Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street; fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening. - Coco Chanel
The Land of Self Entitlement beckons
Dear reader,
Since this blog just reads as if someone has been
interrogating me very thoroughly about my life and I go on a confession spree
along with said interrogation, I feel no shame or shyness whatsoever in
confessing to one more rather grievous fault of mine. I can sometimes behave
like the love child of a gross philistine and an attention deficient
individual.
Let me back up a little bit.
I have some explanation due here. This blog post will deal
mostly with modern notions of beauty, taste and discernment. It all started
with Carrie Bradshaw and her Prada.
I watched Sex and The City (the movie) in class nine. Since I
had not seen the sitcom itself, I rapidly arrived at the conclusion that the
SATC franchise was more about the clothes that the four friends were bedecked
in and not as much about what happened when they disrobed (euphemistically
speaking). I still remember the first dress Sarah Jessica Parker wears in the
movie- it is a white one shoulder deal with golden detailing. Like any
impressionable teenage girl, I felt awed, impressed and taken in by the
extravagance of the clothing, the shoes and the millinery. They just looked so
perfectly turned even when they were, say, cooking and I just looked down at
what I was wearing- my father’s old T-shirt and a pair of shorts. My hair was
in a messy knot, and while fashionistas around the world will swear by the
sexiness of the “messy knot”, I am still of the opinion that it is wildly
overrated. And then my heart set its aim on looking as perfect as those four
girls did. I familiarized myself with fashion, haute couture. Watching The
Devil Wears Prada was my rite of passage-I started there and will recommend it
to anyone who wants a good footing on the latest fashion
terms/labels/designers(and also to understand what the fashion industry is really
about).I read blogs and websites I swore I‘d never read. I watched all those
TLC shows about who wore what underwear, I mean gown, to which event and the works.
Talking about Coco Chanel, lusting after Louboutins, loving Sabyasachi’s work
and quoting Tim Gunn became second nature to me. I knew my Shu Uemura as more
than just a tongue twister.
Suffice
to say, that yes, GR lost her head again (a bit) and craved a wardrobe full of
luxury brands. She watched SATC 2 and she was certain she would give a limb to
walk down Madison Avenue in her Jimmy Choo’s. Of course, this version of GR
completely chose to overlook the fact that the only one who could tell that the
shoes were Choo was herself because, you see, unlike the rather conspicuous red
soles of Louboutins or the V’s of Versace, Choo, very humbly, only printed his
name on the insole. (I would also be the only one to see the rather hefty price
of said shoe printed on my credit card statement)
I was
not alone in this swamp. I had many other friends of mine who kept a close eye
on the rather capricious fashion industry. One day tube dresses would be in,
the next day they would be out. You would wake up and read X fashionista trash
the dressing sense/styling of Y actor/celebutante because the latter had been
found wearing a, oh I don’t know, leopard print. I once heard about this Delhi teenager,
who was invited, (did you hear me? I.N.V.I.T.E.D.) To the NY Fashion Week to “review” the couture
on display. (If she is reading this, hats off to you ma’am) Consequently, I was
jealous.
But my current disillusionment with all things fashion stemmed
from a rather eye-opening, thought-provoking visit to the DLF Emporio.
Initially, I was drooling a bit at the prospect of going to DLFE. (For purposes
of simplicity)- I pulled up the “Stores by Brand” list on the website and was
round eyed at the roster. Too many of my fantasies packed into two floors in a
building. And the price, well, people did say a lot about the obscenely over
priced commodities these stores sold; but they couldn’t be serious could they?
Sure, it would be slightly costly but not exorbitantly so. Or so I hoped.
Entering the place had the equivalent effect of entering the
Pearly Gates. I stared unabashedly and tried to keep my cool at the same time.
Versace? Poof, no big deal. Dior? Tut tut. Tom Ford? Hmm, this guy has brains.
(You get the drift.)
Which was when I entered the Salvatore Ferrogamo store.
Please allow me to take a moment and make noises only
dolphins can hear. Because Ferrogamo? I dig this shit ok?
I will not go into many details about what we bought – I
will just state that it was certainly not for me, but my dad. (He is the one
who earns after all)The store itself had an ethereal, other-worldly quality
about it- plush sofas where the elite clientele were waited upon by a horde of
suits; beautifully hand crafted shoes resting elegantly on the glass panels,
each looking more delicate than the next. Even sworn enemies of fashion would
be ogling in that store. Me? I was a total goner. Which was when a Jap (I think
he was a Jap; if he was not, I apologize to you, sir) picked up a garden
variety satchel-the kinds you can get anywhere- and said “I want this.”Mind
you, said Jap did not look anything like a potential customer- he wore loafers,
a striped T shirt and corduroys. The bird of prey, I mean, the store attendant,
leapt to his side and looked at the price tag. “That’ll be a 75, sir. Thousand.
Seventy five thousand.” If I were him, I would have had a seizure, grabbed my
wallet and my bank savings and ran the fuck out of the store. As is obvious, he
did nothing of the sort. He coolly nodded to the proprietor and wandered off to
check the shoe section out. I just sat there, surreptitiously checking the
price tags of each shoe I picked up. I will swear on Ferrogamo’s sculpted heels
(May he rest in peace) that there was nothing in the entire store that cost
less than 20k.
On further observation of the customers, I noticed a trend.
All the people brave enough to bet their wallets were either businessmen or
bored housewives. If you heard the door to the store open and heard
clack-clack-clack-clack or were assailed by the smell of expensive perfume, you
could be dead sure that the patron was a housewife from the Land of Self
Entitlement.
Next
store- Emporio Armani. AKA GR’s first heart attack.
The
store attendant looked like a model himself and he had a thinner waist than
mine. While sire hunted for trousers, I wandered into the women’s section,
noting the LBD’s, the weird see through hats, the printed T-shirts and one
rather wacky dress (it carried the subtle tones of human vomit mixed with a
mint ice cream green) (sorry if I violently disturbed your palates).And then I
noticed a rather pretty pair of trousers which captured my imagination.
Dutifully, I asked for and tried on my size. Although the style and cut of the
trouser itself were unmatched, it had three rather big problems about it-a) the
color was positively fecal. b) The material was so thin that I could punch a
hole through it. c) It cost 22k.
Clearly, the said pair of trousers and I were not a match
made in heaven. I kept them back on the rack, offering an excuse about them
“not being my type” (when not one minute thirty seconds ago I had been
salivating at them) and marched my bruised butt out of the store. Not my type
at all.
Third
stop- Tom Ford.
Declaration
here- I LOVE Tom Ford. He is one designer who actually makes sense to me, his
artistic vision speaks to me and I can actually appreciate his work every time.
Not to mention, he made my favorite movie till date. So, he was a rather
obvious choice for men’s tailoring but to my utter and endless bafflement-that
outlet did not stock anything wearable whatsoever. All it had were a couple of
fancy suits hanging, which I can bet you, will not look good even on someone
like Clooney, let alone a couple of Indians with fat pockets. Pink suits,
checked blue shirts (the type even college guys don’t wear) were on display.
All my inner fashionista said, or rather screamed was, “Are
you kidding me? This is a downright DISGRACE to Tom Ford.”
So we left without further ado.
As we
ambled about in the big bad mall, I saw all the labels I had always wanted to
see- Fendi, Louis Vuitton,Louboutin, Dior,Burberry, Zegna, Rohit Bal, Shantanu
and Nikhil etc.And I was almost bowled over by the sheer amount of useless merchandise
there was on display. Most of the shops dealt only in shoes and bags;
everywhere you turned bags glared down at you haughtily or dainty footwear
begged for redemption. (Important side note- I LOVE FOOTWEAR) If their numbers,
designs, and quantities were anything to be believed, all the Richie Rich’s of
Delhi should be strutting around naked with only a Fendi baguette and some
Louboutin heels clothing their person.
As is my wont, that lengthy tale had a moral. Luxury brands
are luxurious but somewhere they also cross the line and jump into the
“conspicuous consumption” tag. While I would happily plonk down a month’s
salary to buy myself a pair of branded shoes, I will not do so for general
apparel per se. I also beg for mercy from the fashion gods above when I say
this but luxury brands do not necessarily mean value for money. While Penelope
Cruz might be able to casually throw in the phrases “Armani Prive”, “wearing my
friends” in a red carpet interview, it is not likely that most of us can do the
same. What is more, she is probably requested, even hounded, by the labels to
wear their clothing and hence market said brands in an international arena- we
are not. (At least, I hope, only as of now).
Or maybe DLF Emporio in India was
not the best place for my initiation into the Big Spenders’/Nouveau Rich club. It
was just a bit too gaudy for my tastes (I swear I went blind with bling when I
entered the Louboutin store)
Some part of me still wants to own that dream wardrobe, but
having seen other people dress much better at a much(much) lower cost dissuades
me. I guess there is also the consideration of how well you carry yourself- an
Armani can only go so far in making you look good. The rest is up to you. Or as
Chanel, once again, said-“Elegance does not consist in putting on a new dress”.
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