People did some serious Christmas shopping this weekend! We even went to the mall, albeit to pick up an online order as part of my personal campaign to stop feeding the Amazon Beast. It was lovely to be in a big, decorated store and to ride with the grandkids up and down the escalators. This store even has a grand piano at the foot of the escalators—one that is played regularly (not just at holidays) by a real pianist. 

Stores are suffering such difficulties these days. The online sapping of their base has blasted craters in the sweet traditions I describe below. Once people grow accustomed to having 23 waffle irons to chose from, how can they content themselves with two models?

Stores have other troubles, too. If you’re following the news you read unbelievable accounts of looting and horrific disorders that necessitate the boarding up of major stores’ show windows. These things are dealing insurmountable damage to the idea of stores providing future generation with uplifting experiences. Still, you never know. Things change and turn. Who would have thought vinyl could reemerge to challenge, maybe even usurp, the kingdom of the CD?

So I hope you will enjoy this wandering through the topic of Department Stores—already dated a bit from its appearance in 2016. Send up a prayer that the elegance and grace of traditional Christmas shopping can somehow survive and return one day, capable of enticing our children, when grownups, to partake of its magic.

Nearly time to pull out the holiday movies! In our household, It’s a Wonderful Life tops the chart. But a close second is Miracle on 34th Street for two reasons. First, it’s such a sweet story, succinctly juxtaposing the rational and the sentimental . . . with everyone winning in the end. But a bigger part of the appeal (for me at least) comes from its setting: an old-fashioned department store.

Nostalgia flows easily during the holidays. And while nostalgia does not necessarily give an accurate reflection of the past, it conveys many important truths. I still cherish nostalgic memories of going into downtown Roanoke, Virginia with my mother to see the Christmas windows in the department stores.

In an age when shopping has become a contact sport where we’re likely to be pummeled by frenzied fellow shoppers, it’s hard for young people to appreciate the simplicity and elegance of the old-fashioned department store. Nor can today’s kids imagine what it meant in those days to make a special trip downtown, holding onto mother’s white-gloved hand. She may have come to shop, but we were anticipating the magic awaiting us in the glistening show windows.

A couple of weeks ago, I spent time standing before the massive display windows of Paris’s premiere department store: Galeries Lafayette. It’s a mistake to call Galeries Lafayette a “store”: it comprises a two-block-long complex of stores, filled with more high-end products than the mind can fathom. I had never seen it at Christmastime, so I was eager to experience the famed decorations inside as well as their expensive window décor.

And see it I did! Except it was all white.

Yes, white. Almost everything in sight was white, including the massive Christmas tree that floated high into the main hall’s glass cupola. Meanwhile, out on the sidewalk, an impressive line of display windows blazed with entirely different, but uniformly white themes. Thousands of sheets of thick white paper were folded, origami-style, into a series of bizarre creatures who romped through traditional scenes (also made of white paper and entirely secular). Certain elements of each scene were mechanized, so that either the creatures bounced around or the objects opened, closed, or moved back and forth.

And somewhere in each window, an expensive product was featured. The window that really undid me actually had color: a tall Christmas tree revolved in the middle, surrounded by columns of red gift boxes. Attached to the tree were ghastly marionette-like dolls seated inside of . . . can you guess? Costly Jimmy Choo shoes.

I watched the children come and go. Thoughtfully, Galeries Layfaette had built observation ramps in front of each show window. I contrasted what these Parisian children were seeing with what I remember from the show windows of Roanoke’s two department stores: Heironimus and Miller & Rhoads. Those windows were filled with the brightest colors and most magical figures a child of the 50s could ever hope for. They provided us with images of delight including, if my memory serves me correctly, the Nativity scene as a focus. Everything about them was warm and inviting.

The children in Paris that cold afternoon seemed excited to hop up the steps onto each observation ramp. That part was fun. But within a few seconds of looking into each window, they uniformly turned away, preferring instead to survey the crowd from the unaccustomed elevated height. There, they saw a much more colorful show: passersby bundled with colorful scarves and hats, people chattering in every imaginable language, some walking immaculately groomed dogs, others munching delectable sweets from the nearby kiosks.

Certainly adults paused to look at the windows, but not for long, as they had places to go and things to do. In short, there was really nothing to pause and wonder about in these famous windows, other than the considerable technological skill involved in creating and implementing the all-white, mechanized designs.

Is it just nostalgia that leads me to draw the contrast between the Galeries Lafayette’s windows and the ones children would have seen in Miracle on 34th Street? Yes, store owners back then also wanted parents to bring their children and shop. But the “bait” involved creating an atmosphere of beauty, joy, and delight. These effects cannot be accomplished by stark stretches of white, broken by shoes that cost in excess of two thousand dollars.

That night I had a discussion with a friend, a former student who now teaches at the Sorbonne. She told me that the windows, when unveiled, set Paris abuzz with discussions about what they “meant.” After all, Galeries Lafayette is recognized world-wide as a style-setter of Western fashion, so whatever they do makes news.

Well, I don’t know what they meant. My best guess would be a cynical post-postmodern, or metamodern, statement that life is devoid of meaning (color) until you add a high-end luxury item, courtesy of your Visa card. Perhaps that is a bit harsh. But as we discussed until late in the night, Galeries Lafayette’s 2016 windows provide an accurate, if ominous, reflection of society’s approach to the holiday known as Christmas.

So break out those holiday movies. Even the black & white ones are full of color. Look back with nostalgia at how people once celebrated their faith and their family bonds. Let Miracle on 34th Street and the other classic films provide a window into a simpler, more orderly world. A world where red, green, gold, and silver competed to catch our eye. A world where the gleam in a child’s eye shone brighter than any glitz coming off a high-tech screen. Nostalgia? So be it. Hit the play button!