The Independent - London, December 18th, 1996
In New York at Christmas, children see Santa Claus while adults see the father of psychoanalysis. That's why at 4 pm on a Saturday I'm lying on a battered leather couch in the window of Barneys, a luxurious Manhattan department store. Outside, hundreds of New Yorkers pause to peer through the glass as a Freudian analyst asks me about my dreams.
Barneys is a store like no other in New York. The staff are undoubtedly all aspiring actors, but when they treat you badly it's the real thing. Impeccably dressed in fashionable black, they treat the majority of customers with a mixture of contempt and...
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