A Tribute to Daffy's

 

For me, one of the advantages of living in New Jersey is the plethora of shopping malls within a fifteen mile radius of my house. When I first moved here, I remember the heady excitement of loading my double stroller into the trunk, and spending each winter afternoon at a different mall with my two babies in tow. I was on a first name basis with the employees of Gap, Children’s Place and Old Navy, and I knew exactly on which day of the week the sale items would get their final markdown. I went on this way for a while, unaware that I would soon broaden my shopping horizons. Then I discovered Daffy’s.

For those of you who are not familiar with my former favorite store, their slogans “Clothing Bargains for Millionaires” and “High Fashion. Low Prices” were pretty accurate descriptions of what they were all about.  They were stocked with high end European designer clothing and accessories at absurdly low prices. They sold kids’ Italian shoes at a fraction of the price of the regular shoe stores, and every item in the store was unique and trendy with a sophisticated European flair.

The best part was that there were six Daffy’s stores within driving distance of where I live. If I found something I loved, albeit in the wrong size, I would simply try another Daffy’s location, and usually after hitting all six, I was successful in procuring my treasure. It was not uncommon for my fellow Daffy’s aficionados and me to go straight from one Daffy’s store to another, and sometimes we would even manage to get to a third one. We told ourselves (and our husbands!) it was all in the name of saving money. We were outfitting our children in European designers at Target prices!

My fellow Daffy’s shoppers and I had it all down to a science. The kids’ summer merchandise would arrive in the stores in February, and despite the frigid temperatures, there would be a mad rush for shorts and linen sundresses. Then in the sweltering July heat, the stores would begin stocking their fall line, and we would cajole our poor kids into modeling the wool and velvet ensembles that we had schlepped home in our overstuffed yellow Daffy’s bags.

When I was new in town, many of my closest friendships originated on the Daffy’s checkout line.  It was a great ice breaker to approach a fellow Daffy’s addict with “Didn’t I see you yesterday at the Daffy’s in Paramus?” We would then admire one another’s purchases and exchange information about which location had the largest selection of kids’ outerwear.  Most of my Daffy’s friends perpetually had overstuffed yellow shopping bags in the trunks of their minivans, and during carpool we would bring out the loot and compare our bargains.

So you can imagine my sense of panic, when I began to hear rumors that Daffy’s was going out of business. I refused to believe that it would happen, until it was confirmed by favorite Daffy’s employee, Delilah in Secaucus. I had known Delilah for about ten years, and I had carefully cultivated our relationship to the point that she consistently made exceptions and allowed me to return my merchandise after the strictly enforced fourteen day return policy deadline. After completing my transaction that day, she tearfully proclaimed that Daffy’s was indeed closing down and that she would be losing her job of twenty years.

It seemed that everyone was mourning Daffy’s impending demise. Even friends of mine who were not Daffy’s shoppers, called or texted me to express their condolences. A close friend of mine, who spent hours in Daffy’s in search of matching outfits for her four lovely daughters, was recovering from a c section at the time, and I debated whether or not to relay the devastating news to her, as I wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to handle the shock. Another acquaintance literally began to hyperventilate upon hearing the distressing news. She had planned to outfit her entire family from Daffy’s for her son’s upcoming Bar Mitzvah. My mother in Toronto, who always made sure her visits here included a couple of Daffy’s excursions, took the news really hard. After hanging up the phone with her, I got the feeling that she wouldn’t be coming to visit quite so often in the future.

And so began six weeks of Daffy’s marathon shopping.  At first they advertised that all merchandise was 10 to 30 percent off. The question then was whether to buy immediately or perhaps wait for further markdowns.  Most of us figured that by the time everything went fifty percent off, the pickings would be really slim, so we lived each Daffy’s excursion as if it were our last. Some of my friends purchased wardrobes for their kids in the next five sizes, and one woman even confided that she bought an entire layette in both pink and blue because she was contemplating having another baby. I would eagerly await the weekly email from Daffy’s, as they went from ten percent off all merchandise, to thirty percent, and finally, at the bitter end, to seventy percent off the entire store.

It was heartbreaking to see the once teeming racks of great clothing now practically bare, and the “Going Out of Business” sign in the window, never failed to elicit torrents of tears. Everything was final sale, so even at the steeply discounted prices; I would have to make quick decisions which was no easy feat for an impulse shopper like me. The sense of desperation was palpable amongst the shoppers as people literally fought over the merchandise.

Even my husband got into the Daffy’s frenzy, as he scouted out the Daffy’s near his office, coming home from work each day, laden with the bright yellow bags.  My fellow Daffy’s companions and I would lament as we met each other in those final days, frantically trying to score one last great Daffy’s deal.

Sadly, toward the end there was really nothing left to buy. I would go almost daily, tearing up at the sight of the Going Out of Business sign, scouring the empty racks for just one last bargain.  On the final day that the store was open, it appeared desolate with just a few racks in the middle of the cavernous space. I halfheartedly riffled through the dregs, unable to come to terms with the reality that for the first time in my entire Daffy’s shopping experience, there was absolutely nothing to buy.  I walked out empty-handed, as the Daffy’s door closed behind me for the last time.

It’s been about three months since Daffys’ demise, and the fact is, I really miss it. Just the other day, a neighbor who calls upon me for shopping advice, asked me where she could find a suit for her ten year old son. “Nowhere.” I proclaimed mournfully. “I used to buy all my sons’ suits at Daffy’s. If I had to buy a suit now, I don’t even know where I would go.” She offered her condolences to me, and assured me that I would soon recover from the loss. On the phone with a friend recently, she bemoaned the fact that there was nowhere to shop anymore, and that there was a huge Daffy’s sized void in her life.

My collection of Daffy’s shopping bags has become prized collectors’ items and I am loathe to part with any item that I bought there, worn out as it may be. The merchandise that still has the tags attached to them hold places of honor in my closet, and I am certain that it’s just a matter of time before they’re worth a small fortune on eBay.

When I meet my Daffy’s friends now in Century or Loehmann’s we cluster together and wistfully reminisce about our glorious days in Daffy’s. We still compare our bargains on the checkout line, but they seem lackluster, and everyone will admit that there is no store that provided the sense of exhilaration that Daffy’s did.

Daffy’s, we miss you.