“Oh, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, okay—just break me off one tiny piece!” You can almost hear the tortured viewer moan, confronted with the colossus of desserts beckoning from Bergdorf Goodman’s holiday windows. How do you celebrate joy and abundance in this odd, unsettling year? At BG, the thinking seems to be that wanton gluttony is the better part of valor. Among the mouthwatering enticements is a gigantic white robot doubling as a soft ice cream dispenser and a red-and-white–striped candy cane–bedecked diorama that is a swirling homage to 1960s psychedelia.
Across the street at Tiffany & Co., there are cyborgs and foodstuff, as well. Gingerbread people bearing baubles are sliding into an oven (what is the melting temperature for gold?); a robot made of blue boxes is posed in front of a sign that reads “Ice”—a shout-out, we are sure, to the nickname for diamonds or the cube machine at the end of the hotel corridor, not a reference to that controversial force down at the Southern border. At Cartier, miniature mannequins dressed in Cartier uniforms topped with red bellhop caps are struggling to deliver stacks of tiny crimson boxes. But it is not all work and no play—some of these lilliputian employees are riding a Ferris wheel and cavorting on a roller coaster, oblivious to the fact that a panther is lurking nearby.
There is clearly a party going on at Bloomingdale’s, despite a corporate tie-in with that sour old creature the Grinch. (Then again, who doesn’t want at least one witty curmudgeon on the guest list, if only to counter the saccharine cheer?) The interactive windows include an opportunity to sing karaoke and the chance to have your photo projected on the display. (Geez, you look old! How many holidays have you lived through?) Several exhibits feature a sinewy Andy Warhol-esque figure—has he just come from his retrospective downtown at the Whitney?—along with haughty women whose bountiful hair put one in mind of Viva and Baby Jane Holzer. (Maybe these Warhol superstars wandered over from BG’s shindig?)
Warhol’s sensibility seems to have informed the starkly unsentimental windows at Barneys New York. In a radical departure from the elaborate efforts elsewhere, the store has opted for nothing but pennies—40,000 of them—stuck on a white board and visible when one peers through letters on the glass that spell out “Make Change.” (Barneys is partnering in a charitable drive with Save the Children.)
There are no pennies at Lord & Taylor this year. Once the queen of holiday windows, L&T has sadly replaced its legendary creations with “Everything Must Go” signs. This is also the last season for Henri Bendel, which announced it is closing in January. The windows there show a crude skyline rendered in what might be cardboard and drawn in a shaky child’s hand. The faux naïf buildings loom behind a gaggle of purses, one of which is a tote in taxicab yellow with the legend “Get Out of Town”—a poignant epitaph for this venerable 123-year-old business.
At Saks Fifth Avenue—itself more than a century old—the theme is “Theater of Dreams,” and the various vitrines are bathed in deep jewel tones. Is the study in scarlet an unwittingly tribute to the new opera Marnie, which debuted last month at the Metropolitan Opera? (Spoiler alert: Super-chic Marnie is afraid of the color red!) Around the corner on the 49th Street side of the store, the theatrical references are more literal. In one scene, a couple of characters leaning into makeup mirrors seem to be preparing for an audition for RuPaul’s Drag Race; next door, a pair of cute young guy mannequins are hanging out backstage, surrounded by vintage suitcases and musical instruments. Maybe they’re planning a naughty assignation after the final curtain call?
Or perhaps they are just dreaming of becoming a happy couple like the two polar bears in the window of Macy’s? We could all take a lesson from this pair: Amid the ruckus of the season, the horrors and the hatred all round us, they have turned off the TV, ignored the phone, and are enjoying hot chocolate from cups labeled “Mr.” and “Mr.,” fully at home in our beloved city, our own theater of dreams.
