I've been getting into the short story of late, via some london publications and some interesting blogs. I recently found this gem on the awl and though I would re-post it.
Diary of an Unemployed Class of '10 Philosophy Major in New York City, Part 1 by Sam Biddle
When I think boutique, I think of lots of little hanging crystal beads, baskets with pearls in them, stacks of folded crimson scarves, a dour woman with cropped hair staring into a cold vacuum. I imagine myself saying “No thanks, I’m just browsing,” which is my anxiety response at any store, boutique or otherwise. I know it will probably be a long, long while from now, but the first thing I’m going to do when I get a writing job here in New York City is march into the first J. Crew I see and, beaming, reply to the robot working there, “Why yes, I do need help. Bring me some moon-proof socks—I’m covering the Space Election for theObserver!”
But for now I’m just going to stick with looking at my feet and saying “No thanks” before the clerk says “Hey! You! You idiot! You moved to New York to be a writer! Have you even looked at Craigslist?! Ten thousand people just applied to fill out forms at a boutique mystery shopping company!”
I’m pretty sure "boutique" has become a business-world euphemism for "insignificant and unsuccessful"—the quivering in my friends’ voices when they describe the boutique hedge fund or boutique consulting firms they work for indicate as much. Would that make me a boutique recent college graduate? I just realized I’ve been in New York for a full week!
