They say you can’t buy taste, and few figures embodied this sartorial wisdom more profoundly than Carolyn Bessette Kennedy. Her indelible influence on fashion, particularly during the minimalist-chic era of the 1990s, wasn’t about ostentatious display or flaunting expensive labels needlessly. Instead, it was a masterclass in high-low dressing: a thrifted jacket artfully paired with designer loafers, or, most famously, a coveted Hermès Birkin bag alongside a simple, unassuming drugstore headband. This paradoxical elegance cemented her status as a timeless style icon, a legacy now experiencing a vibrant resurgence with the run of Love Story, a dramatized series chronicling her captivating relationship with John F. Kennedy Jr. throughout that pivotal decade. Their courtship, often under the intense glare of the public eye, makes for a gripping watch, but for many, Carolyn’s style emerges as a compelling character in its own right. We see her navigate the high-stakes world of fashion parties during her tenure at Calvin Klein, effortlessly slipping into sleek little black dresses that defined the decade’s understated glamour. Then, with equal aplomb, she strides down sun-streamed New York streets, perhaps in perfectly cropped Levi’s jeans, a crisp white shirt, and elegant penny loafers – an ensemble that remains effortlessly chic even today. Her aesthetic was a delicate balance of sophistication and accessibility, a testament to her innate understanding of personal style rather than transient trends. She favored clean lines, neutral palettes, and impeccable tailoring, often turning to designers like Narciso Rodriguez and Jil Sander, but always infusing their creations with her unique, understated flair. It was this discerning eye that allowed her to elevate even the most mundane accessories into signature statements. For years, Carolyn’s aesthetic has been a major talking point for fashion enthusiasts and stylists alike, and I, too, have long admired her understated elegance. However, there’s one particular detail that has always captivated me above all others: her headbands. She famously pushed back that long, silky blonde hair, not with an elaborate Prada hair slide or a bedazzled D&G clip, but with a humble $30 acetate tortoiseshell headband. The fascinating detail? It was purchased from a historic yet unassuming pharmacy in Greenwich Village, C.O. Bigelow. And, remarkably, they still sell them today. Just a few months before the aforementioned series premiere reignited widespread interest in Carolyn’s life and style, I embarked on my first-ever trip to New York City from the United Kingdom. As someone who grew up on the aspirational narratives of Sex and the City – a show that painted New York as the ultimate backdrop for ambition, fashion, and self-discovery – and subsequently pursued a career as a magazine journalist, this trip was a monumental personal milestone. Armed with a meticulously curated list of iconic spots to tick off, Carolyn’s favorite pharmacy, C.O. Bigelow, and the mission to secure one of those legendary headbands, sat firmly at the very top. It wasn’t just about a purchase; it was about connecting with a piece of cultural history and a tangible link to an icon whose style felt both aspirational and attainable. C.O. Bigelow, nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, isn’t just any pharmacy; it is America’s oldest apothecary, a venerable institution founded in 1838. Its history predates much of modern New York, a living testament to enduring quality and community service. Carolyn Bessette Kennedy is far from the only famous face to have graced its aisles over the centuries. Lore has it that Thomas Edison, in the early days of his lightbulb experiments, reportedly sought out their homemade soothing balm after burning his fingers. Eleanor Roosevelt, a woman known for her dignified presence, was a regular patron, relying on their curated selection of toiletries. Today, the pharmacy remains a family affair, run by a dedicated fourth-generation member, and the team still reverently leafs through handwritten notebooks, drawing inspiration from original formulas that have been passed down through generations. This deep-rooted heritage contributes significantly to its unique charm, offering a stark contrast to the often sterile and impersonal experience of modern retail. On my very first day in the bustling city, with a sense of anticipation bubbling, I set off. My journey began with a subway ride to 14th Street – 6th Avenue, followed by a leisurely stroll along the picturesque edge of the West Village. The neighborhood itself is a character, renowned for its charming brownstones, beautiful independent stores, inviting cafés, and impossibly well-dressed residents who seem to effortlessly embody the city’s inherent style. C.O. Bigelow occupies a dream of a location, steeped in cultural significance. Carrie Bradshaw’s iconic Perry Street apartment is less than 10 minutes away, and the likes of Magnolia Bakery, the chic coffee spot Do Not Feed The Alligators, and trendy boutiques like Doen and Ganni are all nearby, creating a vibrant ecosystem of fashion, food, and history. The pharmacy’s façade was exactly as I had imagined, perhaps even more captivating in person. It exuded an old-world design, with elegant, twirling fonts scrawled across its large windows announcing its name and purpose, complemented by ornate signage that whispered tales of centuries past. Stepping inside felt akin to stepping back in time. Creamy mosaic tiles lay underfoot, worn smooth by generations of patrons, while rich wooden shelves and furnishings lined the expansive space, brimming with an array of intriguing products. Overhead, grand chandeliers cast a warm, inviting glow, illuminating the meticulously arranged displays. It was an immersive experience, a palpable sense of history clinging to every corner. The shelves were adorned with C.O. Bigelow’s own signature lines, all packaged in apothecary-style, amber-tinted jars with labels that looked almost faded, as if plucked directly from a bygone era. Hand creams, body washes, cleansers, lotions, and even shave creams – each product felt steeped in tradition. It would be easy for such an aesthetic to feel gimmicky in a contemporary setting, but here, it was the real deal, a genuine continuation of a centuries-old practice. Over the years, certain products have become synonymous with the brand, none more so than their beloved lip salves. These cult-favorite balms come in an array of delightful flavors like rose, lavender, and apple, housed in charming pastel-colored tins. Across the counters, huge, inviting bowls overflowed with these tins, and customers, myself included, eagerly grabbed them like nostalgic sweets from a corner shop. However, it only took a moment to realize that word was definitively out about a particular item. While the shelves of artisanal soaps, high-quality hair brushes, and exotic perfumes were certainly busy, it was the hair accessories section that truly buzzed with an almost palpable energy. It could be likened to a mosh pit, albeit a very polite one, with excitable teenagers jostling good-naturedly with women in their 30s (me!) for a chance to acquire a piece of Bessette Kennedy’s iconic aesthetic. Nervously, I approached the throng. There were rows upon rows of elegant crocodile clips and hair slides, which also garnered a fair bit of attention, but my focus, and the collective focus of many, remained on the headbands. Out of nowhere, amidst the gentle chaos, I found myself adopted by a group of perky American teens. "You should try this one," a girl suggested kindly, extending a cream-toned tortoiseshell headband she had carefully selected from the myriad of darker browns and plain black options. The others chimed in with agreement: "Yeah, that’s the best one for your skin tone. And, don’t be scared to try it on – they’re not plastic so they’ll bend!" It turned out these savvy girls had heard about the headband craze from TikTok, where an influencer had shared Bessette Kennedy’s accessory trends, sparking a collective pilgrimage to the Greenwich Village apothecary. They, like me, were here to snag their own slice of style history. The headbands themselves, I learned, are not manufactured by the pharmacy. Instead, they are sourced from a heritage French brand, Charles Wahba, established in 1959. This detail only added to their allure. The brand has no website, no social media presence – a pleasingly aloof, almost secretive detail that feels utterly fitting for the elusive and effortlessly chic CBK. They are stocked only in select, discerning boutiques, adding to their mystique and desirability. I deliberated carefully over the classic 1.5-inch style, finally settling on a sophisticated beige and black tortoiseshell pattern. Minutes later, I emerged onto the bustling pavement, $30 lighter, clutching my C.O. Bigelow bag. A wave of satisfaction washed over me as I mentally assembled a myriad of headband-worthy outfits. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Not only did I now own the exact style Carolyn Bessette Kennedy famously wore, but the experience of witnessing women and girls from different generations bonding over a shared fashion reference – advising, encouraging, and swapping stories – felt unexpectedly moving and profoundly connective. It was more than a purchase; it was a participation in a shared cultural moment. While there are hundreds of videos celebrating this iconic chemist on Instagram and TikTok, the phenomenon isn’t just about Carolyn Bessette Kennedy. Old-fashioned pharmacies, it seems, are having a remarkable moment, undergoing an unexpected renaissance in the digital age. Last year in London, John Bell & Croyden, a pharmacy with a staggering 225-year history, made headlines for its innovative approach to stocking emerging beauty names alongside its traditional offerings. Established in 1798, it quickly became known as a cult, in-the-know favorite for Marylebone locals and has managed to stay at the forefront of the industry despite its ancient roots. Originally, every product was made on-site, often tailored to individual needs, reflecting a personalized approach to wellness that predates mass production. For a long time, John Bell & Croyden even held a prestigious Royal Warrant as pharmacists to Queen Elizabeth II, a testament to its unparalleled quality and trusted service. Its success highlights a growing desire for places that blend history with contemporary relevance. Another prominent example of this global trend is Officine Universelle Buly in Paris, a brand meticulously inspired by an 18th-century pharmacist. Though it only opened its doors in 2014, Buly is renowned for its whimsical, vintage style and its unwavering commitment to an immersive customer experience. Its stores are designed to transport visitors back to the 1800s, featuring polished walnut wall paneling, gleaming marble-topped counters, and antique faucetry. The brand offers instant personalization, with staff elegantly scribing initials across combs and cases, transforming a simple purchase into a cherished keepsake. While there are now 14 branches across the globe, the Parisian stores, particularly the Marais location, famously see two-hour waiting times most days, especially after going viral on social media in 2023. I can attest to this phenomenon, having patiently waited myself. Last autumn, I joined the extensive line at the Marais branch (accompanied by a notably patient friend) and stood for nearly three hours, simply for the privilege of stepping inside. Around me were families, couples, and solo shoppers, all queuing for more than just a purchase; they sought an experience, a connection. What, then, is the enduring draw of these heritage pharmacies in an increasingly digitized world? Perhaps the appeal lies in their gloriously analogue nature. They predate the endless scroll, the algorithmic recommendations, and the instant gratification of online shopping. Before beauty hauls and affiliate links dominated our feeds, there were inviting counters lined with amber bottles and handwritten labels, where one didn’t "add to basket" but rather asked for expert advice. In a world obsessed with mass production, fleeting trends, and immediate consumption, these spaces offer something far rarer: specificity, history, and a tangible sense of place. There’s a comforting feeling that what you’re buying hasn’t been engineered for everyone – even if, technically, it has. My headband might not have been mixed behind the counter, but the act of acquiring it was deeply intentional. You can’t buy them online; you have to go in, try on your style, and select it by hand. It’s a deliberate choice, a mindful act of consumption. Like style, at its very best, always is. A version of this story originally appeared in Condé Nast Traveller UK. Post navigation From a blush pink cottage to a glamorous lakeside retreat.
