Dispute this if you must, but I am fairly certain the faceless manikins wearing extremely cute designer outfits whispered high-frequency verbal commands, like: "Go ahead, spend $1,200 on this jacket. You've got plastic. Use it." I resisted, of course, but many did not.
Jazzy music wafted above gleaming white tile floors. Shoppers lounged on couches in dressing rooms, leafing through coffee-table books about Andy Warhol. Friendly clerks offered to assist customers in all manner (even a facial and massage in a private spa room away from the crowds). Eager faces lined up to be brushed with expensive French powders. Neighbors greeted neighbor, after having slogged through a Nordy-less couple of years. "Isn't this great!" they cooed to each other while ogling this summer's Roman sandals and patent-leather stilettos.
Nordstrom has returned to the Valley.