You Had To Be There
If you’ve been doing all your buying online lately, you’ve missed the big new thing in brick-and-mortar retail: “experiences.”
In a light-washed room overlooking the Saddle River, seven women and one burly man work on their stitchery projects as the volume of conversation gently rises. Wyckoff resident Denise Venice is finally attacking the embroidery she’s put off for months (well, years), while across the table, Tina Lanciotti of Woodcliff Lake is about to embark on a crocheted mushroom. Overseeing it all is Tanja Israel, proprietor of Bayou, a Saddle River gift shop featuring the creations of artisans both local and far-flung. On any given evening, you may find Israel presiding over an origami workshop, a makeup class, watercolor lessons or a tutorial in kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with powdered gold. Tonight, though, the assembled participants have gathered for the popular “Stitch and Bitch,” a meetup for those who love to work with thread and yarn or just want to keep their hands busy while connecting with, and making, friends.
Increasingly, Bergen County retailers like Israel are offering shoppers something beyond shopping—in the form of classes, workshops, meetups, celebrations, special events and other experiences. So-called experiential retail, which aims to lure customers off the internet with in-person experiences they can’t get online, is already reshaping (and revitalizing) Bergen’s malls and shopping centers. Bergen Town Center, for instance, holds a free weekly yoga class on its parking deck, and Westfield Garden State Plaza hosts an exercise program (also free) in one of its courtyards. American Dream, of course, is all about the experience, with its water and theme parks, ski jump, mini golf, laser tag and arcades. Now a growing number of smaller retailers are working to counter the Amazon effect with special experiences of their own. As the International Council of Shopping Centers noted in a recent report, experiential retail “isn’t just a fad but the future of retail as we know it.”
“Smaller retailers are copying bigger retailers,” says Joanne Cimiluca, director of the Bergen County Division of Economic Development. “A mom-and-pop shop hosts free cooking demonstrations to showcase their cookware and give customers a hands-on experience and a sampling of free food. Show me a Costco on a Saturday and tell me who doesn’t love free food! Small business owners are getting savvy, and it’s paying off.”
Nowhere is that more evident than in the proliferation of “paint-and-sip” studios, which, over the past decade or so, have become a worldwide phenomenon. The experience they offer is one of gentle creation—no demanding art lessons, just friendly guidance in the production of a still life or a beachscape—fueled by a glass or two of wine and some friendly conversation. Two years ago, Melanie Valenti and her fiancé, Ryan Cali, opened The Spotted Canvas, a paint-and-sip studio in Maywood, as a secondary business. (She’s a mental health therapist and he works at a Fortune 500 company.) They get plenty of repeat customers, she says, “because people like the experience—it allows them to wind down and relax—and the fact that they also leave with something at the end.”
While the wine is certainly a draw, collegiality is central to the success of The Spotted Canvas and other paint-and-sip spaces. Local bars have understood that concept for years, bringing in customers, who might otherwise be content to drink much more cheaply at home, with live music—a trend that’s widened to include casual dining establishments and extended beyond local bands and bards. The Orange Lantern in Paramus, for example, entices customers to abandon their couches with trivia and karaoke nights, dart competitions, and a Wednesday-night “Blues and Beyond Jam” led by guitarist Dave Fields. Musicians at every skill level are invited to bring their instruments and jam onstage, in an event that’s as popular with the audience as it is with the players.
“People are mesmerized,” says Fields. “It’s a really magical night because you never know what’s going to happen—it’s like a potluck supper.” Nick Laganella, the bar’s owner, brought Fields on a year ago to help attract customers on Wednesdays, traditionally a slow night for bars and restaurants. Similarly, House of ’Que, a barbecue restaurant within American Dream, hosts trivia nights every Wednesday, and Five Dimes Brewery in Westwood offers trivia on Wednesdays and bingo—“which is really popular,” says owner Chris Alepa—on Thursdays.
Retail shops, on the other hand, tend to schedule experiences in their off hours, since many don’t have the room to accommodate event-goers and shoppers at the same time. Even so, those experiences are designed, at least in part, to attract potential retail customers. Dianne Zenn, the proprietor of Ridgewood’s Secret Studio Store, hosts both the Virtual Pen Society, a writers’ group, and the Not Just Knitting Circle for crafters. “People come in for both,” she says, “and they’re in the store”—by which she means they may buy something then and there or come back later and perhaps bring a friend.
Experiences also help generate word-of-mouth. Nena Kallopoulos, the founder of Englewood’s Drip Medi Spa, hosts vitamin-drip events for corporate and other groups. Not only do they generate new customers (“If they come once, they may become loyal clients and get other services,” she says), they also help generate buzz. “Everyone is posting,” she notes, “so an event also gets you social-media exposure.”
Kethley Parlegreco, who owns the Preservation Society Vintage Shoppe & Studio at The Brownstone Mill in Midland Park, notes that the clients who attend her events—which include felting workshops, matcha pop-ups, pillow-making workshops, fiber-arts meetups, and improv classes—are all potential customers. “While they’re here,” she says, “they’re browsing and they’re shopping.”
And while some experiences are free, many retailers charge attendees a fee, usually modest, which nevertheless means the events garner income as well as customers. “If we’re doing 10 vitamin drips versus two,” says Kallopoulos, “it benefits the business as income.”
For the most part, the experiences offered reflect the products and services being sold, which makes sense: If you’re shopping for yeast, flour and sugar, say, you’d probably be interested in baking classes (and vice versa). Abma’s Farm in Wyckoff, for instance, sells produce and plants and also hosts a workshop that teaches participants how to grow and care for succulents. Tenafly’s Sewncute carries high-end sewing machines and children’s clothing and offers sewing lessons, while Yarn Diva in Hillsdale sells knitting supplies and hosts Knit Fix sessions for customers who’ve dropped a stitch or otherwise undermined their knitting efforts.
Sometimes, though, the experiences on offer reflect a special interest of the proprietor that lies beyond the products proffered. Zenn, for instance, the self-published author of Startown Biyobot, which she describes as “a sci-fi action adventure romcom with LGBTQ elements,” started her writers’ group to create a community of writers facing common challenges. Parlegreco decided to launch an improv workshop in part because she’d met improv performers through her husband, who curates a performing arts space. (In addition, she says, the Brownstone Mill’s acoustics are fabulous, and she wanted to take advantage of them.)
Bayou’s Israel says her workshops grow out of both her own interests—she’s a master of several crafts—and those of the community she works with. This fall, for instance, she’ll be hosting a workshop dedicated to decorating witches’ hats, even though she admits she’s not a huge fan of Halloween.
Customers, of course, gravitate toward experiences that speak to their interests. “I happened to be having dinner at ’Que when someone handed me a bingo card,” says Rutherford resident Carly Russo. “I used to play it as a kid and forgot how much fun it was. Now I’m totally hooked.”
But it seems to be the opportunity to do something—anything, really—in person and with other people that’s the more powerful draw. “The bottom line is that humans are social animals— we need to be with other people,” says Maureen Ellis-Davis, a professor of sociology at Bergen Community College. “We need experiences like these to stay grounded, to feel cared for, and if we don’t have that, we don’t thrive.” Workshops and lessons fill a void that goes beyond the lessons learned. “There seems to be a renewed interest in sewing,” says Parlegreco. “Everyone has a cute, shiny machine in the bottom of their closet, and nobody remembers how to thread the bobbin. YouTube is great for that, but there’s something to be said for sitting there with your machine with experienced and inexperienced sewers alike and just relearning.” And while taking a class in the craft of your choice may not turn you into a skilled artisan, it has other benefits. “We all need crafting,” says Israel. “It’s good for your blood pressure; it’s good for neural connections in the brain; it’s very good when you feel awkward or shy—it’s easier to talk with people while your hands are busy.” She likens what she does to “weaving the fabric of community,” and she could be right.
Hillsdale resident Tina Williams is a regular at Bayou, and what keeps her coming back are the people she’s connected with there. “Five years ago, I became disabled, and I just isolated myself,” she explains. Then a friend suggested she attend one of Bayou’s workshops. The experience, she says, “opened my neural pathways and opened the ability to create community and connections that I had cut myself off from. I will honestly tell you that Bayou saved me.”
There’s a pleasing symmetry to that: The internet ushered in a new era, allowing us to shop, communicate and entertain ourselves from a distance. But in doing so, it not only hurt the brick-and-mortar retailers and local restaurants that once formed the backbone of our communities, it also cut us off—from our downtowns and from one another. Experiential retail could help ailing local businesses and, in the process, help us regain a lost sense of community—not to mention paint a seascape, show off our trivia chops or crochet a mushroom.
