Hannah Betts My overnight stay in John Lewis
When the shop announced it was offering overnight stays, Hannah Betts was the first to jump at a ‘storecation’. Here’s what happened…
Midnight, and my boyfriend and I kiss each other goodnight, turn off the light, then listen to the noise of the great department store gently easing itself into night: shelves being replenished, and the odd alarm clock going off on the fifth floor, set during the day by customers unaware that this national treasure would be playing host to two guests overnight.
It is fair to say that I haven’t often engaged in this sort of activity on Oxford Street, but, then, this is no ordinary retail experience; rather the Residence, John Lewis’s ritzy new instore apartment, tailor-made for customer sleepovers. When Paula Nickolds, the managing director, announced she would be running nocturnal stays in August there was
Ready for bed: Hannah and her boyfriend get cosy at John Lewis
global hysteria, provoking sensation as far afield as Australia. Flash forward and we – yes, we! – are the very first to sample its hotly coveted delights.
As middle-aged, middle-class erotic fantasies go, a night at John Lewis has got to be up there. Think: Night at the Museum, plus opportunities to fondle objets, press one’s cheek against bedsheets, and get all hot and bothered over soft furnishings. Highlights include a slap-up supper; state-of-the art entertainment by way of a planetsized plasma TV; then settling down for some shuteye – or, ahem, otherwise – on JL’S incredible 1,400-pocket spring mattress, retailing at £2,050.
Three of these people’s palaces open tomorrow, on Oxford Street, in Cambridge and in Liverpool. Guests for London’s sleepovers will be chosen Willy Wonka golden ticket-style. Two will be randomly assigned to visitors to each Residence who sign up in store, another two to participants in the loyalty scheme.
Winners will enjoy after-hours store roaming, and the glamour of this swanky des res, stocked floor-toceiling with John Lewis exclusives. For those unlucky enough not to secure a staycation, there will be cocktailfuelled dinner parties at the London apartment, brunches at its Liverpool and Cambridge outposts, and countless workshops. The plan is to keep the Residences open until Oct 15, although word on the shop floor is that they may become permanent.
Increasingly shopping is becoming an “experience” – not of the “enters shop” variety, but a capital E Experience involving all-singing, all-dancing add-ons. In this age of blink-of-an-eye e-commerce, Mintel estimates that department store sales will remain flat in 2017, following only 1 per cent growth last year (John Lewis’s partnership with Waitrose announced a profit fall yesterday). Senior Mintel analyst Tamara Sender Ceron explains: “Department stores are having to justify their raison d’être and adapt. The main players have recognised a growing demand for leisure and experiences.”
Selfridges offers high drama in the form of theatre and music performances. Liberty is more arts and craftsy with life-drawing classes and ceramic workshops. Harrods is intent on whipping the nouveau riche into shape via wardrobe, entertaining, and interior design advice, while Harvey Nics is the mecca for slightly terrifying beauty experiences.
However, the sleepover experience marks a whole new level of customer interaction. As Nickolds tells me: “The department store should be a destination in its own right. We’re not just competing against our rivals, or even online retailers. We’re competing against dining at the hot new restaurant, or going to see the latest exhibition. Our spaces will increasingly be used as places for relaxation, education, and enjoyment. The Residence is a significant step in this direction – the ultimate try-beforeyou-buy experience.”
Preparation is both exhaustive, and exhausting, “curated” by manager of the home department, Mo Aftab, the private concierge who will be at our beck and call throughout the night. We are asked to provide details of our clothing sizes, favourite foods, drinks, table settings, flowers, music, radio stations, novels, board games, films, and morning papers.
These inquiries meet with varying success. My partner greets questions regarding bedding preferences with the response: “I will never in my life select from a pillow menu – I have my pride.” While I rather enjoy the princessiness of specifying: “Roses: green-white, green-yellow, or Schiaparelli pink.” Less princessily, there won’t be facilities for a shower or lavatory, the latter involving a stroll to a designated in-store bathroom.
We arrive for our “storecation” at the flagship Residence, on the third floor of the Oxford Street store within the home section, at 6.30pm sharp. Our new home is tear-jerkingly fabulous. Think: beauteous living and dining areas, a state-of-the-art kitchen crammed with Waitrose goodies, modish navy bedroom, and a jungle of orchids and orange trees by way of an indoor terrace. It is separated from the store by thin wooden walls and a transparent gauze ceiling.
Creative genius Diane Staplehurst has been working on the Res for months. As part of the company’s “Only Here” campaign, all of the products are John Lewis one-offs, from the flamingo wallpaper born of a Cole and Son collaboration to the autumn-winter cashmere in the wardrobes. The ability to get to grips with JL wares is thrilling. I fall in love with the gold-leaf lampshades, agate coasters, jewel boxes, lunatically comfortable bedding, emerald green
sofa, snack mountain, and the requisite green-white roses.
Sommelier Lisa Wilkins chooses wine for each course of our supper from fashionable pop-up Elephant: Assyrtiko for the crab, Pacherenc for the panna cotta. Then it’s off for a backstage tour of the store from walking archive Chris Payne. We see the plaque to Lord Byron, born on the site of the building, the rabbit warren of underground streets that make up its stockroom, and I am let loose on the tannoy, choosing not to propose to my beloved, despite our ability to choose a ring. (A single credit card machine remains open for any such splurge.)
Fiona Mathieson takes charge for personal styling, undeterred by my being in slippers and JL jimjams. I inform her that my boyfriend requires trousers, but is impossible to shop with. Within seconds, she has returned him in a pair of spanking Levi 511s, revealing that he shed his old pair on the shop floor and “has a nice bum”. I decline the opportunity to jump on beds in favour of access to the beauty hall unassailed by sales staff. Then Chris unlocks the jewel cases and I carry off an ice-blue hoard to match my pjs.
The store has a dreamlike quality at night, the only sounds the odd clanging door and chirping of the handbag grasshoppers, or audible security tags attached to fancy leather goods. There are no security cameras in our pad, but Mo and butler number two Linda Williams are positioned outside to prevent us turning shoplifter. Settling into bed, our faces larded in beauty products, we wonder whether we will nod off.
The Residence’s walls are insubstantial, and it is crazily hot, very light, with a constant electrical thrum. Despite the rampant John Lewis fetishism, the flimsy ceiling and concierge presence mean sex is off the menu. Still, there is much to keep us amused. At 3.20am I cross the home department to answer a call of nature and am struck by the eerie beauty of the place. It’s like occupying a giant, white spaceship.
I wake at 6.45am, to the sound of Linda humming like Snow White.
Still, the pain of our 9am ejection is acute, even with the joy of picking up my purchases (a modest, but soon to be expanded £150 on boy jeans, a teapot Thermos, and my “pyjama ring”). I didn’t think I could love John Lewis more. However, the Residence has lent my passion a throbbing urgency. I have to get back there, I have to. Its next residents can expect a stalker.