I love it 
From www.nytimes.com
Where the Clothes Talk a Lot
By ALEX KUCZYNSKI
IF you read People, Star or Us Weekly, you know about Kitson, the West Hollywood boutique made famous by celebrities like Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton. These are young ladies who live dreamlike crystal-covered lives and own dreamy things like crystal-covered hairbrushes (Paris's cost $295 at Kitson) and crystal-covered cellphones (Lindsay's was $395 at Kitson). The actresses Mischa Barton, Tori Spelling and Debra Messing have been photographed with groaning Kitson bags on their arms, their faces slack with the satiety that follows a successful shopping binge.
Kitson, if you believe the publicity, is Hollywood's hottest shopping spot. I approached with tingly anticipation. But strip away the phony tinsel of Hollywood, as Oscar Levant said, and you'll find the real tinsel underneath. Such is the case with Kitson, which is less a chic boutique than a tourist trap, its popularity generated by warring weekly tabloids and not by the exquisite, or even interesting, clothing it offers for sale.
At its inception in 2000, Kitson was presented as a marketplace, with stalls presenting like-minded merchandise, a concept that has worked for many years at Fred Segal, the legendary Santa Monica retailer.
But now everything is presented together in one big white room under a ceiling painted with clouds and against a backdrop of blaring pop music: men on the left, women at the back, accessories and perfume and makeup and gifts on the right. The store's founder, Fraser Ross, is often quoted as saying that he wants the store to be stocked with whatever is new, hot, fresh, hip and daring. But there is not much at Kitson that feels new.
At the front of the shop, shoppers can peruse T-shirts and tank tops that read "Blonde" in gold sequins or "I ♥ Desperate Housewives." In the men's section there are the requisite old-school sneakers, hooded sweatshirts and distressed jeans and a T-shirt that proclaims its bearer a "Future Billionaire."
I confess that I did not turn it over to see if the back read "Currently Delusional." A man visiting from France tried on a theatrically shredded blazer and clownishly modeled it for his family. They shook their heads non.
The women's department was not much better, and the clothing had the pawed-over look of sample-sale items. Too many times I found myself wondering, How many slightly sweaty women have tried on this blouse? I had seen everything before: jeans, Juicy Couture sweatshirts, Ugg-style boots in pastel colors, Cosabella thong underpants, Rebecca Beeson T-shirts, cashmere sweaters decorated with sparkling crystals.
Kitson has a reputation as a good place to pick up interesting gifts, but I found even those generally disappointing, in part because the Kitson consumer evidently requires that his or her clothes and accessories say something. A terry cloth makeup bag announces that the bearer loves Botox, or boys, or shopping. A beach tote advertises "Cabana Boy Wanted." A velvet pillow bears the message "Life is an endless struggle but you eventually find a hairstyle that you like."
At $38, it was cheap, but it was also cheap looking and, again, worn in the way objects get when they have been fondled and held aloft - Hey, Mom, isn't this funny? - by a thousand sets of hands. Other gifts were gratuitously expensive. A Zippo lighter, covered in crystals, was $125. A teddy bear wearing a cashmere sweater that reads Kitson is $145.
Last week the store announced an arrangement with Skechers shoes to manufacture a line of Kitson footwear to be sold in department stores. This attack of logo-itis put me in queasy remembrance of T-shirts from the Hard Rock Cafe and its grown-up equivalent, the Black Dog of Martha's Vineyard.
Kitson recently made headlines by selling T-shirts for "Team Jolie" and "Team Aniston," so Hollywood citizens could announce who they were rooting for in the Brad Pitt-Jennifer Aniston breakup. (You can also buy a "Mrs. Pitt" compact at the checkout counter. Or a "Mrs. Clooney" or "Mrs. Lachey" compact.)
Last week the hot seller was a $38 "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" golden ticket T-shirt with gold lettering on the front. Also for sale: "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" golden ticket necklaces ($198), men's ID bracelets ($265) and cuff links ($165). Somehow I doubt that wearing a promotional T-shirt for a movie is the latest in Angeleno chic. Then again, the only people buying the T-shirts were tourists.
On the bright side, the store has a good accessories department and more styles of blue jeans than anyone could ever need. The sales staff was friendly and helpful. One particularly jovial attendant spent a half hour passing jeans and shoes and belts and tunic tops to me in the spacious, well-lighted dressing room. (There are three comfortable, pillow-laden dressing rooms.)
I eventually bought a pair of high-heeled pink suede Fornarina pumps for $125, shoes that are definitely more California than New York. (You can't walk more than a block in them, but Californians have the luxury of driving everywhere.)
I visited two other shops in Los Angeles that day and spotted celebrities at both: Lisa Rinna at her store, Belle Gray; a guy I didn't recognize who said he had been in "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle" at the vintage store Decadestwo.
At Kitson, the store that is so famous for its celebrity clientele, I kept hoping to spot a Lindsay or a Mischa or a Britney. No luck. The closest thing to a star I saw was the star behavior of a young girl who kept demanding that her father buy her a "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" golden ticket T-shirt.
Kitson
115 South Robertson Boulevard, Los Angeles; (310) 859-2652.
ATMOSPHERE Imagine the most aggressive sample sale you've ever been to. Times 10.
SERVICE Considering the circumstances, surprisingly good.
KEY LOOKS Hipster hopefuls shop here for low-rider jeans and slogan T-shirts that say things like "Team Aniston" and "Team Jolie."
PRICES Generally expensive with a few tchotchkes thrown in for the tourists.
From www.nytimes.com
Where the Clothes Talk a Lot
By ALEX KUCZYNSKI
IF you read People, Star or Us Weekly, you know about Kitson, the West Hollywood boutique made famous by celebrities like Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton. These are young ladies who live dreamlike crystal-covered lives and own dreamy things like crystal-covered hairbrushes (Paris's cost $295 at Kitson) and crystal-covered cellphones (Lindsay's was $395 at Kitson). The actresses Mischa Barton, Tori Spelling and Debra Messing have been photographed with groaning Kitson bags on their arms, their faces slack with the satiety that follows a successful shopping binge.
Kitson, if you believe the publicity, is Hollywood's hottest shopping spot. I approached with tingly anticipation. But strip away the phony tinsel of Hollywood, as Oscar Levant said, and you'll find the real tinsel underneath. Such is the case with Kitson, which is less a chic boutique than a tourist trap, its popularity generated by warring weekly tabloids and not by the exquisite, or even interesting, clothing it offers for sale.
At its inception in 2000, Kitson was presented as a marketplace, with stalls presenting like-minded merchandise, a concept that has worked for many years at Fred Segal, the legendary Santa Monica retailer.
But now everything is presented together in one big white room under a ceiling painted with clouds and against a backdrop of blaring pop music: men on the left, women at the back, accessories and perfume and makeup and gifts on the right. The store's founder, Fraser Ross, is often quoted as saying that he wants the store to be stocked with whatever is new, hot, fresh, hip and daring. But there is not much at Kitson that feels new.
At the front of the shop, shoppers can peruse T-shirts and tank tops that read "Blonde" in gold sequins or "I ♥ Desperate Housewives." In the men's section there are the requisite old-school sneakers, hooded sweatshirts and distressed jeans and a T-shirt that proclaims its bearer a "Future Billionaire."
I confess that I did not turn it over to see if the back read "Currently Delusional." A man visiting from France tried on a theatrically shredded blazer and clownishly modeled it for his family. They shook their heads non.
The women's department was not much better, and the clothing had the pawed-over look of sample-sale items. Too many times I found myself wondering, How many slightly sweaty women have tried on this blouse? I had seen everything before: jeans, Juicy Couture sweatshirts, Ugg-style boots in pastel colors, Cosabella thong underpants, Rebecca Beeson T-shirts, cashmere sweaters decorated with sparkling crystals.
Kitson has a reputation as a good place to pick up interesting gifts, but I found even those generally disappointing, in part because the Kitson consumer evidently requires that his or her clothes and accessories say something. A terry cloth makeup bag announces that the bearer loves Botox, or boys, or shopping. A beach tote advertises "Cabana Boy Wanted." A velvet pillow bears the message "Life is an endless struggle but you eventually find a hairstyle that you like."
At $38, it was cheap, but it was also cheap looking and, again, worn in the way objects get when they have been fondled and held aloft - Hey, Mom, isn't this funny? - by a thousand sets of hands. Other gifts were gratuitously expensive. A Zippo lighter, covered in crystals, was $125. A teddy bear wearing a cashmere sweater that reads Kitson is $145.
Last week the store announced an arrangement with Skechers shoes to manufacture a line of Kitson footwear to be sold in department stores. This attack of logo-itis put me in queasy remembrance of T-shirts from the Hard Rock Cafe and its grown-up equivalent, the Black Dog of Martha's Vineyard.
Kitson recently made headlines by selling T-shirts for "Team Jolie" and "Team Aniston," so Hollywood citizens could announce who they were rooting for in the Brad Pitt-Jennifer Aniston breakup. (You can also buy a "Mrs. Pitt" compact at the checkout counter. Or a "Mrs. Clooney" or "Mrs. Lachey" compact.)
Last week the hot seller was a $38 "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" golden ticket T-shirt with gold lettering on the front. Also for sale: "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" golden ticket necklaces ($198), men's ID bracelets ($265) and cuff links ($165). Somehow I doubt that wearing a promotional T-shirt for a movie is the latest in Angeleno chic. Then again, the only people buying the T-shirts were tourists.
On the bright side, the store has a good accessories department and more styles of blue jeans than anyone could ever need. The sales staff was friendly and helpful. One particularly jovial attendant spent a half hour passing jeans and shoes and belts and tunic tops to me in the spacious, well-lighted dressing room. (There are three comfortable, pillow-laden dressing rooms.)
I eventually bought a pair of high-heeled pink suede Fornarina pumps for $125, shoes that are definitely more California than New York. (You can't walk more than a block in them, but Californians have the luxury of driving everywhere.)
I visited two other shops in Los Angeles that day and spotted celebrities at both: Lisa Rinna at her store, Belle Gray; a guy I didn't recognize who said he had been in "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle" at the vintage store Decadestwo.
At Kitson, the store that is so famous for its celebrity clientele, I kept hoping to spot a Lindsay or a Mischa or a Britney. No luck. The closest thing to a star I saw was the star behavior of a young girl who kept demanding that her father buy her a "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" golden ticket T-shirt.
Kitson
115 South Robertson Boulevard, Los Angeles; (310) 859-2652.
ATMOSPHERE Imagine the most aggressive sample sale you've ever been to. Times 10.
SERVICE Considering the circumstances, surprisingly good.
KEY LOOKS Hipster hopefuls shop here for low-rider jeans and slogan T-shirts that say things like "Team Aniston" and "Team Jolie."
PRICES Generally expensive with a few tchotchkes thrown in for the tourists.
love the honest article. Thanks faust
Oh and all the 'boutiques' on robertson .. same thing.
