G P.
Yelp
There are about 6 things for sale in this empty shop, and the only unifying theme amongst the objects available is one of conspicuous expense. The coarse and unwelcoming ladies-of-a-certain-age who run the shop seem better-suited to shopping at The Countrymart, for they do nothing to endear the customer the confounding array of items for sale, while dispensing a Thatcheresque unfriendliness which coats the entire store in a frost.
Here is a fun game: what do you suppose a $600 crystal shot glass, a $4000 ladies leather jacket lined in pink paisley silk (edition of 1, XS only), and a warped lobe of chromed metal inspired by the art of Jeff Koons all have in common? Two acceptable answers: 1) they have absolutely nothing in common and WTF is going on here, and 2) tackiness. I retract my earlier statement, there is a second unifying conceit, one of remarkable tackiness.
I am originally familiar with this store by way of a flurry of gifts from some well-intentioned relatives, each one duly returned for store credit now doomed to eternal accumulation as it has no acceptable outlet. The nearest egress for my credit is their spare selection of Cire Trudon candles, no arguing with the world's oldest candlemaker, but the selection is so limited that the odds of connecting with a fragrance are quite small and it just seems more reasonable to go elsewhere. It seems we have stumbled upon a third unifying theme, one of poverty of choice -- irony this poignant doesn't arrive every day, but I'm happy to take it where I can. The best of what's for sale this vacuous gift shop is simply available elsewhere, in better selection, for less money, and possibly even with a pleasant attitude. Such is my struggle to discern its target audience. My sense is that whatever the image of the ideal consumer, it is of subordinate concern to the vanity of the ownership. Unscientifically and entirely by feel, I imagine that the shop is supported by tourists on vacation wandering into Brentwood and getting swept-up in a narcotic commercial haze, or by young kids from the neighborhood flush with cash and no taste eager to grow up, or adults of a parallel persuasion. Whatever mysterious forces hold this store aloft, I wish them peace.