In a word, Wingtip. I am not a shopper, browser, gawker or bargain hunter. Wingtip might change that. In a building that was formerly home to the Bank of Italy (think vaulted ceilings of varying depths ornately trimmed, marbled floors, and bronzed counters originally employed by bank tellers) Wingtip could convert me to a shopper. It is the one-stop shop for men. Clothes of great quality. Must-have gadgetry and kits that were here before unknown. A fly fishing shop. A tailor for handmade suits in the basement sharing space with safety deposit boxes of a bygone era. A barber. I am here chasing curiosity. Four years ago when I was looking for scent kits on whiskey for my course, Wingtip appeared to be the only American source of these boxes, Le Nez by Jean Lenoir. Now, on a whiskey trip, I seek out the shop, its club and inspirational source, Ami Arad. The shop is a thing of beauty and wonder. However, it pales in comparison to the club ten floors above whose description I will save for another day. For now, retreat here when you find yourself adjacent to the Transamerica pyramid.