At 9am on Monday 15th March 1909, to the sound of a bugle, Harry Gordon Selfridge opened the doors of his brand newdepartment store on Oxford Street. The western end of the street wasn't very fashionable at the time, so he'd been able to snap up the land and build his store for just £400,000. Gordon hoped to introduce an innovative concept from America to the West End - shopping for fun. If only ladies would stay for the day, perusing the merchandise, entranced by the displays, recuperating in the restaurant, he'd make his fortune. Those first day crowds spent longer looking than buying, but canny advertising ensured that ultimate success was assured. The store extended northward, swallowing up an entire city block (and even devouring the church in which my great-grandparents got married). A chain of Selfridges spread out across the country, just in time for Gordon's lavish lifestyle to prove his financial undoing. But his iconic Ionic columns still front the building 100 years later, and the Oxford Street branch of Selfridges remains the UK's second largest shop (beaten only by Harrods).
There are many entrances into the building - some grand, others rather less so. It's certainly best not to head round to the service road at the rear of the store. Here staff have their own very yellow entrance, outside which willowy sales assistants puff and flick cigarette butts into the gutter. From this angle the store looks like a 60s office block clad in jarringly coloured tiles - a view thankfully only experienced by car parkers and delivery vans. Far better to enter beneath the central trellised Art Deco canopy on Oxford Street. Above your head is an ornate golden clock fronted by the majestic figure of the Queen of Time, while beneath your feet lies a brassplaque honouring the store's founder owner.
Come on, you know what you'll find behind the revolving wooden doors. Deep breath, it's the perfumery department. It was Gordon's idea to place it at the front, and department stores the world over have followed his lead ever since (much to the annoyance of generations of long suffering men). Preened sales staff stand poised to squirt and spray every passing female, while security guards ensure that nobody runs off with the bloody expensive handbags. If glittery trifles aren't your thing then the only department of interest on this floor will be the food hall. It's compact but characterful, with a wide selection of well-stockeddelicounters offering traditional and international fare. You could do all your weekly food shopping here, no problem, but only if you're the sort of customer who thinks that £7 for four cupcakes is good value for money.
Head upstairs for three floors of clothing. Ladies get two, of course, but even the single menswear floor is comprehensive and vast. Designer labels and high street brands coexist, each concession merging seamlessly into the next. In one corner Top Man, in another Vivienne Westwood, and somewhere along the way Diesel, Prada and Armani. I always feel hopelessly sartorially inadequate as I wander around, even though all the other jaunty fashion-conscious men flicking through the collections appear to be perfectly at home. Meanwhile the fourth floor features furniture - ideally suited for a Kensington flat on a Kensington budget - although thankfully nothing as gauche as might be piled up in Harrods. And be warned, the escalator down from the neighbouring cafe deposits you slap bang in the middle of ladies lingerie, which may or may not be your taste.
Don't overlook the basement, especially if your home requires some unnecessary accessories. I've found many an unusual Christmas gift down here, although I suspect most now gather dust at the back of a forgotten cupboard. The cookshop boasts a wide range of designer utensils you never knew you didn't have. For the well-heeled traveller there's always another item of leather luggage to add to the collection. There's even a Nespresso bar serving extra-pretentious coffee, which seemed inexplicably popular yesterday afternoon. All this plus a remarkably empty HMV, and a well-stocked book department whose WH Smith branding is only revealed when you check your till receipt.
There's no such thing as a typical Selfridges shopper, although certain familiar characters can be spotted all over. The foreign tourist, taking advantage of a preferential exchange rate. Two grey-haired ladies up from the Home Counties, the well-heeled gay couple, the immaculately turned-out Chelsea blonde (there are lots of them). Watch the exits and you'll see smart yellow carrier bags aplenty flooding out onto Oxford Street and beyond. And yet this isn't a snobby store, it retains its inclusivity throughout, even if you're only here to window shop.
So how has Selfridges survived 100 years? I suspect that's mostly down to its staff. You see them everywhere throughout the store, far more in number than are actually required to sell you stuff, standing keenly and poised to assist. If you're looking for a particular product, or need something in silver rather than blue, or are just trying to find the exit, they'll direct you on your way with a smile. There's still plenty to keep a determined customer entertained and busy within Selfridges' walls, and somehow shopping here is still an event. Gordon would, I suspect, be pleased to see how his legacy continues to thrive.
At 9am on Monday 15th March 1909, to the sound of a bugle, Harry Gordon Selfridge opened the doors of his brand new department store on Oxford Street. The western end of the street wasn't very fashionable at the time, so he'd been able to snap up the land and build his store for just £400,000. Gordon hoped to introduce an innovative concept from America to the West End - shopping for fun. If only ladies would stay for the day, perusing the merchandise, entranced by the displays, recuperating in the restaurant, he'd make his fortune. Those first day crowds spent longer looking than buying, but canny advertising ensured that ultimate success was assured. The store extended northward, swallowing up an entire city block (and even devouring the church in which my great-grandparents got married). A chain of Selfridges spread out across the country, just in time for Gordon's lavish lifestyle to prove his financial undoing. But his iconic Ionic columns still front the building 100 years later, and the Oxford Street branch of Selfridges remains the UK's second largest shop (beaten only by Harrods).
Come on, you know what you'll find behind the revolving wooden doors. Deep breath, it's the perfumery department. It was Gordon's idea to place it at the front, and department stores the world over have followed his lead ever since (much to the annoyance of generations of long suffering men). Preened sales staff stand poised to squirt and spray every passing female, while security guards ensure that nobody runs off with the bloody expensive handbags. If glittery trifles aren't your thing then the only department of interest on this floor will be the food hall. It's compact but characterful, with a wide selection of well-stocked deli counters offering traditional and international fare. You could do all your weekly food shopping here, no problem, but only if you're the sort of customer who thinks that £7 for four cupcakes is good value for money.
Don't overlook the basement, especially if your home requires some unnecessary accessories. I've found many an unusual Christmas gift down here, although I suspect most now gather dust at the back of a forgotten cupboard. The cookshop boasts a wide range of designer utensils you never knew you didn't have. For the well-heeled traveller there's always another item of leather luggage to add to the collection. There's even a Nespresso bar serving extra-pretentious coffee, which seemed inexplicably popular yesterday afternoon. All this plus a remarkably empty HMV, and a well-stocked book department whose WH Smith branding is only revealed when you check your till receipt.
