“It’s not like Sex and the City, where everybody shoves all their stuff into an implausibly huge closet forever. They rotate and consign. Don’t you?”

“Well, sure. There are online consignment shops too.”

“Yeah, designer dumps where people buy and sell anything with a prestige label. You might as well be rifling through a clearance bin. And so many brick-and-mortar shops are just depressing. You might find what you want, but there’s never this sense that you’re having an experience, that you’re being catered to or valued. You’re embarrassed to tell people where you got that Salvatore Ferragamo bag.”

That was fair enough. All of Jules’s fellow assistants and other colleagues down the ladder did everything they could to save money on clothes and accessories. It was an open, dirty secret, where everyone swapped whispered tips on which secondhand store was having the biggest sale. Nobody liked to admit they couldn’t afford new things.

“The youth market deserves better,” he said, “and I’m going to give it to them.”

Jules leaned forward. Simon’s voice was rising with excitement, and he had a shine in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time. “What are you going to do?”

“Start my own site. It’s called Adrian & Jo.”

“Adrian and…Jo?”

He shrugged. “Thank market research. Generation Z likes names—it makes a business sound like a person, somebody real they can trust. This tested well. The site’s going to be a fully curated luxury experience where customers can buy designer goods at a discount, new or secondhand, and be able to tell their friends where they got it with a sense of pride, not shame.”

“Curated? Like a museum?”

“Exactly. Would you be embarrassed to tell people that you got a Monet from the Louvre instead of right from his easel? Of course not.”

“No, but Monet’s been dead for—”

He glared.

“I get the metaphor,” she conceded.

Simon held up his hands. “Picture a consumer saying this: ‘Adrian & Jo is doing exhibits on Givenchy, Jason Wu, and Miu Miu this month. They’re showcasing how each designer focused on autumnal influences last season, and when you log on you get to talk to a curator.’”

“A what?”

He grinned. “That’s what we’re calling chat support. You know when you go to a shopping site and you get those want some help? text boxes? That, but more upmarket. You create an account, log in, and you can get matched with a dedicated fashion professional who walks you through creating outfits you’ve never thought of before and that nobody else is going to have. Someone who curates your experience.”

“‘Dedicated fashion professional’ means…”

“Interns, obviously. It won’t be rocket science.” He looked at Jules. “Where would you rather shop? That or the clearance bin?”

“Of course I’d rather—”