Time for a riddle: You own a trendy, sophisticated retail store that targets younger professional men of a certain taste. The kind of men that would rather resuscitate Condi than patronize (and be patronized by) “the mall”, would rather do time at Sing Sing than shop at a Wal*Mart and think a platinum Amex is just an intermediate step on the way to a Black Card (and maybe even an exotic black wife, but not Condi).

Competition abounds, and although a plurality of your products are proprietary or line exclusives, there’s a Nordstrom down the block where wives are buying very similar stuff for their husbands at very similar prices.

What do you do to continue attracting customers? The answer depends on who your customers are.

If they’re young adults living in a Prozac-and-Ritalin-laced world order, chances are they’re looking for something with more allure than a wallet crafted from rare Italian leather. More accurately, they’re looking for someone—someone that offers a warm alternative to an indifferent world. They’re looking for love: to feel it, to touch it, to take it.

As in, “I’ll take it!”: the siren cry of retaildom. Now you must simply capture that feeling and give it to them.

Love means different things to different people and at different points in their lives. Early on it means physical attraction, adherence to a never-ending list combining the untenable and the unattainable. It means calling the shots, following along or hanging on for the ride, depending on your physiological preferences.

Later, some of us wise up and find love in the one that’s willing to compromise, the one that listens and learns and takes your advice and inspires you to do the same; someone that wants to—has to—tell you the truth; someone that forces you to realize the things you thought mattered a lot, actually don’t matter that much at all. Not someone that always thinks the way you think—someone that makes you rethink the way you think.

There’s a reason this kind of love is most often found in film or contained within the pages of a novel: it’s hard, it’s rare and it defies all convention.

Paco Underhill wrote, “A chair says we care.” I say, get up off that chair and show your customer how much you care. It’s something he probably doesn’t see, hear or feel often enough in his normal life.

The time has passed when a pseudo-hug from a Hooters hostess will do. If she’s burdened, carry her bag back to the cash wrap. If he’s sweaty, offer him a glass of water.

Do anything you can to differentiate yourself from the Macy’s, from the Marshall’s, even from the Neiman Marcus.

Your customers, many of whom are single, divorced or unhappy in their couplings, will notice and respond by doing exactly what they do when they encounter love in real life:

1. Opening their wallets and spending boatloads of money
2. Returning constantly for a fix of feeling

Now, dip your feet in the waters of empathy and love thy customer. As long as one doesn’t propose to you (or actually buy you a boat), everything will be okay.