So, despite my default setting of “ludicrously stingy” when it comes to buying most things, I decided, upon signing my book deal, that I would do one special thing for myself. (I pretty much only shop at places like Zara, H&M, Gap, and Minelli otherwise — not something that would be considered a “splurge,” even when I go there and buy a hefty amount of clothes/shoes.) I have never had the constitution to spend more than 100 dollars on one item, except maaaybe things like winter coats/boots, and even then. I just can’t see the sense in it, even if I do think the item is pretty.
But being that I needed a new purse (I only really have one other non-clutch/eveningwear handbag that is of high quality leather/in good condition), I decided that a nice purse would be the thing to do. I initially wanted to buy a Louis Vuitton handbag but have since realized that their recognizability — combined with LV’s affinity for plastering their gaudy logo all over nearly everything they produce — renders the purchase/wearing of one the ultimate statement of “look at me, you guys, I got some money now, and god damn if you’re not going to notice it.” Nouveau riche, I think it’s referred to in some circles.
But I went to the Bon Marché yesterday with Marc and his roommate to do some light shopping (the most inappropriately-named establishment in the western hemisphere, I might add), and I fell in love. I am quite a fan of a lot of Furla’s bags (though some, I find, tend towards the alligator-skin-and-silver-fastenings-unfortunate), and could not help but make sweet, sweet eye love to this perfect purple-with-red-trim number that just screams “elegant and chic, but still knows how to have fun” — the Countess Luann of purses, if you will. I fondled it for about twenty minutes while the pinched-looking salesman guided me towards the register, but ultimately didn’t get it. I wanted to be reasonable, I don’t like spending so much on a purse, etc etc etc. But after another hour of drinking tea at a cafe, helping Marc’s roommate find a polo shirt (his entire wardrobe was lost when his bag was misplaced coming back from Dubai — I would say #whitegirlproblems, were he not both Lebanese and a man), and watching Marc prance around the Paul Smith buying sweaters like a sartorial Peter Pan, I decided it was my time.
This would be my special little gift before I squirrel all my worldly finances away into some CD, like the responsible person I wish I were but am not really. Here is my new baby, accompanied by some vague shots of the apartment all fuzzied-out because Photobooth cannot handle my one wall made entirely out of windows. I promise to take some sweet photos of my place when the lighting is more amenable to a shoot.
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- sarahvlegume said: Gurrrrrrrrl. Treat. YOSELF. But also, BOOK DEAL?!
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- lizznitch said: beautiiiiful !
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- aonygoesparis said: I’m no longer allowed into the Bon marché because I spend half my annual income in the food court.
- quietontheinside said: Can’t go wrong with purple! I love it!
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