Ever wonder where all the name-brand clothes you score big
with at discount stores such as T.J. Maxx and the Nordstrom
Rack come from? They obviously had a more glamorous life before
they were marked down and shipped out. Let me show you the
winding path an off-price garment:
Start high above the busy streets of New York's garment
district in the showroom of a popular American designer.
A buyer for a major department store peruses the merchandise,
selecting what will be in-store for the winter season, six
months away. She places an order that includes 500 units
of a cashmere sweater in a peculiar shade of green forecasters
insist consumers will want. The sweater will retail for
$100.
Fast-forward six months. A buyer for T.J. Maxx visits the
same showroom, but he's not shopping for the new spring
merchandise. The off-price buyer is snapping up the remains
of the winter collection that includes--you guessed it--plenty
of cashmere sweaters in a funny shade of green. His timing
is perfect. Not only will the sweaters arrive in-store just
in time for the holidays, but they've cost him a fraction
of what the department-store buyer paid, as the designer
is eager to unload the "ripening" merchandise.
At the discount store, the green sweater, now priced at
$49.95, is surrounded by apparel with a similar past--overstocked
items purchased at the advent of the season. About 95 percent
of the T.J. Maxx merchandise is what's called "first quality"
(i.e., without flaws), and 85 percent of its stock is current
season (i.e., winter clothes in winter, summer clothes in
summer).
And the price is right. In addition to the savings made
in the showroom, off-price retailers keep costs down across
the board. Advertising is straightforward, promoting only
the store itself. Inside the store, any visual "fluff" is
shunned. Devoid of costly decorative touches such as mannequins,
window displays and, frankly, service, these stores project
a bare-boned practicality.
The Nordstrom Rack, located in Portland, Clackamas and
Beaverton, is a cross between an outlet store and an off-price
retailer. The Rack offers a mix of clearance items from
Nordstrom stores as well as goods purchased especially for
the Rack. Look for the number of special-purchase items
to increase in the future. Why? Nordstrom sources say its
buyers are purchasing less in what has been a shaky retail
economy, and whatever does make it to the sale rack is snapped
up quickly; that's bad news for Rack customers accustomed
to scoring designer garments at a fraction of their original
price.
What happens to goods even the Rack can't sell? This stuff
is shipped to a store in Arizona called Last Chance. There,
you might find yourself vying for goods with people who
buy the outcast garments in bulk, either reselling them
at private warehouse sales or, strangely enough, in Eastern
Europe.
But what about our oddly green misfit sweater from T.J.
Maxx? It won't be treated to a transatlantic flight. T.J.
Maxx will send the garment to a humble destination far more
familiar: the neighborhood Goodwill.
Kidnapped
L'Oréal
Kids 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner is as appealing for
the packaging as for the tutti-frutti scents. Best of all,
its performance rivals all that overpriced salon soap--and
it's not just for kids. Get it for about $3.25 at any ol'
grocery store.
Go
Jackie-O
Forget the cheesy JFK fake-pearl era.
It's widely acknowledged that Jackie reached her style pinnacle
while hanging with Ari on Skorpios. Think skinny ribbed
tees and cropped white jeans. One particular accessory made
the look memorable: a triangular kerchief, tied under the
hair in back, perfect for a casual dash. Twenty-some years
later, girls without a millionaire can recreate the sweetly
chic look by visiting Urban Outfitters. The store has a
variety of print scarves for $8-$14.
Boy
Toy
Guys will do well to duplicate Robbie Williams'
'60s suave in his "Millennium" video. Think sharkskin suit,
shawl-collar tuxedo and a generous amount of Brylcreem.
Equal parts Connery's Bond and Sinatra's Rat Pack, the look
has a straight-up cool that transcends mere millennial moments.
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Willamette Week | originally
published June 30, 1999
|
