Holiday Magic, 2014

“Let me see!” whines a tow-headed boy, pulling at the sleeve of his brother’s parka. His sibling doesn’t budge. His eyes are fixed on the mechanical doll floating through the star-studded skies with his magic umbrella. “Maman! Louis won’t let me see,” he shouts at the 30-something woman beside me. She shifts giant shopping bags from one hand to the other and puffs a stray hair out of her face.

“Louis, chéri, let your brother go in front of you,” she wheedles.

Louis twists but a centimeter or two. It’s enough. The younger boy quickly wedges his head between Louis’s arm and rib cage and pushes his shoulders through.

I wish I could do that—cut to the front with all the little children. I stretch up to my tippy toes instead, and just when I manage a good view over the crowd, a tourist wheels around and knocks me off-balance with his backpack. I give up. If I really want to enjoy the holiday window displays, I’d better come back some other time… like at the crack of dawn, on a Sunday, when everyone else is fast asleep.

That is exactly what I do. Two days later at 7:30 a.m., wearing enough clothing for a visit to the North Pole, I stand in front of the Printemps department store windows on boulevard Haussemann. Within moments, I’m swept away, joining the magical voyage of a young man and his teddy bear as they travel from London to Paris. This year’s sponsor is Burberry, hence the itinerary of “Noël, Voyage Magique.” All the mechanical dolls wear the brand’s elegant signature products. I am enchanted, although the clever marketing doesn’t make me want to rush in the store and buy this year’s “it” coat.

I move on to Galéries Lafayette, away from starry skies, Big Ben, and the Eiffel Tower to a fairyland somewhere between Sesame Street and the Island of Misfit Toys. The window displays overflow with neon pink, orange, and purple monsters, some trapped in crystal ornaments, but all happily cavorting about. The warm colors, if not the beauty of the fluffy creatures, draw me toward the glass. I find myself grinning like an idiot as wave upon wave of fluorescence leaps from the window and sweeps across my brain—a kaleidoscope meditation far away from the feeble morning light.

I don’t know how long I stood there, but it was long enough for my fingers to grow stiff and my stomach to growl. I turn my head toward the back of the Opéra. The holiday lights have dimmed and cars slowly return to the streets. I take one last look, then head for the metro, satisfied and ready to start the day.

 

Creating holiday window displays is a Paris department store tradition that began in the early 20^th century. Despite two world wars and intermittent economic hardship, they have never failed to delight children and adults in need of holiday cheer. You can see these displays at the Printemps and the Galéries Lafayette on boulevard Haussemann, at the Bon Marché on the rue du Sèvres, and at the BHV on rue du Rivoli.