It is 1:30 AM. And I am stumbling through the shopping center at the bottom of the Cosmopolitan Hotel in Las Vegas, having consumed way too much Knob Creek and having lost way too much money at the Black Jack table (I should probably not hit on a 17 hoping to draw a 3 or a 4, but good bourbon will cloud your judgment.)
That's when I noticed Assouline.
Despite the late hour and the self-pity, I did have the good sense to whip out my iPhone and take a picture of this ill-named high end boutique wedged between the Hermes and Louis Vitton.
To be honest I have no idea what they sell at Assouline. I never bothered to look past the window. I suspect I was still giggling about the name, not unlike Beavis and Butthead, "Eh-eh-eh, it says ASS."
But I do have a hard time imagining the owners sitting in a room and choosing this name for their retail establishment.
"We have some excellent choices on the table but we have to pick a name that speaks to the upscale shopper and reflects our refined taste and discriminating sophistication. I think we can all agree that the right, and only, name we can go with is, Assouline."
If that taxes the imagination, try to picture an excited shopper returning home to the Upper West Side and showing her fellow Gotham socialites the treasures she secured in Nevada.
"Look at this beautiful watch I bought. It's a one of a kind."
"That is gorgeous. Where did you get that?"
"This wonderful boutique at The Cosmospolitan. It's called Assouline."
"Assouline? I must stop there."
"I also got this fabulous purse from a shop across the way, the Douche Baggery."