Although I’m the first to admit that I’m not the best at understanding the type of mortification that only a department store beauty counter can provide; I remember the first time I fully comprehended it. This would have been when I was around 14 years old. At that point in my life, my Mum had dragged me to the House of Fraser in Birmingham (this was during the time when House of Fraser actually existed and Birmingham wasn’t attempting to be “cool” yet) and I’d made the rookie mistake of testing roughly 7 different perfumes on my left wrist.
The beauty counter employee, who possessed that certain type of flawless, perfectly applied makeup that only comes from years of practice and possibly selling your soul, gave me that particular look like I had wiped my nose on the Chanel display. “You won’t be able to smell anything properly anymore,” she said making “properly” sound like an insult. I then spent the remainder of the day looking like a teenage girl who had fallen into a vat of competing fragrances – and I suppose, to a degree, that’s not far off.
Now 25+ years later and I still slightly fear beauty counters. But also completely love them. There’s something about the blend of aspiration, possibility and mild intimidation that brings me back. Perhaps it’s the lighting that gives you the illusion of looking absolutely stunning and absolutely horrific at the same time. Perhaps it’s the ability to convince yourself that this one serum will undoubtedly transform your life. Or perhaps it’s just the fact that beauty halls are one of the last remaining retail environments where you can be looked after properly – albeit in conjunction with a considerable amount of judgment regarding your current skincare routine.
Last weekend I spent the majority of a Saturday morning in three different beauty halls throughout central London. I was ostensibly researching this piece, however I was primarily just indulging in what I’ve started calling “therapeutic browsing.” You know that feeling when you’re stressed about work, life etc. and you just want to surround yourself with nice things and people that can make other people look nicer? That’s beauty hall therapy – and it’s a heck of a lot cheaper than actual therapy, although you may leave with less money and more products that you don’t strictly speaking need.
What I love about British beauty halls is the manner in which they can be both extremely democratic and utterly aspirational. You can turn up in your worst pair of ripped jeans with £10 in your pocket and still be treated as if you’re capable of dropping a significant amount of money. Well, mostly. Of course there is an art to figuring out the mood of the counter – some counters are extremely focused on the high rollers, whereas others genuinely appear to be happy to assist you in finding the perfect, cheap alternative to that expensive item you spotted in Vogue.
Over the years each department store has cultivated their own distinct beauty hall identity. As a result, I have become somewhat preoccupied with mapping out where to go for what. It took me a number of years of trial and error, awkward interactions and significantly more money than I care to recalculate to determine the beauty hall formula.
Selfridges is the overachiever of beauty halls. Everything is louder, brighter, more. The beauty counter employees are terrifyingly beautiful and seem to be aware of trends approximately 6 months prior to the rest of us. On my last visit to Selfridges, an incredibly radiant woman at the Glossier counter attempted to convince me I required their new serum by effectively cataloging all that was wrong with my skin in the most charming manner possible. I purchased it, naturally. That is the Selfridges affect – they make you desire to be the type of individual that deserves such products, regardless of whether or not you are currently sporting yesterday’s mascara and a jumper with an unknown stain.
For Selfridges I follow a consistent strategy. My approach is to head directly to the exclusives. Selfridges’ buyers are truly exceptional at obtaining products that you cannot obtain anywhere else. If you are going to allow your intimidation into spending money, you may as well acquire something unique. The Fenty Beauty counter is always exceptional – the employees seem to actually enjoy their positions, which is not always the case in the beauty retail sector. I am completely enamored with their Gloss Bomb, as it creates the illusion that I drink sufficient amounts of water and receive regular facials, neither of which is accurate.
At Selfridges, Charlotte Tilbury is always besieged by customers attempting to determine which of her famous Pillow Talk lipsticks they require. To be honest? They’re all fairly similar, but the act of swatching approximately 17 almost indistinguishable nude pink shades and convincing yourself that you can identify the distinction is part of the process. I inevitably purchase something from her counter as the packaging produces the illusion that I am sophisticated, even though I realise I am essentially paying additional for the gold compact.
Liberty appears to be shopping in the very affluent grandmother of someone. The beauty hall itself is comprised of dark wood and deliberately curated brands that you have not encountered but probably ought to have. The employees possess this particular form of British elegance that is both intimidating and reassuring – they will assess your current regimen, but in a useful manner.
I always visit Le Labo when I am at Liberty. Partly due to the fact that they mix your fragrance on site as though it were some sort of expensive chemical reaction, but mostly because the customized labels generate the sensation of being unique whenever I apply the product. Their Santal 33 is ubiquitous now, but I couldn’t care less. It still allows me to smell like the type of individual that possesses his or her life under control. The Diptyque candles are also worth investing in if you wish your home to smell like you are more refined than you truly are.
Harvey Nichols exudes fashion person. The beauty hall is akin to that friend who always presents herself as having her life together and causes you to feel a tad conscious of your shortcomings. The Harvey Nichols beauty hall has a discerning curation of brands that function versus merely those that are trendy. The employees can be intimidating, but they are knowledgeable and will not attempt to sell you something solely based on its expense.
Sunday Riley is hazardous to me. I firmly believe their Good Genes serum is responsible for my skin appearing as though I attend to it properly on occasion, despite the fact that my routine is simply “whatever is closest to the sink”. The cost induces a queasy sensation within me each time I repurchase it, however, I utilize it for approximately 3 months and then convince myself I look 5 years younger, therefore the cycle continues.
The beauty hall at Harrods is excessive in the best possible way. The marble, the lightening, the sheer size – it’s intended to cause you to feel as though you ought to probably spend more on beauty products than you presently expend on groceries. Although, to be realistic, I probably do. The employees are so elegantly coiffed that they resemble individuals who have been digitally edited in real-time.
In terms of fragrance, Harrods excels. Their offering of niche fragrances is unparalleled. I discovered Frederic Malle at Harrods, these extraordinary complex scents that smell like actual perfumery as opposed to whatever focus groups determined that teenagers desired to smell like. They are expensive enough that I have to save up for them, but unique enough that individuals will actually inquire as to what I’m wearing, which hardly ever occurs with commercial fragrances.
However, honestly? When it comes to comfort and dependability, I keep returning to John Lewis. The beauty hall at John Lewis does not attempt to intimidate you. The lighting is more forgiving, the employees vary from supportive to blissfully unengaged and the entire experience is calmingly soothing. It is analogous to the retail equivalent of consuming a particularly good cup of tea and eating a biscuit.
John Lewis offers its own branded skincare that is genuinely impressive and competitively priced, which seems revolutionary in a world where facial creams frequently cost more than a respectable bottle of wine. The employees at the Origins counter are the most practical. They are not attempting to peddle you a 12-step routine, but rather products that will resolve the issues you bring to them. I have been utilizing their Drink Up Intensive mask for years and it has rescued my skin through numerous cold British winters and extended flights.
One of the reasons that beauty halls have endured the online shopping revolution is that they are capable of providing an experience that the internet cannot replicate. Specifically, they are capable of allowing you to properly test products. You are unable to view how a perfume evolves on your skin via a computer screen, or determine whether the foundation matches your neck, or consult with someone knowledgeable about acids to understand why your skin has been behaving oddly lately.
Additionally, they represent one of the final retail spaces that genuine service still exists. A skilled beauty counter employee is part consultant, part therapist, and part magician. They will listen to your grievances concerning your skin, develop solutions that will enable you to feel better about yourself, and yes, probably persuade you to spend more money than you initially anticipated; however, you will depart feeling as though they assisted you.
Even today, I continue to experience the same sense of excitement when entering a beauty hall that I experienced as a teenager, albeit with superior judgment and a slightly larger budget. It’s the potential of discovery – perhaps you’ll discover your ideal red lipstick, or finally resolve that skin issue, or simply spend an hour being pampered by someone who has dedicated their career to assisting others in enhancing their appearance. Regardless of whether or not you depart with one wrist smelling like an entire perfume counter and mysterious foundation smudges on your arm, there is something mystical about these glistening shrines to personal improvement.
