You call this ‘help’?
Retail help has gone to the dogs.
Last Sunday afternoon at the Beverly Boulevard boutique Joseph Walker, a high-strung, scruffy terrier bounded out from behind the counter to greet shoppers. He circled and sniffed warily. Would he bite? More important, would he take a check? No human appeared to offer any assistance.
At Polkadots & Moonbeams on 3rd Street, the saleswoman stood sentry at the dressing rooms and gushed about each emerging outfit. When I slipped on a Milly cocktail dress that was a size too small, she stopped and loudly declared, “That fits just right.”
Why is it that certain salespeople come on like linebackers and others can’t be bothered to come back from their lunch breaks?
Last year, the Retail Customer Dissatisfaction Study -- conducted by consultancy firm Verde Group and the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School -- found that nearly a third of consumers can’t find a salesperson when they shop. And of the shoppers who do locate a clerk, 25% report that they get completely ignored. Pushy and insincere sales staff were cited as problems too.
“We have a mix on the floor. Some of our salespeople tend to be as aggressive as they can be,” says boutique owner Fraser Ross, whose employees at Kitson on Robertson Boulevard work on commission. “But I don’t want them to tell a shopper that an outfit looks good if it doesn’t because she won’t come back.”
Ross also notes that his older customers, who are 40-plus, require more hand-holding. (Probably because the store sells short-shorts and halters better suited to the young and nubile.)
Customer profiling is nothing new. But it’s just as easy to categorize sales associates. Meet the “flimsy flatterer,” who will compliment your right collarbone to sell a necklace. She typically begins every sentence with “I love your . . . “ and has been known to shout, “That thong totally matches your eyes!” from across the floor.
Even worse is “the passive-aggressive bully” who doesn’t deem you worthy of a once-over. Jennifer Gerson, associate editor at Jezebel.com, visited the Prada store in SoHo dressed down, and then again dressed up, and called her outing the “Pretty Woman” experiment. Her “hobo” attire garnered nary a welcome, but the Prada-ites pounced when she reappeared wearing Vivienne Westwood.
The “put this on pusher” lurks outside your dressing room with sartorial suggestions and foists them under the door. She usually taps her foot and cajoles with come-ons like, “I can’t wait to see you in that dress” or “The lighting is so much better out here.”
But, for me, the “clique of coyotes” is the most terrifying, actually mimicking the animal’s attack plan. One salesperson will affably approach you and take you under her paw. She will even shield you from other help, as if she were a jealous newlywed. But once you exit the dressing room in those skinny jeans, she and her associates circle like wild dingoes and nip at you with comments like “Brilliant!” and “I can’t even . . . “
Gerson refuses to be bullied by coyote clerks. “I never ask a salesgirl for feedback,” she says, preferring to consult a stranger instead. “I will say, ‘You don’t know me and you will never see me again. How does this look?’ ”
Come to think of it, who needs clerks? I prefer the shop dog. Give me one bark for “Looks great.” Two for “Let’s try the blue one.”
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Read Monica Corcoran’s daily blog, All the Rage, at latimesblogs.latimes .com/alltherage.
