Yesterday, I was cruising through Hayes Valley with my partner in crime Dawn, and I noticed several folks inside the space that was up until recently Fabuloid – and they were painting over the shop’s signature hot pink (a color scheme we strongly endorse). All in preparation for a new store called Plantation, apparently arriving in Sept.
Seems Fabuloid is on a mission to leave as many hot pink storefronts around the city as possible. I still see the one on 18th – made even weirder looking by the Wong Fat (I think that’s what it says) fish market sign – everytime I drive to World Gym (which I love). What happened with the Hayes Valley space? I feel like it was just a blip on the San Francisco fashion continuum.
And, as much as I love Hayes V., they need some more indie peeps along there. Well, indie peeps that are selling indie stuff and not exclusively high-high-high-end designers. Even I – with obsessive compulsive shopping disorder completely in tact – could not bring myself to buy anything yesterday. It’s like, just too much.
Okay, I did buy something. A sandwich at Momi Toby’s on Laguna. And I saw that the Minnie Wilde shop that was once across the street was getting painted over as well. My pal Dawn says the shop closed up to concentrate on the online business. The Mission outpost is apparently alive and well.
Hayes V. also really needs an inexpensive nail place. We went into Azalea and were like, um, $47 for a pedi? I mean, I’d spend that on some occasions, but I’d rather go to a little day spa instead of a clothing shop with semi-unfriendly sales ladies. As it happened, we abandoned Hayes V. – after gelato from Cafe Grillades (which has very nice folks running it) – for Noe V. Cheap pedis – although I was stabbed in the toe by my technician and Dawn’s technician was vehemently against her choice of black polish.
Ah, what a Saturday.
Then it was off to San Anselmo for some grilled oysters at another cohort’s house. Grilled oyster fest quickly devolved into dance party of almost 30-somethings and one confused dog who could not understand why 30-somethings were jumping around like crazy to Mickey Avalon – without tennis balls no less. Usually, when humans jump and run, tennis balls are involved, the dog told me later.