Duty-Free Diva

One of the perils of global work and travel is the duty-free shopping extravaganza found in most European airports. I consider this to be a top hazard of my job.

I recently had to call my mother from the airport in Palma, Spain after a two-day client meeting becuase I had lost control at the Chanel counter and needed an intervention. And I’m not talking about buying makeup that I absolutely don’t need (although I did that) — it’s the sampling. I get so excited by makeup counters and the possibilities of what they will do for me that I almost black out. And this time, when I came to, I had one hand with 3 different shades of black nail polish on three different fingers, one silver finger, and a pink finger. I also had two different colour palettes on each eye and some blue mascara. There were traces of sugary pink lipgloss. Oh, and some bronzer as well, making me a nice shade of shimmery orange (well what do you expect, I might have been in Spain, but I certainly didn’t get any sun sitting in a dark conference room for two days!) There was a nice sales lady standing next to me who seemed slightly befuddled by my frenzy. Fearing what she may have witnessed in that unaccounted-for time (like when aliens kidnap and experiment on you), I grabbed what she had taken from the drawer and got myself to check-out. That’s when I called my mom.

Though I am usually armed for these attacks with makeup remover wipes in my handbag (I highly recommend “Simple” brand cleansing facial wipes sold at most drugstores in the UK), they were making the last call for my flight and there was no time to undo this potential disaster before boarding. Then, to my horror, as I was waiting in line to get on the plane, one of my (very senior) clients who I didn’t know very well tapped me on the shoulder…he was on the same flight. I ditched my mobile phone (and my mother on the other end of the line, sorry mom) and stuffed my hands into my pockets. Oh crap, I didn’t have pockets, so I folded them awkwardly behind my back. I made the conversation as quick as I could without looking him directly in the eye (never good for a PR person) and then, keeping my head down, slunk onto the plane and into my seat. I took out my compact mirror to assess the damage - I looked like a cast member from Cirque du Soleil.

But the duty-free debacle doesn’t stop with makeup. There’s perfume, pink champagne, fine whisky from Scotland, local souvenirs, watches, crazy clothes and fashion, exotic foodstuffs, sunglasses, Swarvoski and Baccarat crystal, handbags, books, cheese, Haribo gummies, technology and gadgets…all the things in the world that I love and hold dear. Or, did I love them until I started travelling so much? I’m not sure. All I know is that the sales staff at Ted Baker at Heathrow Terminal 4 know me by name.

This all leads me to ponder — What is it about aiports and travel that make people feel so indulgent? For me, it’s usually an excuse like: I work so hard, I’m stressed, I had a rough day, I DESERVE it, I NEED it….or in the case of the cute alligator beany baby I picked up at JFK….I’m lonely and will need a cuddle on the long flight back (I don’t know what’s wrong with people, they act like they’ve never seen a grown woman dressed in business attire clutching a beany baby to her chest in one hand and a Louis Vuitton shopper in the other!)

As a marketing person, I see airports as communities and duty-free as a lifestyle. And the pairing of the two is genius when it comes to traveller purchasing decisions. Because for avid duty-free shoppers like myself, it’s usually NOT about saving money — it’s about comfort, validation, convenience, feeling glam, and the suspension of reason you’d normally have when shopping anywhere else. Because when you’re in an airport, you’re likely feeling a heightened emotion of some sort — happiness, nervousness, boredom, stress, exhaustion, accomplishment, excitement, sadness, anxiety, hopfefulness, depression — and there is always something to buy to complement or offset any of those feelings….that’s the magic of being captive in a place where instant gratification can be found in so many forms — for a price, of course.