Sure, Neda is one of Cobble Hill’s most well dressed boutiques. The small store is filled with racks of beautiful clothes- fine lines, nice fabrics, great colors. It’s quite sophisticated actually and surpasses most of its not-so-shabby neighbors. And they have a remarkable shoe selection for a small store as well as fun bags that range in price from the absolutely cheap to the still affordable. But I can’t bring myself to buying a thing there. Perhaps it’s because, the older I get, and the more I write about shopping, the more attuned I am to the personality behind the shop. Or perhaps it’s because they’re located a skip away from my yoga studio and, on my walk home after class, I expect the world to greet me with the same om like generosity that has recently restored my spirit. Or maybe it’s simpler than that: they’re just rude.
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Yeah, I don’t love how you can’t try anything on in there without having to come outside of the dressing room to stand in front of their full-length mirror in all vulnerable and in full public view. And then suddenly the saleswomen are all your best friend… running up to you and adjusting your pintucks or fixing your sash, and saying things like, ‘Um, Nay wears hers like THISssss!’, and then you feel about as low as when the dental hygienist explains to you (a perfectly sane 37 year old who has lived her life to this point without eating anyone), how to BRUSH YOUR TEETH! RANT!