The ups and downs of the retail world make fascinating reading – particularly if you’re a shopkeeper yourself.

In the media sector, booksellers are taking a beating on both sides of the Atlantic and music retailer Zavvi is likely to vanish from UK high streets. In fashion, many mid-market stores have failed to offer either the right mix of innovation or quality. At the luxury end, fine china and glassware maker Waterford Wedgwood has gone into administration.

At first glance, the headlines all look a bit shocking but by the time you get to the third line of the article, you find yourself asking when was the last time you parted with cash at these shops and it doesn’t seem so surprising after all.

Readers of this column will know that in mid-November I decided to enter the bricks-and-mortar world of retail, opening a small shop off London’s Marylebone High Street. Readers will also know that Marylebone has been the setting for many scenes played out on this back page and that retail is a running theme.

For more than a decade, I’ve watched Marylebone change for better and for worse. I saw the arrival of the first big grocery store in the form of Waitrose and witnessed how it perked up a rather dead stretch of the street. I watched the same store’s recent renovation prompt a chorus of tutting from the old dears who didn’t agree with the new layout. At the top end of the street, a small Saturday crafts and bric-à-brac market has failed to make much headway but the farmers market on Sundays almost demands a permanent Barcelona-style covered market for local growers to sell the turnips, sausages and juices.

In between these ventures, we’ve seen a few too many vendors of fancy fragrances and scented candles move into the neighbourhood. Thankfully, the leases of some not-quite-right fashion brands have been terminated. There’s a close relationship between salespeople and journalists as both have to be good at flogging things to both the wary and unwitting. When I decided to open a shop in the run-up to Christmas, most people thought I was a bit mad. “Why would you open a shop in the middle of this downturn?” said some. “Why would you open a store at all when everything’s moving online anyway?” wondered others. Nevertheless we threw open the doors to our tiny shop and with little promotion or fanfare saw a steady stream of customers come through the front door.

As the shop is an extension of Monocle magazine, it had the benefit (even luxury) of an established customer base but that was hardly a guarantee that people were going to browse and buy. Measuring just over 9 square metres (100 sq ft), the space is certainly cosy. After a day or two of trading, we found that getting more than three people in the shop was a bit of a challenge but somehow this sense of buzziness helped draw others to peer through the window and see what was on offer.

On the speakers, we played a mix of Japanese Christmas pop and cover versions of 1970s pop tracks and on the mantelpiece we burned a rather Catholic-smelling candle that became an instant bestseller. The product range is an eclectic mix of interesting media finds, photographic prints, custom accessories developed with small manufacturers, our collection of luggage and back issues of the magazine. Originally we were going to run the shop for a few months and then shut it once our supplies ran out but we’ve found the whole exercise so enjoyable (and profitable) that we want to become a permanent neighbourhood fixture.

While two months of trading at a busy time of year hardly makes me and my colleagues Gaby and Sophie retail experts, customer feedback suggests that people are still willing to spend as long as the product offering is fresh and original, the service efficient and the environment home-made, intimate and inviting.

In many ways, it’s the sense of being part of the community that makes good old-fashioned shopkeeping so exciting – even rewarding. For some locals, the shop is a place to pop in to keep warm while walking home with the groceries. Some like to have a face-to-face chat with Sophie about what’s in the next issue of the magazine. For others it’s simply a window through which they can nod at familiar faces while going about their errands.

When I think about the businesses that are capsizing on shopping streets big and small, it’s because most have lost this connection with their communities (or core markets). High staff turnover means there’s a problem with the working environment as shop assistants clearly don’t want to spend time on the shop floor and this translates into a lack of real, human relationships with customers. Cavernous interiors that lack a sense of intimacy send shoppers running for the door. And cookie-cutter concepts that can be spotted everywhere else on the planet do not create a sense of positive familiarity but rather a weary sense of fatigue that leaves consumers feeling they’ve seen it all before. Indeed they have, which is why they’re not keen on cracking open their wallets.

Tyler Brûlé is editor-in-chief of Monocle
tyler.brule@ft.com
More columns at www.ft.com/brule