Trésors d’Hermès
Oprah's showdown with Hermès a couple of years back created a big hype, those who didn't know what Birkins and Kellies are had to get their education the good ol' fashioned way: On TV. The outcome of that showdown was a mere "misunderstanding" as she so eloquently put it, but if she thinks that she's the only one who gets the rude-face at Hermès, she should think twice.
My encounters with the sales people at the Dubai boutique make me want to trap them in a room for a good Dr.Phil style therapy on how to combat instinctive lies. When you work for names as prestigious as Hermès in the fashion industry & have customers who walks in to make a multi-thousand dollars worth of purchases, you just don't pull that joker face & make promises that you cannot keep. As a result of that, I shuffled my loyalties & decided to become a pilgrim of of the fashionable rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré & worship at the temple of sublime French style, Hermès.
On my trip to Paris last October I came across this small vintage fashion boutique tucked away somewhere in the arts district of Saint-Germain, it was a Sunday morning so the shop was closed & all I could do was to stamp my nose against the windows & allow myself to be lured by the vintage beauties behind the glass: a tan ostrich 25cm birkin with a very clear price tag of 13,000 Euros, & a rouge 35cm crocodile birkin whose price made the former look like a shopping tote from Al-Satwa.
I felt a pang of disappointment at the idea of not being able to glue that treasure box for a boutique to the rear wing of the plane & tow it back home with us, but giving up hope is not my thing, so instead I decided to make peace with the fact that probably some old & saggy lady with florescent makeup dressed in mink-fur head-to-toe would probably flash her check-book & buy those in bulk, & I on the other hand would have to wait several months before I've had the chance to tote mine around.
So, I don't want to waste another minute of time in getting on that coveted waiting list. I'm gearing up for spring in Paris, if the circumstances permit {given the availability of a chaperon}, & this time I'll make sure our flight lands in daytime, on a weekday; because I'm not wasting any of my time skipping along the Champs-Élysées sipping hot chocolate a la Audrey Hepburn in breakfast at Tiffany -- this time, I'm gonna make Oprah proud -very proud- & come back home with my name on The list for a crocodile beauty for me, & a gorgeous Allure saddle for my pony.
Labels: Fashion, Pony Tales
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