Carried Away

Handbags have really evolved from the “stylish” (or so I thought at the time) Etienne Aigner I proudly carried back in the day, which cost about $50....and I even thought that was kind of crazy.

Now handbags are a major fashion statement as well as a major investment. You could make a significant down payment on a car--or even a mortgage payment (or two) for the cost of a handbag. A handbag. A handbag which will be thrown unceremoniously on the seat of your car, hung up on a hook (or, more horrific, put on the floor) in the ladies room; and will possibly become the victim of a marker with a loose top which makes an indelible ink spot on the lining. It seems that celebrities are carrying a different YSL, Dior or Marc Jacobs creation in every issue of US, Star, InStyle and every other fashion magazine. Of course, each is more fabulous than the next. And they get them free, What is the deal with that? Pretty much the only people who can actually afford the prices don’t need to pay them…they just carry them around to create buzz for the bag. Non-celebs, however, have to get on a waiting list a mile long for any of these bags, just for the “privilege” of paying $5000 when (and if) one comes available. The thing is, by the time we “commoners” are able to get the bag it is pretty much over. There is a newer, hotter style out there. Pretty soon your “it bag” is listed in the “Out” section of Bazaar and the new one is in the “In”. You just can't win.

A few years ago, I yearned for the then-it-status Louis Vuitton trompe l'oeil (I preferred to call it My Bag). Odes to My Bag were all over the media. After many months, I had pretty much given up looking for it…it was like a unicorn. Did it really exist or was it just a legend? On a trip to see my parents in Naples, FL, Mom and I went shopping. First stop: Saks. I walked into their Louis Vuitton shop and I blinked. Fast. Resuscitation was almost needed. My Bag was there! A gift card from my husband was burning a hole in my pocket…so I snapped up the handbag. . I got home and unwrapped it. A little booklet fell out of the box. It detailed the “suggested care” of the bag. There had to be 20 cautions to take with My Bag, among them kind of like:

Do not get it wet
If it gets wet you are pretty much screwed
Watch out for the oils on your hands
If the oils on your hands touch either the handle or the bag itself you are really screwed
Basically watch out for everything that you put inside because the lining is really delicate and you are totally screwed if the lining is ruined

Moral of story: I guess bags like this are like pieces of fine art... admire but don't touch (or actually use). And, unbelievably, I actually considered keeping it. But realizing that I would have to put it under a museum cube and admire it from afar I sadly returned it. But not before I had my dad take several pictures of me holding it.

Because, like when you see a unicorn, you have to be able to prove it.

The Tale of the Five Inches

I love heels. Anyone who knows me, even a little, knows I am a shoe-a-holic with a special weakness for stiletto pumps. The higher, the better. Or so I thought. Bring 'em on.

On a visit to Phoenix, while browsing through the local Neiman Marcus. Then they caught my eye. My head whipped around almost to the point of whiplash. A pair of black patent Christian Louboutin “Pigalle” pumps with 5” heels. I had never been within touching range like this. Uncharted territory. I did have some 5-inch heels in my collection but they had platforms, which are pretty much like 5" heels with training wheels. But I digress. I only had eyes for those shoes, those ridiculously expensive shoes ( with REAL 5” heels), had been a major lust object for me for a while. I picked up the floor sample with a reverence usually reserved for a precious heirloom. The shoe guy asked if he could help me…I declined his offer, knowing that if I put them on it would be "case closed". I reluctantly put down the shoe. Walk out of the store, I told myself. There was an inner victory in resisting the siren song of Louboutin.

I left Arizona the next day. Nights passed and I just couldn't forget those shoes. One morning, after rationalizing paying the obscene price, I ordered my shoes. The longest wait of my life began. Really only 3 days, but it seemed like an eternity. Finally they arrived. I couldn’t open the box fast enough…all those stupid packing peanuts stood between me and my fabulous shoes. I reached the shoebox. There they were, the Mt. Everest of pumps. Eagerly I put them on and had, as Oprah would put it, an “aha” moment. Aha (well, really more like uh-oh) because I almost became (as Carrie Bradshaw put it) “fashion roadkill”. It was like walking on toe shoes. My feet were at a 90 degree angle, or so it seemed. Something was very wrong. NEVER had I had a problem walking in a heel. Maybe a flat but not a heel. No matter how I tried to reposition my feet they were equally as torturous. NO!!! The Pigalle dream, shattered. Ok, maybe it wasn't quite that traumatic, but let's say I was very very disappointed.

Two days later, I sadly returned them to my local Neimans and confessed that they were just too high. Just too high. I never thought I'd hear that from myself. He matter-of-factly did my credit and handed me my slip. Clearly he didn't have a clue about the monumental disappointment I had just gone through. That there was a heel I, the Queen of the Stiletto, couldn’t wear?

Maybe platforms aren’t cheating, after all?

No Gilt

As mentioned in my first blog entry, I looovvve those online sample sales. The excitement of a Gilt sale as the witching hour of noon approaches (the time the sale starts) is like Christmas eve if there is an event from a designer you love. Finger on the mouse, eyes glued to the screen, refresh, refresh, refresh til the site says "go to sale". The Alexis Bittar sale was almost more than I could bear. My usually quick and precise clicking went all haywire and I got a little clumsy. But I did manage to score some amazing deals on a couple of pairs of earrings I loved.

I always envision women around the world engaging in the same process. It's equivalent to the first day of Neiman's last call right before the door to the store opens. Your nose is pressed to that door like some drooling nut and the day is full of promise and amazing bargains. At the Neimans sale you run around grabbing everything you could possibly want to try on so that nobody else gets it first. I think that a lot of women would mow down anyone standing in the way to dig in (I also get a singular sense of extreme focus like no other in this scenario. Do I hear the "Bionic Woman" theme?) I really believe I've ended up with some things simply because it was the only one of a great or iconic piece (never mind that it's a totally impractical piece that doesn't exaaaacccctly fit perfectly...) and I know that other barracuda shoppers are just circling to see me put it back. There is a victory in that that only a shopaholic could possibly understand.
Well, the online sales are the same, except that your competitors are unseen. My strategy is to do pretty much what I do at a store in sale mode--scan through and put everything in my "cart" that I might in any stretch of my imagination want. In some sales the item is on hold for you for 10 minutes while you decide or shop more. I then come back to the cart and wonder what I was thinking for most of the items I had chosen. But, boy, that rush of getting them in the cart before someone else is such a triumphant feeling.

Today's Gilt was nothing to write home about for me...when it's Alexander McQueen for $995 it is just so far from my spending possibilities that it doesn't even interest me. But when it is an Alexis Bittar earring for $40? Get out of my way. I just hold my breath and hope Comcast "high speed" works for once!

Intro to Diva

Hello--thanks for finding us!

Some background on the blog's inspirations for starters:

I love fashion. I love shopping. I love the touch and feel of fabulous fabrics. I love Prada, Chanel, Dolce and Gabbana and also Milly, DVF and Black Halo (the Jackie O dress in every variation and color). When people ask what the last book I read is, I have to answer something like "InStyle" or "Harpers Bazaar". For really cerebral stuff, the answer is "Vanity Fair". Suffice to say that when I went with friends to see "Confessions of a Shopaholic" they shook their heads and looked at me after every scene. Afterward the topic of discussion was how it could have been my bio.

So...I am admittedly a shopaholic. I like to say I am a "recovering" shopaholic, because I simply don't have the time anymore to run to Neimans every Saturday. However, my mouse finger just has refused to click "unsubscribe" to all the online sample sale sales as well as the Saks, Neimans and Nordies email updates. That, my friends, would be a little cold turkey for me. So...I am hoping that writing the blog will be a cathartic and helpful way to get those pesky shopping feelings out and kick the habit sometime before I am 80.