Well, it was so practical. It miraculously welcomed whatever was placed inside; it could be draped over the shoulders like a backpack; and it had been made and sold ethically. I didn’t think there was much more a girl could expect from a hold-all, except perhaps style.
A few years ago, it seemed everywhere I turned there was an article about the ‘It’ bag, and any woman of note seemed to have one. I didn’t aspire to being an ‘It’ girl and for good reason.
Aging, chubby ex-hippies don’t make the cut and I stayed staunch to my tie-dyed roots. But peer and media pressure are powerful beasts and over the years my defences were slowly eroded.
Visiting a small New Zealand town recently (which shall remain nameless), I walked into a boutique full of labelled, expensive dresses and handbags. My eyes glazed over and I turned to walk out the door, but a sign in a distant corner identifying a rack of pre-loved designer garb grabbed my attention.
I enjoy buying ‘pre-loved’. It’s easier to find something different at an affordable price and second-time-round consumption is better for the planet. It ensures shopping with a cause, which diminishes guilt and satisfaction is increased if one says “no” to the plastic carry bags.
Meanwhile, back in the village; this one’s full of rich farmers’ wives and it seems these women love to shop. Judging by the items on the pre-loved rack in the shop I visited, they seem to have very brief affairs with their purchases, discarding some items before they’ve even been worn.
Whatever the facts, I think alcoholic shopaholics are the best ones to follow into recycled clothing stores. They purchase with fiscal abandon, forget what they’ve bought, then want to banish the evidence as quickly as you can say “hangover cure.”
And thanks to this shopaholic, I picked up a genuine (the shop assistant told me so) tan-coloured Prada handbag for $120. New would have been $1200, she said. And I found a pair of Prada mules in the same shade for 60 bucks. Finally, I experienced label shopping joy, but my joy tipped the scales. I’d bagged a bargain and there was none of the consequent guilt from spending squillions and ‘maxing’ out the credit card – to use proper-shopper lingo.
Back in Auckland, though, my euphoria evaporated. The tan bag and shoes were difficult to team with my existing wardrobe, and an acquaintance said the colour looked like baby poo. Could jealousy have inspired her remark, or did the bag truly look hideous, I wondered? “Hideous”, a close friend confirmed.
There was nothing else to do but dye my poo-coloured accessories black, after which a whole new world of sartorial choices opened up before me. I fell in love with my Prada all over again and then we went shopping. After all, I’d just saved $1080, and had some serious catching up to do.
I asked a shop assistant to pop my bag behind the counter while I searched the racks for that special little number. I found a few pieces (why stop at one?), and asked for my Prada bag back so I could pay for the goods. The assistant looked like a woman with an eye for quality at a realistic price, so I told her of my Prada coup while trailing in the wake of that wobbly, misguided shopper.
“Let me have a look,” she said. “I can tell a fake a mile off.” Oh, more joy, I thought, professional confirmation of my bag’s authenticity. The assistant dived into the Prada, examining the inside pockets like a skilled and well-dressed surgeon.
“Sorry Darling, it’s not real,” she said, with a trace of glee in her voice. Apparently the genuine bags have a plastic card with printed details and a unique stamp displaying the shop of purchase plus the date. Alas, my plastic card lacked these two small but important details. She said I’d been duped.
In total denial, I wanted a second opinion and called a reputable Prada stockist in Auckland City.
She confirmed I’d been duped. So you see what happens when an aging ex-hippie with an eye for a bargain gets ideas above her station.
It seems the rule for purchasing labelled anything is to only buy at reputable outlets and if you come across a so-called authentic ‘It’ bag in a recycled clothing boutique, remember, you probably get what you pay for.
