I stared into my open closet, arms folded across my chest, scanning my wares. That afternoon, I planned to go and pretend to be a classy lady shopping along Rodeo Drive with a girlfriend (who has much better fashion sense than me) and I felt legitimately concerned about what I was going to wear while walking past Jimmy Choo and Marc Jacobs.
Somehow, I imagined that if I wasn’t dressed nicely enough, the bouncer inside the Gucci store or a valet driver may point me in the direction of Wilshire’s Miracle Mile or at least charge me for daring to walk around in non-designer jeans. My vision of Rodeo Drive shaped only by episodes of “Dr. 90210″ (a “reality” plastic surgery program) and the climactic scene in “Clueless” where Alicia Silverstone turns to Tiffany’s for major retail therapy after a dramatic boy crisis, I thought that people walking along this strip either need tickets to enter or could get in on good looks alone.
Yet my elementary school friend, Jessie, coaxed me out of my hesitation with one word: macarons. For those unfamiliar, macarons (pronounced “mack-a-roons”) are French sandwich cookies made with two light, squishy cookies stuck together with either a ganache or jelly filling. My sweet tooth ultimately resolved any feelings of minor hesitation I had, and after reading online reviews of the macaron bakery, called “Paulette” located on Beverly Boulevard, I was hooked on the idea of spending an afternoon pretending to be rich, famous, and worthy of a $1.50 macaron.
Surprisingly, a weekend afternoon on Rodeo Drive seems more like a tourist attraction than a high-profile shopping spot. Cameras strung around the neck, maps folded into pockets, and exaggerated pointing at landmarks (“Here’s that little Italian corner from Lonely Planet!”) are dead giveaways. The three-block strip almost seems designed for tourists with a kiosk near the Tiffany store listing a store directory and displaying a map.
Jessie, of course, knew all the designers and even had favorites.
“YSL’s collection is really amazing right now,” she indicated as we passed a store with only one pair of shoes on display in the window, the entrance of the store obscured by dark lighting and dark marble paneling in the door frame. “I mean, there’s the whole shoe collection right now because he just died.” He died? Who died? “You know, Yves Saint Laurent,” she added. I nodded, recognizing the name only from reading past People coverage of Hollywood parties.
Other storefronts proved equally as grandiose and intimidating. Bijan Menswear beckoned visitors with bright blue scarves and satiny purple button-up shirts displayed alongside gold-framed Frida Kahlo-style paintings of whimsical Southwestern scenes. A peek inside the doorway revealed white leather couches at the base of a spiraling stairwell, but alas, all of these enticing elements were accompanied only by a prominent sign declaring visitors could enter for “an appointment only.”
Above a single, simple silver necklace at the Chanel store hung a huge light fixture that looked like a strand of over-sized pearls. The iconic brown and beige-printed Louis Vuitton bags, updated for the new season with a brightly colored flower design splattered across the surface of the bag, floated suspended in the window on almost invisible wires.
Perhaps most impressive of all, however, was a store with no door, no windows and no sign. The front of the store was completely open to the outside as store workers and mannequins alike faced the street completely stoic and unmoving. A staircase ran through the center of the store and mannequins were positioned on different steps as if awaiting customers to come and take them to an exclusive Oscar party.
Feeling just a little too low-class to actually enter any of the stores, we departed down Beverly Boulevard hungry for macarons. Paulette, a small bakery hidden on the corner of a side street, boasts a sleek, simple white storefront with rows of the colorful macarons lined up like a thin paper strip of candy buttons.
Macaron flavors ranged from chocolate and vanilla to green tea, cappuccino, caramel, lemon and raspberry. While we felt a little self-conscious debating the merits of which flavors to choose, the store worker offered us free samples, which we gladly snatched.
While each macaron is only about the size of a one dollar coin, it’s surprisingly rich, filling, and flavorful. The flaky, chewy outside complimented the gooey inside, creating a decadent combination of flavors. A violet-colored macaron proved especially delightful as the cookie itself tasted fruity and a touch floral while the blackcurrant jam filling was not overwhelmingly sweet.
One 12-pack of macarons in hand, we feasted while sitting on patio chairs outside of the grandiose Montage Hotel.
Peering up at the Hotel with elegant wrought-iron balconies and a fleet of Mercedes parked in the lot, we may not have been fully immersed in “the good life,” but at least we could get within a few inches and peer into the gilded gates.
If you prefer Cartier over Tiffany’s for some retail therapy, contact Cohn at jcohn@media.ucla.edu.