Article: Comforting the Wealthy

THE WALL STREET JOURNAL

April 20, 2012

Comforting the Wealthy

I like to wander around Stinky Bklyn, the Cobble Hill cheese shop, just to marvel at all the gourmet treats I can't afford: $80 bottles of olive oil, organic white truffle honey, Intelligentsia coffee. But recently, as I passed the cash register, my gastronomic reverie ground to a halt. There, alongside the $8 Mast Brothers Almonds & Sea Salt bars and Nunu chocolates, was a big, honking carton of Snickers bars.

And it's not like these were some high-concept, grass-fed Snickers varietal with chipotle peppers and figs: They were the regular, mass-produced chocolate-peanut-caramel bars you can buy at any bodega for 99 cents. Only at Stinky, they cost $1.50.

Enlarge Image CloseTim Robinson .I puzzled over this for days. As is the case with so many stores populating the Bermuda Triangle of self-conscious consumption stretching from Williamsburg to TriBeCa to Park Slope, the selection at Stinky is so carefully edited and curated that you know nothing gets in there by accident.

So was Stinky saying its customers lead such rarified lives that a Snickers bar is now considered a discovery item? Or perhaps Stinky knows something about the candy that I, a former Snickers-bar-a-day addict (they are delicious), had overlooked. Or maybe (and this explanation seemed most likely) Stinky was suggesting that its taste-making power is strong enough to transform a pedestrian Snickers bar into a whimsical find—the way Duchamp turned a urinal into high art.

You see this sort of thing in stores all over Brooklyn and downtown Manhattan. High-end street-wear shops throw in a carefully edited selection of Converse sneakers. A toy store specializing in heritage puzzles hand-carved by quadriplegic Aborigines also offers "Operation" because, you know, it's a really weird, fun game and we deserve our guilty pleasures. And then there are the brands found at every Wal-Mart that the indy-store community claims for itself: Moleskine notebooks, Stanley thermoses, Aranciata soda. But of course at the indy shop, the prices are, well, higher-end.

I went back to Stinky last week to snag one of these specially anointed Snickers bars, and wouldn't you know, they were sold out. Now Stinky was peddling Whoppers and Junior Mints, and this was even more perplexing. Whoppers don't even taste good! Still, I swear, when I bought two packs of each, the bearded cashier dispensed a subtle nod of approval. Yeah, that's me, the newest member of the Kool Kandy Klub.

Later, at the diner, I presented my find to a pal without revealing the candy's lofty origins. No, she didn't think there was anything special about them. She popped a Junior Mint and chewed. Her evaluation: "They're a little hard and stale."

Still, this friend is a financial planner. What do money types know about meta-candy? Probably she just didn't get it. I presented a second box to my little brother. I wouldn't call him a hipster, but he does plays keys in an electronica band. Alas, he also declined to admire my find: "I don't think Junior Mints are cool, not even in an ironic way."

Erin Amey, the head buyer at Stinky, stood her ground. The store's "ethos," she said, is to carry a mix of high-end specialty items along with affordable products like Schaefer beer and, yes, Snickers. "Even though they're totally commercial," she said, "they're still wonderful and delicious things!"

Junior Mints and Whoppers, she added, are "old school" candies that can be hard to find, "So it's refreshing to see them." I didn't tell her I found the same candy on sale at the Rite Aid across the street.

Sometimes shops use mainstream products as a sort of prop. Take Owl & Thistle General Store. The charming Crown Heights shop specializes in "local, green, fair and direct-trade products," like 100% certified organic cotton tea towels. So what's with the selection of sewing supplies produced by some of the biggest global manufacturers in the notions biz?

Alas, there's no local, artisanal vendor option when it comes to needles and seam rippers, says owner Keri Cavanaugh, who has a master's in curation and actually worked at a museum in her former life. But what's a general store without sewing supplies? The notions selection might be mass-produced, but it's useful, and adds to the old-timey aesthetic that's so hot right now. And wouldn't you know it, the $3.50 spools of Coats & Clark thread (that's twice what you'd pay at the Jo-Ann Fabrics chain) are a strong seller.

As is the selection of children's books (perennial favorites like "Curious George," "Madeline" and "The Giving Tree") at Burlap, the intriguing Cobble Hill clothing and gift shop. Locals snap up the $20 titles along with the store's $1,900 python bags, Stella McCartney dresses and $500 cashmere throws.

The mix always struck me as a bit of random eccentricity. But owner Temah Mollison says it's all part of her guiding philosophy in stocking the store: "To have quality goods at different price points."

It sounds like bland marketing speak, and on one level, this is a pretty basic retailing tactic. A few captivating but low-price items give riff-raff like me a reason to stop in and peek—and perhaps get seduced by a $5,000 ring.

But I think there's something else at work here: For your typical self-conscious but wealthy New Yorker with egalitarian ideals, it's hard to imagine anything more uncomfortable than patronizing a store meant just for rich people. We want our high-end stuff, but we don't want to look elitist. The children's books (and Snickers bars and Converse sneakers) offer gentle reassurance: You are not a jerk.

No, you are sucker, who pays twice the Amazon.com price for stuff made in giant factories. But it's worth it, to have all these cute stores in the neighborhood run by shopkeepers who understand. Even if the mints are stale.

—Ms. Kadet, who writes the "Tough Customer" column for SmartMoney magazine, can be reached at anne.kadet@dowjones.com

A version of this article appeared April 21, 2012, on page A18 in some U.S. editions of The Wall Street Journal, with the headline: Comforting the Wealthy.

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