Changing grades

As Main Street retailing resurges, it is time to revisit how we pull people up and down in our stores. Tokyo provides some inspiration. On a recent visit, my hotel was around the corner from the new Hermès store in Ginza. Each morning on my way to get my dose of legal stimulants at Starbucks, I passed the crowds waiting for the store's ten o'clock opening. White-gloved security guards kept the hordes properly docile. It is a lovely store, and we all wish we had the luxury of crowds outside waiting for us to open our doors so that they could climb our stairs and explore the far corners of our offerings. But not everyone is that lucky.

Getting people to move up or down through a retail space has been an ongoing challenge. The trade-off between high street presence in urban high-density settings and the use of cheaper real estate has been a dilemma for at least two centuries. The automobile for much of the past 50 years allowed us to escape the problem and made the big box possible. But as Americans rediscover urban centers, that old problem returns.

Away from the global luxury retail brands on the main streets of Tokyo's Ginza—in the teen-driven district of Harajuku, in back alleys, basements and upper floors—merchants struggle to lure customers. They use signs, merchandise, music and sidewalk buskers, all to get the customer's commitment to expend calories on the stairs. The Harajuku Citibank location has a single ATM at street level, but the rest of the branch is on the second floor.

Seducing people to go down—especially if below ground—has historically been tougher. The possible sight lines are horrible, and our sense of direction suffers with no natural cues or orientation points. The contrast from the comfort of the womb to the unsettled feeling of claustrophobia is telling. Historically, we can cite two successful strategies. Filene's Basement in downtown Boston used the lure of savings to pull customers down. That Washington Street location remains a sterling example of one of the most active retail environments in North America. Also, for a time, Macy's Cellar succeeded based on good marketing and very focused assortment.

Going up is easier. The early department stores developed escalators and elevators to get people to change levels. It was very civilized. The descriptions of nurses armed with smelling salts who met people coming off those escalators and elevators are priceless. The idea that rapidly changing levels caused faintness is testament to a bygone era. I suspect it was 19th century guerrilla marketing.

Making the grade change transition interesting is a common tactic. Yet in most department stores, elevators and escalators have no redeeming features. The irony is that as we ride, we'll look at anything, even if it is just the floor or ceiling.

Two exceptions come to mind. At the San Francisco Shopping Centre on Market Street, the escalators cut across the building's soaring rotunda. The ride is almost thrilling enough for Six Flags. The second is Lowes Lincoln Square Theatre in Manhattan, where making the transition from street to theater is a joyous ride into the unknown as the escalator ascends a visually stimulating open skyway filled with theater imagery.

For both up and down there are other solutions. One interesting transition is "peeking" into the infrastructure of the building itself. Tickling our curiosity is the essence of good merchandising. Restaurants have used windows into the kitchen to turn bad tables into desirable ones because people like to get a glimpse of the inner workings.

When looking for ideas about changes in grade, the back streets of Tokyo have no panaceas, just good attempts. Go do some exploring.