LUXOMANIA, Confessions of a salesgirl in the secret world of luxury.

RULE NUMBER 1

Off to the side the salespeople are talking among themselves but become quiet as I approach. Their wariness towards me makes me feel particularly uncomfortable.

- "Hey you, the new girl, can you keep a secret? Florent asks me one day, handing me two binders without explanation."

I'm willing to answer anything to be accepted.

- "You noticed you have to use your badge each time you enter or exit the store and that the time clock notes your comings and goings down to the minute?"

- Florent continues.

- "Yes, sure."

- "Well, in fact, none of us arrive at the time indicated on the machine ..."

- "What do you mean?"

- "For example, when I want to take longer than an hour for lunch, I clock out, then I sneak back up to give my badge to Tatiana before going out. Then I can leave without a care in the world because I know she will clock me back in exactly one hour after the time I left, although I'll be coming back much later. Neither seen nor heard, you understand?

- ... And what about the boss?"

- "You don't have to worry about Mélany. Just make sure she thinks you're in the stock room in the basement and she'll never have the time to find you on the cameras ... In a thousand five hundred square meters, it's easy to play hide and seek ..."

This little secret allows me to make my first step into the very closed circle of women's ready-to-wear and I fully intend to become a permanent member. I lay the binders Florent gave me down on the counter and flip through them. They are the catalogues from the Cruise collection and the Fashion Show. The photos show a style on the same model featured from page one to forty-two. I have to memorize the collection and make a mental picture of it. I carefully study each silhouette and find each item on the hangers. I make a note of the various fabrics and read the technical specifications relating to each one. The descriptions are precise, written entirely in Italian, with an indication of material, embroidery or print. The inspirations of the star stylist, Isabella Canalli, are explained in detail and the clothes are laid out so that you can understand the composition and manufacturing.

Determined to sign a permanent contract, I immerse myself diligently in this little dictionary of luxury goods, studying it every day, cramming the information into my head even on the subway in the evening.

During this time, I carefully observe how the other salespeople work. I decide to emulate their expertise. How does one go about things? Is there a protocol? Expressions to use or to avoid? Some user's guide to scrupulously respect? Their behavior with the customers and their way of doing things actually seem quite simple. It's not rocket science as far as I can see. Sure, hospitality and politeness are required, with the added bonus of service worthy of a major luxury goods fashion house. Sometimes, I pretend to get a hanger from the dressing room and continue to observe my colleagues in the middle of what they're doing. My initial apprehension starts to dissipate slowly, but I still don't know the collection by heart and I sometimes make mistakes. When a customer asks me to try on a "flarepant", I bring back a "bootcut". Or I forget which colors and which fabrics some of the clothes come in. And when a customer asks me about the composition of a fur, sometimes I don't know what to say. So sometimes I make it up ... You always have to seem to know it all. Working in sales is a bit like entering the arena. It's a constant struggle and the best man wins. My nervousness, which I attempt to hide behind a calm and collected façade, has given me migraines from the very start and my bottle of Tylenol is part of my survival kit. Despite my baby steps towards becoming a part of the group, no one really talks to me. I console myself by emptying the Bounty vending machine. No big deal. I'm here primarily to assist salespeople, not to take their place. But over the weeks, they seem to become less suspicious of me and begin to understand that they have nothing to fear from me.