Shopping on 5th Avenue always makes my heart happy.
Even when I was an intern, the kind who fetched coffee for senior editors who did not know my name but somehow knew my order, I was happy. Not because I enjoyed being underpaid and over caffeinated, but because the errands came with an unspoken bonus. I could take the long way and pass the windows.
5th Avenue is the city’s greatest performance. The set design is flawless. The costumes are aspirational. The supporting cast is everyone who has ever wanted to look like they belong somewhere they cannot quite afford yet. I used to slip into stores for ten seconds just to touch the fabric on the New Arrivals rack and remind myself that beautiful things exist.
Technically, 5th Avenue runs from Washington Square Park all the way up to Harlem. But when people say shopping on Fifth, they usually mean the luxury heavy stretch between roughly 49th Street and 60th Street, where the flagships live and the window displays are basically theatre. This is where you will find Saks, Bergdorf Goodman, and Tiffany and Co. Central Park starts at 59th Street, so by the time you reach the Plaza end of the avenue you get that perfect New York contrast, money on one side, nature on the other, and tourists everywhere.
Today I am taking you with me on my most indulgent ritual, a full Sunday wander. No meetings. No deadlines. Just me, you, and the city being its dramatic self.
Stumptown Coffee Roasters in Ace Hotel, 18 W 29th Street, New York City
Sunday is the one day I refuse to pretend I am an early riser. Most stores do not open until 11 or noon, which means you can sleep in without guilt and still make it look intentional. I live in Chelsea, so I start with a latte to go from Stumptown Coffee Roasters inside the Ace Hotel on West 29th Street and Broadway. It is strong enough to qualify as emotional support.
Macys Department Store, corner of W 34th Street and Broadway
Then I walk up Broadway until I hit Macy’s on 34th. Yes, Macy’s. I can already hear someone saying, Eliza, you write about Fifth Avenue and you still go to Macy’s. Correct. I contain multitudes. Also, Macy’s is where you can see what people are actually buying, not just what they are photographing.
I always do one thing I learned in college and never stopped doing. I scan the Last Act racks, which is Macy’s sale and clearance section. There is no shame in finding a perfect piece at a criminally low price. If anything, it is character building. My mother would agree.
From Macy’s I cut across toward 5th Avenue to avoid Times Square crowds. On the way I often get pulled into the smaller Zara on the approach, more boutique than chaos, and occasionally good for a quick trendy thing I will regret in three weeks.
Inside the New York Public Library, 5th Avenue NYC
By 40th Street you hit the New York Public Library, one of my favourite buildings in the city. It always makes me think of Carrie Bradshaw on the steps in Sex and the City, iconic, dramatic, and unfortunately about to have a terrible day. We are keeping it moving.
From 49th Street the high end brands start appearing and the street energy changes. You can feel it. The windows get more theatrical, the doormen stand a little straighter, and suddenly everyone is walking like they have somewhere important to be.
Beauty Department in Saks Fifth Avenue
I always stop at Saks Fifth Avenue and head straight to beauty first. It is the most dangerous department because it is built to convince you that you are one serum away from becoming a better person. Two notes. Do not wear fragrance shopping. You will be sprayed immediately. And if you enter the beauty floor without a plan, you will leave with a plan you did not agree to.
I restock the products I genuinely use. I cannot live without a Dior Lip Glow in my bag. And lately I have been obsessed with Byroe’s celery serum, because apparently I am the kind of woman who has celery serum opinions now.
Then I wander upstairs and remind myself of a basic truth. I work in fashion, and fashion does not pay like people imagine it does. I am in my early thirties and only just finished paying off my student loans. Designer shopping is reserved for my future, along with the idea that New York apartments will ever feel reasonably priced. That said, I have a wish list. And sitting at the top of it like a smug little fantasy is a black Balenciaga Hampton bag.
Cartier Store, 5th Avenue NYC
Across from Saks Fifth Avenue I like to cut over toward Rockefeller Center. Banana Republic is one of those reliable stops, especially if you want something polished without the price tag giving you heart palpitations. And if I am lucky, Ralph Lauren’s coffee truck is parked nearby, which means I get to have my second coffee with a side of Americana branding. New York will sell you a feeling with caffeine. Honestly, it is efficient.
Ralph’s Coffee Truck outside Banana Republic, Rockefeller Centre, 5th Avenue
I always glance at St Patrick’s Cathedral, because it is impossible not to. And then there is Cartier, which I treat the way I treat museum exhibits, respectfully and from a distance.
A little further up I always pause where Henri Bendel used to be. If you know, you know. Its absence still feels personal.
My love for Bendel started when my mother took me there as a little girl. She worked in banking, serious job, sensible suits, but she had the soul of a fashion designer who ended up living someone else’s plan. Bendel was her escape hatch. She loved anything that felt like an event, a fragrance launch, a lipstick counter, a store opening with free champagne and a woman telling you you would look radiant in a shade you would never choose for yourself.
She would dress us up and make a day of it. Afterwards we would go to Barneys on Madison and have lunch at Fred’s. If I finished my spaghetti bolognese I was allowed cake. My mother made me feel like a Park Avenue princess for the price of a slice.
Barneys is gone now. Bendel is gone. It was a rough few years for nostalgic New Yorkers and women who treat retail like romance. My mother and I still shop together when we can, and it is always a trip down memory lane, except now I am old enough to notice the fine print.
Tiffany & Co Store, 5th Avenue NYC
A quick stop at Tiffany’s cheers me up every time. I do not even need to buy anything. Just standing there among the blue boxes feels like stepping into someone else’s life for a minute.
Then I head into Bergdorf Goodman, where I inevitably spot a celebrity. Sometimes A list, sometimes someone I recognise only because my brain stores pop culture like it is a survival skill. Either way, they are always in there, and they always look like they have never carried their own bag.
By the time I reach the edge of Central Park I hit my usual crossroads. Walk through the park, keep going up Fifth toward the Met, or drift over to the Plaza for a glass of rosé and some people watching. More often than not, I choose the Plaza. Not because it is practical, but because it is New York, and I am occasionally weak.
I sit at the bar, rest my feet, and listen to the city tell on itself. Sometimes I eavesdrop, not maliciously, more like research. Once I sat beside two women discussing a Hamptons weekend, an Italian holiday, and a husband having an affair. It was like overhearing Real Housewives in the wild, except with better coats.
Fifth Avenue, NYC
That is what I love about 5th Avenue. It is fashion, yes. But it is also story. Everyone is performing something, status, happiness, ease, and if you pay attention, you can usually hear what is real underneath.
That is a typical Sunday on 5th for me. Coffee, windows, nostalgia, the occasional moral reckoning, and at least one moment where I almost convince myself I am the kind of woman who buys diamonds casually. I am not. But I do know how to look. And I will be taking you with me.
P.S. This post contains affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission if you purchase through them at no extra cost to you. I only share what I genuinely like, wear, or would happily put on my wish list. Consider it a small way to support the work and yes, occasionally, the shopping habit.
