The shop is modeled after a London townhouse in the 1920s, and merry women dressed in black and white maid costumes flitabout the crowd waiting to enter the store.
Instead of curling photographs and yellowing newspapers, we are possessed of a shiny and permanent now, one we flit-click about and so delude ourselves as to our own eternal youth - until, that is, we look down at the wrinkled and liver-spotted hands that rest on the keyboard.