For a few days this week, expect a line of women (and some men) wearing various iterations of the so-called “quiet luxury” uniform—neutral coats, slouchy trousers, cropped jeans, and sleek loafers—overtaking the sidewalk down the block on West 18th Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenues. It began Tuesday, when The Row hosted a private sample sale for friends and family of the brand, before it opened to the public on Wednesday through Saturday.
Still, even friends and family aren’t immune to the indignities of waiting in line. Attendees gossiped about the fanatics who have been waiting since 8 a.m., and—everyone’s shared nemeses—line cutters. When I arrived shortly after 10 a.m., when the doors opened, people had already been waiting for well over an hour, the front of the line still far off.
The Row’s sample sale has become a particular object of fascination because of how opposed a clamoring crowd is to the pristine, untouchable image the brand projects. While Khaite, Manolo Blahnik, and Jimmy Choo proved to be hard to get into, The Row devotees are waiting for hours on end to pay top dollar for clothing that, at first glance, looks fairly simple. But if you know, you know. And if you know, but can’t afford the $1350 cotton shirt you crave, get in line.
“I can’t believe all of these people are on the list,” whispered a young woman named Megan, who arrived at the friends and family sale immediately after deplaning from a cross-country work trip in the hopes of securing the Margaux bag, which retails for $5,000. “I’ve gotta grin and bear it,” she says.
None of the attendees I spoke with at the private sale described themselves as sample sale shoppers. “This is probably the only sample sale that I’ll be attending, ever,” a young woman named Grace says. Many of the attendees tell me that they wouldn’t wait more than an hour and a half or two hours to get inside, even if they ended up breaking that boundary. Grace and her companion, Julian, had been standing in line for an hour and a half, still a decent ways away from the entrance. When I ask how long they would wait, Julian says, “No more than that.” Though he does maintain, “It’s worth the wait.” (The two continued to hold their spot in the line.)
Perhaps so many people were at the sale because they had heard about it on TikTok. Creators, such as @itssaheedat, posted the address and time of the sale online, racking up over 80,000 views, exposing it to more people, and defying exclusivity. Though, per TikTok influencers who got early access, the hotly anticipated shopping event was picked over by noon (with particular disappointment in the bag department).
The next day I returned to face the masses. The people at the front of the line told me that they’ve been waiting since 2 a.m. Toward the end of the block, a group of four young women—Clem, Sophie, Rina, and Anna—sat in a circle on folding chairs. They had been waiting since 5 a.m. “I was really stubborn and didn’t want to get a chair. Then I saw the setup and how long it was going to take, so I ran to Home Depot,” Clem (who is gunning for a pair of the $690 mesh ballet flats and a $1590 oversized pouch bag), said.
On the first day of the public sale, the line spanned three blocks, wrapping around Sixth Avenue and down most of West 19th Street. Clem and her friends were in it for the long haul. “We were saying that if for some reason we didn’t get in by the first day we would go all out and grab a tent,” Clem said. Because of how much time they have spent in line, they didn’t want to walk away empty-handed. “If there were a dream coat, then I would go for it because it’s such a steal, especially given the time that we invested in it,” Rina said.
Jaqui and Leila, who are first-time attendees, agreed. They hired a line-sitter for $40 an hour for three hours beginning at 7 a.m. and still have yet to round the corner of Sixth Avenue onto 18th Street by 10:20 a.m. But for them, the low prices are worth the inflated line-sitting fees and whatever they spend once they get in the door. “Sample sale girl math: it’s free” Leila said. “Since it’s 80% off, I made money,” Jaqui concurred.
But for some people, the line wasn’t worthwhile. Remy, who waited in line for an hour prior to the sale and was still on W 19th, left for work empty-handed. “I’m from Paris. It’s one of my first sample sales in New York and when I saw the line going around the block I was like, ‘Okay, that’s a nightmare,’” he said.
Some attendees dressed for the cold, early morning wake up call, bundled up in scarves and puffers. At the front of the line, one of the young women who had been there since the middle of the night bickered with the security guard, a no-nonsense man in a suit and tie and dark sunglasses, who possibly threatened to kick her out of line given her quick backpedaling. “I’m sorry I’m just frustrated,” she told him. Others balanced their laptops on their forearms, taking work calls, and some sat hunched and defeated on their stools, still eons away from rounding the corner.
Asking people in line for the private sale if I could interview them—and their names—for this story yielded looks of such disgust that you’d think I’d asked them to hand over their firstborn child. Then again, I get it. Some may be worried that they could lose their hard-fought spot on a precarious list; Others may not want to jeopardize their jobs, if they played hooky to be there.
But for the people waiting for the public sale, there was more of a camaraderie. There seemed to be a shared understanding that it’s simply worth it. Even if, in addition to their money, they paid in time. “Honestly, anything will do,” Clem says, her friends in their circle of chairs nodding in agreement.
