The Visa Diaries

My friend Armand, a tech PR whizz who feels none of my overwhelm at the immensity of the blogosphere, and hence no need to escape to Fresh & Wild bulk barrels, in fact claims that he does not like shopping. Well now. This a common, if audacious, misconception among many men. They spend their money on cars and music and wine and dinners, and claim that they don’t like shopping… More on this later (the inquiry on this blog will definitely extend out of clothes and fashion!), but at least one smart guy has already picked up this thread.

wheeeeeeee – this is fun! Thanks so much to Rob and Nick for your technical support, and to my very sweet friends for emailing and posting…

I must say, though, that there is so much to learn about being a blogger. Once one starts to consider the plethora of sites out there, conversations going on, and communities already formed, the thought of trying to become any type of ‘insider’ becomes somewhat panic-inducing. I was told today by my local blogxpert that in order for a blog to stay ‘in the rankings’ on Google and Technorati, it needs to be updated *3-4* times per day!! This guy manages 6 blogs and keeps up, like, 10 online identities! First of all, more power to him for manning all those personas without ending up on psychiatrist’s couch. Second of all, no wonder mySpace has gazillions of users, if each real person has 10 identities, not to mention all the marketers creating fake ones. And third of all, when on earth do these people fit in mani/pedis and bikini waxes amongst all the online time??? I want to have a fun blog that about life through shopping and shopping for a life, but I want to have a life too…

My complete feeling of overwhelm drove me to stop by my local healthfood store, Fresh & Wild, on the way home. I didn’t really need any specific product, but I really did need some of the wholesomeness that positively oozes from the walls in there. With the world so fast and wired outside, with blogs to find and talk to, not to mention all the the real work needing to get done, I just wanted to crawl into one of their lovely bulk food barrels – preferably the steel cut oats or organic brown rice – burrow in, and take a nap in all that fresh, natural, nutrient-rich goodness…

Well, if it had just been the Marc Jacobs jacket, then maybe things wouldn’t have gone so horribly wrong. But you see, I don’t get into town all that often, with spare time to shop, and while the sales are on… So, on my way out of Selfridges, I decided to just quickly pop by the women’s shoe department. Not the Manolo Blahnik department or anything, just the regular old multi-brand shoe mecca on the second floor. And at first things were going so well, I was being so restrained. Layed out on wire racks as they are during sales, the shoes don’t look so appealing, and really I was managing to be quite blase about it all.

Until I saw the Belstaffs:

Belstaff is of course the biker manufacturer turned fashion must-have (I mean, anything with Kate Moss involved is a must-have, right?). I had been coveting a pair at least since March, when I first saw my colleague Raina with her super-cute super-skinny black jeans tucked into a pair of high, black, buckled Belstaffs.

Boy does Belstaff like buckles. They have about a five buckle per boot minimum, buckling you up and buckling you down from heel to knee. The buckles and vented leather give them this Heidi-in-the-Alps meets Cry-of-the-Valkyries look – a super devil S&M Viking maid, or something. Quite spectacular, if hard to put your finger on.

The fact that they’ve been making hardcore biker gear since the 1920s for people like Che Guevera (who wore Belstaff on his epic motorcycle journey up South America) adds that layer of authenticity. The result is an item that is not only fashionable and beautifully constructed, but also has overtones of rebellion and anti-social behavior? Bring it on!

And, this pair was in white (I had been wanting white boots!) which just added whole new layer – nursing shoes, Mods, etc. So may references in one pair of boots, it makes your head spin.

But anyway, the point is, I had held off for at least four months, an absolute paragon of virtue. Now here they were: in my size, in white, and half off. Every shopper knows that exhilarating feeling of striking gold, finding something that is not supposed to exist. Again, only one decision was imaginable. I handed over the credit card, this time unable to shake the knowledge that Earnest would not approve…

This all started a couple of weeks ago, with a divine little Marc Jacobs jacket. What is it about Marc? He makes me go wild.

Here is the jacket:

It is white on white seersucker fabric, lined with that innocent little daisy pattern that he uses. The cut – delicate narrow little shoulders, slightly high-waisted and belling out – makes you feel precious and girly. And the BIG BUTTONS! The buttons are what really make it: these sort of 40s looking, big off-white shiny plastic numbers, with brass lining the holes. It all makes you feel about 10 years old, a little Eloise living at the Plaza in New York, saucily skipping down the street with a big striped lolly, as you effortlessly wrap the world around your little finger…

Of course, its also hard to think of Marc Jacobs without thinking of his muse Sophia Coppolla. What modern girl wouldn’t mind having a bit more of what Sophia’s got? Growing up acting in the films of one of the world’s most famous directors, who just happens to be, oh, dad? A seamless transition into director, Ocsar nomination, marriage to cuter-than-can-be Spike Jonze? (sorry that didn’t work out, but I guess being a young divorcee is stylish as well, as is having a child with a French rocker). Not to mention generally being regarded as one of the it-est, chic-est girls on the west side of the Atlantic… Hell, if Sophia loves Marc – if she’s going to lounge around in pools and hotel rooms taking grainy photos wearing nothing more than his perfume – then if I didn’t already love Marc, I’d love him now.

So, you understand the attraction of this jacket. I had seen it just a couple of days before in another shop, where it had broken my heart because it was one size too small. Then all of a sudden, there I was at the Selfridges SALE, and they had ONE LEFT in the RIGHT SIZE! Tell me such a gift from the heavens is possible to refuse. It is not, I know you understand.

I wasn’t quite as sure that my boyfriend, Earnest, would understand. He always wanted me to spend my money on pedestrian things like rent and the water bill. Never mind, I said, he’ll get over it when he sees how darling I look in the jacket, besides it will go perfectly with my skinny Earnest Sewn (no relation to the boyf!) jeans, I reasoned, and handed over the credit card.

I am starting an experiment.

Recent events have highlighted to me what a prejudice exists against people who like to shop. There is a snide and insidious view that we are somehow shallow, self-absorbed bimbettes.

I believe that, to the contrary, shopping is a deeply profound personal and cultural action. It is an existential quest for self-actualization. The problem is that we just buy the shoes or the bag or whatever, and they make us happy for a little while, and then its on to the next purchase. Since we don’t enquire any deeper into what we were actually looking for, the satisfaction is very fleeting.

I’ve been to college. I’ve taken sociology and cultural studies courses, darn it. I’m going to put on my sleuth hat (I don’t really have a hat like that. I will put on my brown checkered po’boy cap, that is somewhat reminiscent of Sherlock Holmes, to get me in the mood. maybe I will also wear my cute new Armani green tortoise shell glasses as I type, as they make me feel quite intellectual). Anyway, I am going to track the things I buy, and analyze them more closely to find out what that meaning is.

Starting with the divine Marc Jacobs jacket I bought the other week…