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Sale Time Again
Lying awake on New Year's Day, anxious in the small hours, and
wandering down memory aisle, I found myself picturing all
the things I had bought in 2003: the agonised-over presents,
the many pairs of backless or frontless shoes, the lilac eye
shadows (mendip mauve, purple, violet haze and aster) the
novels set only in English towns or New York, Baltimore or
Chicago, the hundreds of lamb chops, the dolce vita and avalanche
roses, the aquamarine ring that was stolen by an old fashioned
conman who pretended to my nanny he had come to measure up
for curtains, the tonnes of saladings, the party dresses that
say things ranging from, 'Don't mess with me' to 'I have similarities
with a late Henry James heroine' to 'I'm in the mood for love.'
Viewed in bulk all these items seemed so random. This year
I feel more reflective. I want to be a thoughtful shopper
and my thoughts all point in one direction.
More and more it seems to me that the shopping trips on which I
don't buy anything are the most enjoyable. I know that being close
to lovely things gives me some kind of spur that is nothing to do
with acquisition. When I am doing no-buying shopping I feel as peaceful
and braced as I would on a blustery day by the sea. Some garments
it is enough of a pleasure to stroke and try on: the crimson and
flesh coloured Missoni silk jersey dress in my size at half price;
the black silk satin Moschino gown which looked heartbreakingly
frank on me with its raw lace neckline, a pink and silver lame flapper-in-space
outfit by Marni which would work really well with bare feet (this
summer's big shoe news). Yet I wasn't tempted to buy any
of these pieces, despite the hefty discounts. I just liked having
them on my back for a few moments in the Harrods sale. It was a
bit like when I was in the same lift as Maurizio Pollini in Chicago
on my honeymoon. In a very small way they (and he) touched my life.
Taking a detour through jewellery, I tried on some cocktail rings:
gold and coral roses at Christian Dior, a cluster of daisies with
diamond stamens at Van Cleef and Arpels, turquoise and amethyst
beads with tiny colour-enhancing diamonds at Cartier. I enjoyed
the dignity of the vendors in the jewellery concessions: serious
minded, highly groomed, Middle Eastern gentlemen, some with the
air of lost wealth. I don't know if they thought I was a potential
customer, but some sympathy was exchanged during each of the non
transactions, with no face lost on either side.
On the same appreciation spree which only lasted 90 minutes in
total, at a neighbouring store I tried on the most beautiful dress
I have ever seen . Designed by Alber Ebaz for Lanvin it was as though
an exceptionally elegant school uniform had suddenly grown up into
proper evening wear; the whole thing seeming very inspired by the
novels of Colette. A column of blue black ultra fine gabardine pleats
was suspended from a narrow yolk of glossy black bugle beads to
just below the knee, with a belt of black silk velvet complete with
sewn down bow bringing things in at the waist. It was not just a
pleasure to be in the changing room with this poem to luxury, severity
and restraint, it was really an honour.
I went home empty handed on the 82, feeling wholly content.
In the time I had spent I could have seen a short film or
play, yet what a relief not to have to watch people behaving
cruelly to eachother, injecting drugs, descending into vitriolic
madness and/or nasty sexual practices all in the name of entertainment,
as so often happens in the cinemas and theatres I frequent.
Instead I felt deeply inspired. The characters in the novel
I am beginning have all started dressing rather exquisitely,
but it doesn't matter because I'm only on page one and anything
could happen.
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