The End of Retail as We Know It. Redux.

The Flagship Neiman Marcus in Downtown Dallas will close on September 30.

This storied retail Mecca was erected in 1913, after the first Neiman Marcus, founded in 1907, by Herbert Marcus Sr., his sister Carrie Marcus Neiman, and her husband A. L. Neiman, was destroyed by fire.

As a Marketing Major in the Cox School of Business at Southern Methodist University in 1992, I had the incredible opportunity to meet and converse with Stanley Marcus, Herbert's son, as the retail legend had come to lecture our very small class. Neiman Marcus have been SMU supporters since prior to its breaking ground. Mr. Marcus regaled my class with the legendary customer service doctrine into which he was baptized by his father and I was completely entranced.

The story, the brand and the store have places in my shopping "psyche" if not my heart, in exactly that order. The story is legend; the brand is a force; the store is not what it could be.

Neiman Marcus will continue to operate in its other 32 stores across 15 states. The NM store in Plano, Texas is set to close in 2027. Interestingly, one of the best performing outposts in the nation is actually Dallas, Northpark. This both makes complete sense and is a total non sequitur. 

If you have followed the numerous mergers, acquisitions and/or the general "runnings into the ground" of some former retail scions - Saks, Sears, Marshall Field's, Burdine's, etc., you know how fragile department stores (and obviously, retail in general) as we have known and loved them since the late 1960s, have been.

Once, the epicenter of a day at the mall — the department store (have you been to one in the past 5 years?) — is a hit or miss, feast or famine pulse check of the health of the economy in a given zip code (depending on the demographics of household income and age). 

Malls just miles apart can actually look like they are in different galaxies.

I actually spent about 3 hours (intentionally) in the downtown Dallas Neimans in the fall of 2025 (knowing its demise was imminent, but hoping against hope that history and nostalgia would prevail). It was grim. I hadn't visited since the year after I graduated SMU in 1994, when I also shopped at the flagship. 

But We'll Always Have our Champers Vending Machine!

It was barely limping along in 1995 - certainly there was nobody shopping at that location (Main Street and Ervay Street in Dallas) other than ladies who lunched (the ladies on their actual lunchbreaks, who would have been from high-powered jobs downtown, were nowhere to be found or working at their suburban outposts by that time). It was depressing even then, but I still procured a delightful shade of YSL lipstick.

This last time, it was literally a shell of its former, former self. I was one of only about 20 customers I saw in that entire 3-hour period. Not a soul in makeup. One clerk in jewelry. The guy putting up the Christmas decor had done so for 30 years, but I was the only one browsing amongst the $50+ glass ornaments. 

SANTA! I know him!

Twice while I was there the security teams were actively escorting people out of the store. When I left, I didn't wait for my Uber outside, I was too afraid. Mind you, Dallas is the only downtown in which I've ever been afraid. 

I took myself for a lazy (if not curious) lunch in the storied Zodiac Room (a predecessor to some of the great retail dining experiences generations before us would come to treasure, such as the Walnut Room of Marshall Field's fame). I was one of 12 diners (a table of perhaps septuagenarians who met monthly over chicken salads) and a raucus table of good 'ole girls celebrating a birthday with their YouTube videos and Facetime conversations a' blarin'). I enjoyed my broth, my popover, my chicken salad and my book. Then I wandered among previously bustling floors to look at art from Fortnight and other historic celebrations. The walls were talking and I was listening, but it all made me so sad.

At the Zodiac, in between broth and popovers

Art, travel and history were near and dear to the hearts of the Marcus family - and so each year there were celebrations in that very Dallas store — honoring many countries and some of the greatest designers and industry trailblazers of all time.  

The Neiman Marcus Fashion Awards began in 1938 and honored people such as Coco Chanel, Christian Dior, Grace Kelly, Yves Saint Laurent, Estée Lauder, Valentino, Oscar de la Renta, Giorgio Armani, Karl Lagerfeld, Miuccia Prada and Ralph Lauren. 

Given the penchant for all things luxurious, it seems only natural the next iconic offering would be The Neiman Marcus Christmas Book whose famous Fantasy Gifts began in 1959. Herewith, a sampling of procurable (for the right price) items 

• His & Hers airplanes, 1960 — a seven-seat Beechcraft Super G18 for him and a Beechcraft Bonanza for her. Combined price: $176,000 in 1960 dollars. D Magazine
• Black Angus steer, 1959 — often cited as the original Fantasy Gift: delivered either very much alive or, rather ominously, as steaks. D Magazine
• The $20 million submarine — one of the all-time legends; even the person responsible for finding Fantasy Gifts later described the pressure of having to top it. D Magazine
• A private seat on the New York Stock Exchange — yes, really. Neiman Marcus itself lists this among its historic Fantasy Gifts. Neiman Marcus
• Andy Warhol portraits — commission Warhol rather than merely buy one. Neiman Marcus
• Jack Nicklaus-designed backyard golf course — because apparently a putting green was insufficiently Neiman Marcus. Neiman Marcus

All this is to say, how on earth could we let such an icon slip away? Literally slip — it took years, and years and years — when there were ample and obvious opportunities to resurrect, reinvigorate, rebuild, refurbish? 

Maybe icons, actual icons, are something we now know in trendy parlance only? 

But, wait, we've re-fallen-in-love with Ralph Lauren, The Gap, J.Crew and even fashion magazines. The experiences those stores, those clothes and those pages have given us are being embraced by new generations. Nostalgia cannot and absolutely should not win the day, but I do remain flabblerghasted as to how we couldn't keep a literal gallery of fashion  complete with vending machines filled with champagne afloat. That's all.

I am the kind of person to show up to a job interview with an Iced Coffee (Venti or Lavender Matcha, Light Ice) - and offer to get one for you, too!

There are multifarious reasons I put my own name on my very own (digital) shingle. This is one of them. ...

A recent article in THE CUT  highlighted a Tik Tok about a new "metric" ("My best friend's sister's girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw Ferris pass out at 31 Flavors last night".) by which to judge those on the job market. Now, I clearly have not been on the job market in a number of years — as a Gen X over 50-female in a beautiful beach community 50 miles from Orlando. That's not to say I do not meet with my fantastic clients all the time, coffee in hand (and ALWAYS an ask as to what they'd like, too, of course - and boy, are they specific!).

In my LLC, we work from home, my octogenarian father's house, and Starbucks (my newly promoted Manager and I). Or, I work from other local businesses or at the airport, on the plane and any and all farflung destinations (some clients do not even know when I am not stateside) available.

Zeus the Manager, seen enjoying a Puppuccino

I have worked at ad agencies both large and little, on the client side at major sports venues and museums and then finally for myself (and served in many roles — but not always on the creative or accounting side — including President and/or Chair of non-profit organizations).

As a college grad or a 20 - or 30-something, it's hard enough putting together the perfect CV, constantly promoting oneself and then — especially if fortunate to be vying for any position in an extremely competitive industry — AND making oneself seem special (but not too). Let alone worrying about (and this is where my OCD — yes, diagnosed — came in handy), wearing the right outfit, getting names and titles correct, and answering the dreaded, "What is your biggest fault?" questions.

And then this? Should you have your coffee and drink it, too? If it's a Venti and it's 8:30am, I'm not finishing it before I go into the interview. There is no "leave it in the car" in the Big City, folks. 

I said I would move back to our family's home in Ormond Beach from Chicago, if only there were a Starbucks. And there was and there is. 

For me, looking forward to Starbucks or wherever you like to treat yourself, is a reward and a comfort for getting up, working out, getting the kid to school, getting out there and getting going. And it's like a therapy dog (see Manager, above) — it's also a security blanket. "If this interview ..." "If this pitch ..." — doesn't go well, at least I have my coffee. 

Back when I was 23/24, and a walk to Starbucks with my Creative Director meant I had finally, actually, really gotten a job at an ad agency, the coffee felt like a rite of passage. It was the biggest indulgence I wanted to afford. It was a little daily celebration. It still is. And by the way, I just procured some of that same creative director's fine art. Friendships (and maybe interviews) built on coffee always seem to last. 

When I had the privilege of working at big agencies in big cities, I also had the privilege of a coffee shop at the bottom floor of the buildings (fated, clearly). I was two lattes a day (one decaf, as dictated by my team), back then. 

Why are those of us fortunate enough to be interviewing people so far removed from the reality of what it feels like on the other side? We've already proofed the resumé and not accepted any with typos (by the way some people write these days, maybe that's not the case — where are we not using AI when it counts!?!), they are sitting in our office and we can either learn from their experiences and advise them why they're not a fit and hope they do better elsewhere or we consider what dynamic they may add to the team and how we can serve as amazing mentors. We're only doing the disfavor to ourselves and our company if we are closed off and closed-minded.

And we might miss out on a great co-worker and an even better coffee buddy and career-long friend on those meetings over coffee. Maybe save yourself the judgment and the trip and host the interview at the coffee shop.

This is what makes it a Good Morning!

Less Than ... Nada?

 ... Our friemesis - Steff McKee may have susinctly stated.

I am a fan of Rabbit Holes. 

I am a fan of Blogs. (But I've not been "ired" up the way I am today and this month, now the kid's back in college ....) 

I am also a fan of Less Than Zero. 

Therefore, several things can be and are very true -

1. The Shards is happening in real time
2. The Shards is about Bret Easton Ellis writing Less Than Zero
3. The Shards has inspired Vanity Fair, Vogue, etc., to ...
• ... repost archived articles about Less Than Zero
• ... read Less Than Zero in their respective Book Clubs
• ... interview the stars of The Shards and ask them if they've actually read Less Than Zero (yes!) - see the September 2026 issue of Vogue
4. The Shards recalls all things fabulous (and terrible) for extremely privileged teenagers in America in the 1980s

Several Things "Shards Adjacent" are also true - 

1. Robert Downey Jr. (RDJ) is about to be featured in the new Avengers movie
2. Andrew McCarthy has been doing his own deep dive into the Brat Pack and is in the public eye as much as he has ever been - Pretty in Pink was re-released in theatres this summer
3. James Spader is everywhere and his characters are awful and he is beloved
4. Jami Gertz is awesome

It is here this Rabbit Hole, while clearly justified, takes a truly unexpected path. 

See, when I Rabbit Hole, I am used to instantaneously finding the obscura provided by our beloved interwebs. Surely, my Google search or even my multifarious friendly neighborhood web-searching robots will find what I am seeking, in 30 seconds. Flat.

So, once one has stymied the bots of - Amazon Prime, Netflix, Roku, dare I say Fandango - there's a bit of anxiousness ....

And once one has also stymied digital droid friends - Google-Gemini; ChatGPT (Mr. Roboto, familiarly), Claude, et al, panic sets in.

The resounding and ONLY answers from all of these hailed mountain-sitting soothsayers being as follows:

• DVD
• "Your public library may have it on DVD or via Kanopy/Hoopla if you have a library card"

Sit with that for just a moment. 

In 2026, an iconic movie from the 1980s, that is all over the media, with an incredible soundtrack and some sizeable stars ...

... is not available in the United States except on DVD. 

I mean. 

What?

Are you sure?

Am I the only one who? 

No, I am not the only one - as the DVD has been procured on Amazon more than 100 times this month. And the paperback price has gone up over 50% in 5 days. Forget trying to find a hardcover.

I'm ...

... Flummoxed

... Incredulous

... Flabbergasted

... Stymied (well, apparently not)

... Ired

What marketing person, in the history of marketing and advertising, could not see this coming?

Or, is it because it's better when the demand is there and they just needed someone to write this and other similar points of view and then it will be okay ...? 

That's what I'd like to think. 

.

The Author at PIP in her own
Members Only jacket

The Ghosts of Disney Present ....

Every year, like clockwork, at the beginning of the holiday season, I can count on one thing.

Bing Crosby. Disney. Ichabod Crane. Even Washington Irving. Halloween night, we watch the "Headless Horseman". The Disney version. That's it. That's all the scary we can handle.

And this year is no different. Except. As much as we've loved Disney. We've actually stopped going to Disney. After 10 years, maybe more, as "Passholders". We haven't darkened the Disney doorsteps since 2020. And I dare say, I have no thoughts of ever going back again. Really. 

And it's not because we don't love Disney. I've lived, breathed and cliented Disney. I've paid, membershipped, hoteled, resorted Disney. I know so much Disney trivia it would be counted on as gauche in some circles (most).

I can't help but love the history, the animation, the beauty, the Americana, the sentimentality. But, I gave it up. 

Because I am old enough to know now that I cannot love something that doesn't love me back. 

When faced with the pandemic, Disney lost its way. So its C-level execs could keep their salaries. Gone were the furloughed 30,000 employees, who collectively could have continued to make car payments if the execs would've given up part of their millions. 

OR. If Disney had actually honored those of us, who for years, financed thousands of dollars to visit their parks. But they only refunded our money after accruing several quarters of interest - AFTER we'd said we'd no longer like to keep our year-long passes during these uncertain times.

At least during the time we had our passes, I didn't feel the company was only in business to make as much money as possible. I honestly - naively - thought they were actually in business to make money AND make people happy. Gosh. I'm still so sad.

Gone were the innocent days of being able to go on your favorite ride or eat at your favorite restaurant. Even in the halcyon "Fast Pass" era, we were only able to finally get on the Mine Train once, and that was a scandal all its own. (See: Accidentally skipped a line of fancy people that we thought we belonged in.)

It was all on the passholders, all on the app. Well, now, it's apparently all on the amount of $$ a working class family would like to spend to get the right to be close to the beginning of the line of Pirates of the Caribbean. Which apparently is up to an hour wait time. Which is just. One. Ride. (which is much better at Disneyland, as is the Haunted Mansion, btw).

Blessedly, our child is 17 now. If it were up to me, he'd never "outgrow" Disney. I surely have not. But, from a common sense standpoint, sadly, we really have. As much as we loved it. As much as we still would love it.

The pandemic certainly changed that, as even a trip to our magical world became a controversy. And now surely it's a world I do not understand, nor do I have the patience for, because the world I knew how to navigate is gone. 

That said, my best friend is FINALLY coming on a trip to Disney - one she swore she would never take. And I said to her, "Sadly, we gave up our passes in 2020," but I'd love to help. She said she'd hire a "consultant" who would be able to direct her. This was upon my telling her she could not, in fact, "pop in" to the Magic Kingdom for an "hour or two." Any of you who've been there know why ....

I know that as much as I am sure I have "outgrown" Disney, I love it. It's in my heart and soul and many of my best memories. But on the same token, I wish a bit more of the "M" word was there. No. Not "money". 

"Magic." and, let's not forget the best "M" word of all, "Mickey."

The Rise and Fall of (my childhood. I mean,) the Mall. Specifically, the Woodfield Mall.

It's completely unremarkable, really. And it's old news as soon as it's penned.

Another store closing. Another mall's irrelevancy. Another suburban casualty. Old news.

Except - this is new news. As of 9pm tonight. Today. Now. 

"They" have decided to close not just another sad, humorless, hapless, irrelevant store in a long -forgotten - un-tiktok-able, stereotypical suburban mall. 

But this was my Mall. This is my gateway shopping experience. This was my 1970s. And my 80s. This was my history. And this is one of my favorite memories with my Dad and my Mom. Separately. 

The Harder Side of Sears

Woodfield Mall, in the much-parodied big-hair (guilty, but I was 8) suburb of Schaumberg, Illinois, was my litmus test for all future shopping experiences. Dallas Galleria. Galeries Lafayette. Cherry Creek. 900 North Michigan. The Forum Shoppes at Caesars ....

You name it, I've shopped it. 

But this. This is different.

Heaven knows I haven't darkened the doors of our local mall in years. But, Woodfield. 

With its twisty wooden slide, indoor ice-skating rink, Roy Rogers, Gift Gate (read: Hello Kitty), Express, I.Magnin, and incredible waterfall. This was THE HEIGHT of 80's shopping. And of course - Marshall Field's. So many amazing memories with my Dad, my Mom, my best friend, Rhubarb and Ribbie (the White Sox Mascots), etc. (and I'm all Cubs - all the time!) And the nachos at John's Garage.

Look. I'm very clear on the Sears saga. I'm very clear on the mall saga. I'm very clear on the old-retail-guard saga. But like another infamous 80's hold-over - this time, it's personal.

It's heartbreaking that so many childhood (fond!) memories have to go away. But, more important - I understand, of course, that jobs are going away. And, really, a bit of a way of life is going away. 

As much as we may or may not love the analog life - digital life and the evolution of commerce is not only important, it's vital. It's vital to the future. It's vital to the economy. It's vital to the next generations. 

But it still makes me really sad. 

Working from Home as Reality.

From the Washington Post, "A D.C. resident whose office closed permanently during the pandemic said he has three more hours each day to play with his daughter, relax or work late when necessary. An Alexandria resident who used to ride Metro daily is planning to move away to be closer to family after being allowed to telework full time. Limiting the commute has provided breathing space to better balance work and parenting." Story editing by Tim Richardson. Photo editing by Mark Miller. Design by J.C. Reed. Copy editing by Anne Kenderdine.

Over the many, many extended months of the pandemic, we've all seen articles like this. Workers of all ages pontificating the merits of working from home. Sure - we miss the tomfoolery - the office witticisms, the ridiculous hallway conversations and the brilliant high-fives (fist pumps?) after client meetings that redouble our resolve that we have a)a great job b)a great industry c)great co-workers. That WE. ARE. RELEVANT. And FUNNY. :-)

Well. You ARE still relevant. Your co-workers ARE still awesome and you still have A GREAT JOB. In whatever form that takes. But, let's accept that just as some of our peers love after work happy hour, complaining about Mondays in the elevator and eating "conference chicken" - many of us are better off, better because of and better in spite of - working from home. 

WFH. Telecommuting. Teleworking. Distance Working. It's had so many names, shapes and forms since the early oughts and late 90's. But one thing it's not - is 9 to 5 (music break). 

Let's jump right to the chase. In some form, I've been "working remotely" since I was 27. And we were given beta RIM devices from AOL. (AOL!). 

There is nothing easier than being on vacay on the Riviera (or visiting your Mother in the Riviera Assisted Living Facility) than working from a laptop, iPhone, etc. And there is nothing more comforting than the anxiety, stomach ache and stress cramps you DO NOT GET - because you can, well, WFH.

Things I can now do without (or with less) anxiety (in no particular order) - take my mother to the doctor(s); bring flowers to my mother-in-law; go with my dad to the doctor or a long lunch; meet my husband for work discussions and lunch; hang out with my retired brother; take my son and his friends to school; take my son and his friends to practice after school; handle all of my non-profit meetings online; work until midnight at home (with Forensic Files in the background); work from a restaurant during lunch; take "lunch" at 10am to hit a tennis ball or two.

I can LIVE and WORK. And I love work. And I love my clients. And I am one lucky girl.  

And at the end of the day, who wants to wear sky-high heels for more than 4 hours? 

Well, sometimes me. So I do. And lipstick - always lipstick.

 

This Will Probably Become A Book and is not about Marketing, but might be ....

This. Has nothing, but also probably everything, to do with my career (because Our Mother thinks working is a curse. A personality fault. Proof of failure.) But I am writing it here to have a record and documentation. And because this is my blog and I feel that two blogs would be indulgent and Versailles-like. 

So, I called my Mother the other day, by way of check-in. 

Our little son has been calling her sometimes daily, sometimes weekly, during Covid. We have been worried Sick. Like, actual Wake-Up-In-The-Middle-Of-The-Night, Sick. About my Mother being in an ALF during the pandemic. (She has had BOTH shots as of this writing!!!). Did I mention she has unapologetically smoked for 65 years?

But sometimes, I check-in. To be clear - she is not interested in moi whatsoever. But I feel like I should. So I do. I am the fourth sibling. And typically the first that can handle dealing with her. Our Mother. And also, she did a great job with the guilt.

So, I called Our Mother.

"Hi, Mom. How are you?"

"Oh, Ren! Just thinking about you!," she effusively states. 

I think, immediately, "This is odd. This is a trap. Oh, maybe she's being kind. How nice!"

Then.

"I got my check today. I need it cashed. Also, I'm out of cat food. And. Paper towels."

Yep.

Yep.

Yep.

Why on earth would I be surprised? Why on earth would I expect anything other than? Why on earth would I think this time she was actually, really, humanly - thinking about me?

But she was. Really. In the only way she can. And that has got to be okay .... Because if it's not? What am I supposed to do with that?