Even more of a thrill for me than fashion magazines, is the thrill I get seeing ordinary people wearing such enviable designer pieces out on the streets.
When I was in New York, there were plenty of sophisticated women carrying enormous shopping bags labelled Barneys, Saks 5th Avenue, Tiffany's & Louis Vuitton, and being the nosy fashionista that I am, I couldn't help but wonder, "What do they have in there?". It took every ounce of strength I had not to brush past closely, in hopes of sneaking a glance at my equivalent of one month's rent.
For me, these pieces seem like artifacts best kept in national museums. The poise and elegance it takes to pull of a classic Chanel suit, in my mind, is only suited to rich society women who spend their days attending luncheons, and planning charity events. A Louis Vuitton duffel bag, on the shoulder of the teenage girl in front of me in airport security, surely means she's an heiress or socialite... possibly both. And those Louboutins on the woman waiting at the hair salon. I can't help but imagine her as an ass-kicking super hero, saving the world with a click of her red soled shoes.
My imagination is endless, and I create a world of wealth and glamour for these strangers.
For each designer luxury item I see, comes a world of possibilities, a world of insight into these people's lives. Suddenly, they are the Donald Trumps and Paris Hilton's of the world, when indeed they may have done without dinner for a month, and are now living in a cardboard box, sleeping next to their fabulous shoes or handbag.
Just ask Dorothy: there's a lot of power in red.
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