasp out loud at a $47,000 (€33,000) diamond bracelet, casually displayed in the costume jewellery department. I mean it was nice, but not $47,000 nice.
I was dragged into Abercrombie & Fitch, beloved of the teenage It generation, by my friends and had to be almost restrained when the rudest frat boy in all Christendom admonished me for messing with his display. I had the gall to look for a size. What happened to the customer always being right? I thought the customer was god in America. You have to look like a model to work in Abercrombie, but apparently being entirely unhelpful, condescending and snotty is just dandy too.
We won't have long to wait to experience its joys because, rumour has it, Abercrombie & Fitch is so popular with Irish shoppers in New York that it is soon to open its doors to our discerning public. God preserve us from rude frat boys. I can't imagine the Irish version being any nicer. Maybe more freckled.
All over Manhattan, the Irish have invaded like a Swat team, hunting down their prey with a skill and desperation that would leave you breathless. And New Yorkers, high kings of jaded sensibilities, have noticed. For a small nation, we drop a lot of bucks. Or rather, swipe a lot of plastic.
"You guys are doing real well at the moment," the sales assistant tells me when I eventually indulge my burgeoning retail therapy habit. "We get a lot of Irish in here, especially coming up to the holidays."
I'll bet. Thing is, it appears so reasonable at the moment, with the favourable exchange rate, that you could get carried away and think you were actually getting bargains. But when you have paid air fares and hotel bills, restaurants, taxis and tips for absolutely everything, you ain't getting any deals, ladies and gentlemen. Off we nip (seven hours flight time, forget the carbon footprint) to New York or Boston or Chicago, those wonderful, interesting, culturally vibrant cities and spend our time in the shops. We could be checking out galleries or museums, meandering the streets or taking in the sights.
But we spend our time in the shops. Buying things none of us need, for our loved ones who also, more than likely, need not an iota. When, besides in the mists of time, as far back as the 1980s, was it ever about need? Because on our journey of Hibernian self discovery, we have also discovered another addiction to add to the ever growing list. An addiction that many of us suffer from; to shopping, to finding, buying, hoarding, having, wanting, loving . . . stuff.
Before the guys puff up their chests, a shopping addiction is not just the preserve of the ladies. Just as guys can be manorexics, so too can they overindulge in the scorching of the credit card. It's not as common as among females, but the men can be just as feverish about retail therapy. It seems to be a condition of modern living that you are nobody without your personal addiction.
Judging by the stampede stateside for shopping trips before the holiday season, there are a lot of such addicts about. Of course, there are the genuinely sad souls who are stuck on drink, drugs, gambling or food. But what of the saddos who are just pure greedy for stuff? Like strung out magpies, they need their fix of the new and the shiny. The latest handbag will sell your idea of yourself to the outside world.
In New York, you can get your designer It bag. Or you can go to Canal Street and swap your readies for a knock off designer bag. Then, when you get home, someone can fizzle your guilt by reminding you your find was probably made in a sweatshop by a five-year-old. Yeah and your cheap as chips top was run up by Santa's elves! If guilt is your thing, don't go near Wal-Mart. I was told after the event that folks worth their salt don't shop there. It's said they don't pay their staff the minimum wage.
While the modern Irish are stressing themselves hauling back their goodies across the pond, the old school Irish Americans are still coveting notions of the cosy homestead, with the thatch and the leprechauns minding their crocks of gold. I was asked about leprechauns and not in an ironic way either.
Three hours from New York and the other side of the galaxy of the mind, the wealthy residents of picturesque Long Beach Island think George W is a hero. All the beaches here are private and there is no bus service. "We don't want the riffraff coming in here."
A man wearing a T-shirt with a slogan, "I'm white, I speak English, when are the liberals gonna make me a minority?" tells me he is going to Eye-raq to get the bad guys. There is a pointlessness to this conversation, so I politely move on.
There are too many great things about New York to mention them all and few of them involve running up a debt. Here's some that cost little if anything; sitting under a tree in Central Park listening to a jazz band; the cool and quiet of St Patrick's Cathedral after the buzz of 5th Avenue; the beauty of the Frick Collection; the lights of Times Square at dusk, riding the escalators at children's wonderland FAO Schwartz; breakfast in Tribeca; a cocktail in Soho, an excellent value dinner in the Great Unicorn restaurant and Catherine Street, Chinatown, recommended by a Chinese man.
And we thought it was all about shopping?