‘Any problem – mental, physical or romantic – can be solved by a trip to a big fancy supermarket’

When you are having an off day, what brings you back from the brink?

Do you go for a walk on the beach? Trauma dump on a friend, get a blow dry or call your counsellor? Do you meditate, read a book or get reiki healing from a girl practising the technique from a shed in your local estate? 

Well, when my mood is taking a nosedive I like to do none of the above. Instead of making healthy choices and participating in activities proven to improve a person’s mental situation, I do one thing and one thing only. I get off my backside, pull up my Lululemon leggings, throw on my 4th Arq fleece and say to the world: “I’m going to big fancy Dunnes.”

There is no better feeling than entering a big fancy Dunnes Stores. It’s majesty in motion. Art in real time. If Michelangelo was reincarnated and asked to create another sculpture akin to his masterpiece of David, he would have built a mega Dunnes Stores on the outskirts of a town in the Midlands. It’s a feast for the senses, a godsend for the girlies who need retail therapy to shun the bad thoughts. 

More and more Dunnes Stores are rebranding across the country, moving from the humble store that housed the St Bernard brand into something luxurious and aspirational. They appear in towns and cities across Ireland and like moths to a flame, a new generation of fans flock to the car parks. One quick scroll through TikTok reveals just how much influence the store has on both millennials and Gen-Z. Stores like Supervalu have since followed suit, making supermarkets a bougie experience and not somewhere that we simply endure the weekly shop. 

 

@vinnym21 Have you been to ?FANCY DUNNES? ? #fancydunnes #dunnesstores #dunnes #sushi #dateidea #shopping ? original sound – Vinny Mc

In recent times, as life has thrown me curveball after curveball, I visit a big fancy Dunnes. It doesn’t matter where I am or how far the final destination may be, Dunnes is my Mecca, my holy land. I will fight any man, woman or child to make my pilgrimage. 

The minute the automatic doors slide open, my soul is instantly soothed. I kneel at the altar of Savida. I pray to the holy spirit of Paul Costelloe. I worship Gallery and revere the shop’s selection of fleeces. I am at one with the world when I traverse those aisles. Want me to spend 40 days and 40 nights in a Dunnes Stores? Pfft, easy money.  

I see the bottles of Bare by Vogue tan to my right and Paul Galvin’s men’s selection to my left and feel at home. Inside its hollowed walls, money isn’t the medium of exchange that sends me into a tizzy of panic each month as I attempt to pay my bills. No, in a big fancy Dunnes Stores money is simply energy. I repeat the mantra “You have to spend money to make money” as I overload my hands with midi dresses, Bottega Venetta dupe bags, and fancy cheese from Sheridans Cheesemongers. 

As a child, my mother would often drag me by my coattail to Dunnes Stores in Tralee on a Sunday afternoon after visiting my grandmother. Back then, I thought it was a form of torture. My mother tried to don me in floral dresses and pretty shoes and I vehemently refused because as a 10-year-old, I wanted to look like a nonchalant tomboy in a tracksuit in front of a boy I fancied who I swore looked like Mark from Westlife. As I think back to the cheeky devil child that I was, I feel anger bubbling underneath my Savida black midi skirt with pockets (P.S. It’s still in stock here if you want it).

The day I have a child, it will be decked out in Dunnes Stores head to toe and if a foul word is said about my haven, the child will be sent straight to the nearest manager to say confession. 

Back in the day, if you wore a nice outfit from the likes of Dunnes or Penneys and someone inquired where you purchased it from, you would whisper the answer. There was no pride in finding a bargain. These days, we’ll shout it from the rooftops. 

“Would you believe, it’s from Dunnes,” I say proudly. If I don’t receive a reply with sufficient enthusiasm I assume you have a hearing impediment. 

“IT’S DUNNES I SAID, DUNNES” I shout at a poor woman who actually only asked if she could take the seat next to me on the bus. 

However, I fear us fancy Dunnes Stores aficionados are members of a cult. We speak now in the form of tongues. Our only vocabulary is “Savida new in” and “James Whelan Butchers.” We truly believe any problem – mental, physical or romantic – can be solved by a trip to a big Dunnes Stores. 

“I’m having some problems with my boyfriend – he doesn’t want to communicate,” says a friend. “Would you not bring him to the big Dunnes in Dundrum?” I tell her. 

“I’ve had this cold for weeks and I’m dosing myself but nothing is working,” says my mother. “Honestly,” I reply. “Would you not think about just going to Dunnes like.”

People look at me in abstract horror but I am living proof that a visit to Dunnes will fix any ailment. It’s like going to Lourdes, but for people who believe in instant gratification from shopping and not God. 

Now when I traverse any big fancy Dunnes Stores across the country, I see women like myself. At first, they’re downtrodden, moving like lost souls searching for meaning in life. Then, suddenly, a light appears. Their faces start to glow and I see them physically embracing the almighty miracle. Is it an alien? A guardian angel? Or dare I say it, an apparition of the Holy Mary?

No, it’s a Helen Steele hoodie they saw a blogger wearing on Instagram. They were told it was out of stock, but never doubt a Dunnes fiend on a mission. 

And never doubt the glorious, resplendent and all-encompassing power of a trip to a very big, and very fancy, Dunnes Stores. 

Photography by Dunnes Stores.