Last week, I had the opportunity to meet with Alice Chou (above), the owner of Alice's Floral Designs in the International District, and interview her as part of a project for work. Ever since that interview, I haven't stopped thinking about florists.
I've always thought a florist was where you could buy a bouquet of roses for a loved one or where I could get a cute houseplant. Beyond that, I didn't really think much else about this place. Something that didn't occur to me before last week was how a florist is a place that gets a very unique look into a person’s life, and ultimately, a unique look into humanity.
As a full-service florist, Alice's shop provides floral arrangements for a variety of events. Yes, they provide bouquets for Valentine's day, they do weddings, they do banquets, they do celebrations. But they also do sympathy services for when someone dies: like a spray, which are those large arrangements on stands you see at funerals and arrangements that you put on a casket.
I started to think about what being a florist might be like during the time of a pandemic. During our interview, I asked Alice and her daughter Tracy to share when they first felt their business impacted by COVID-19. They said that around Lunar New Year last year, they got a bunch of cancellations for banquets that families and organizations would hold around the new year. As summer came around, they got cancellations for weddings and other celebrations that couldn't be held in large groups and in person. Then, a more sobering thought occurred to me in that they probably got more orders for sympathy services as the year dragged on. How haunting it must be to see the world through the eyes of a florist during a global pandemic.
There aren't many places like Alice’s that get this kind of special access into a person's life. A florist sees you on some of your happiest days, like a wedding. But they also see you when there is loss and death. They don't really see you on your so-so days, or your meh days. You don't really buy flowers for someone, or yourself, on average days. (Although, if you DO do that, I think that's amazing and I think there should be more of that kind of flower buying mentality in this world.)
That got me wondering if there are other places like this that see us only at our highest and at our lowest. There aren't many places that can hold space for that spectrum of feelings and experiences. It's not necessarily a representative view of someone's life, but in that moment you are given a point of reference. Single frames from a movie. A grocery store doesn't have that kind of acute and spotty relationship with the human experience. Not the gas station. Not a cafe. Maybe someone like a bartender? Maybe a karaoke joint? Maybe I just really miss going to bars with my friends and singing karaoke until 1AM.
With so much time at home these days, I am desperately missing those daily, small but important, interactions with strangers we have been robbed of because of COVID (see article from The Atlantic: The Pandemic Has Erased Entire Categories of Friendship). The coworker who asks you how your weekend was, the restaurant owner you chat with when you pick up your to go order, the grocery store worker who helps you find the five spice powder, the elder living across the street that you always wave to. All of these interactions, as quick as some are, make me feel seen. Because of COVID, these interactions now always have a hint of potential danger to them. I’m always second guessing myself. Is my mask on tightly enough? Am I standing far enough away? COVID has made us distrusting and cautious towards each other when what we probably need more of right now is connection. Maybe that's why I felt so compelled by Alice's shop. She sort of gets to temporarily break down that barrier and experience a bit of human connection. These days, I feel like I experience all of my emotions, a few highs but mostly numb lows, in solitude within the four walls of my apartment. Alice gets to share joy and sadness with people daily.
Why do we send each other flowers? Certainly, part of it is protocol and we do what we're supposed to do. But maybe sometimes it's because flowers can say what we don't know how to say. If only there was a bouquet that says, “Hey, I really miss seeing your face and I hope we can get some food together when this is all over” or “Hey, I’m not ignoring you. I’m just really tired all the time and don’t have energy to respond. Miss you.”
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All of this to say, please support your local florist and every other small, mom and pop, immigrant and refugee-owned, neighborhood business if you are able to!! If you do buy flowers, make sure to cut off an inch off the stems before you put it in water and change out the water every few days to keep things aerated and fresh.
Photographs by An Huynh