It’s Friday here, the markets are still in free fall around the world, Mother Nature won’t let up with the natural disasters (did you hear about that freak storm at the concert in Hasselt, Belgium right after the one in Indiana?), and I just finally watched the documentary Waiting For Superman, so things are bleary.
I woke up this morning asking myself where do average Janes like me find inspiration to regain a bit of lightness in our steps as we trudge through another tough week of more bad news? I suppose some of us recharge our emotional fuel tanks by watching our (fur)kids sleep …
or find a bit of escape by sitting through reality shows. Or, especially in my case, reminisce about one Sunday afternoon in Paris. Let me take you back to that one Spring day, when the streets were emptied of people who were now either at mass or spending time indoors with their families…which was great for me to take in all the windows without people crowding my view:
But the view I was most looking forward to was behind these doors:
The hunt for orange, as in that famous orange box that Hermes goodies come in, began for me over a decade ago. I’ve dabbled in those H scarves and shoes and have coveted an English saddle for a very long time. And I don’t even have a horse, at least not one that isn’t imaginary anyway. I thought about getting one customized and then just displaying it in my office. Saddle, not horse. But let’s not go there. Let’s go back to the real story.
Everyone who loves handbags, for better or for worse, knows that sooner or later the trail stops at the doors of Hermes. Considered a holy grail for many fashionistas, the Hermes Birkin or Kelly is “the one” to have. Even in the aftermarket, the price can be prohibitive. The fact that the Birkin is so difficult to get even at full retail price drives some worshipers to brinks of insanity, enduring games of politics with the sales associates in order to score a bag. As a consumer, I prefer to be in the driver’s seat and not have to work so hard for the honor of buying a bag, which probably explains why I’ve yet to own a Birkin. Or maybe it’s something else.
The bag is too heavy. The bag is too mumsy looking. The bag is a pain to open and shut. So the naysayers tell me. I do agree a little. Yes, it’s heavy even when empty, and yes I’d probably leave it opened while carrying it so I wouldn’t have to fuss with it. And yes, it does look rather conservative. And worst of all, it’s never available in any of the H boutiques that I’ve visited to even try on for size. So for over ten years I would think about the Birkin and come home with something else.
But a couple of years ago, I spotted a woman in rainy Venice carrying a gray ostrich Birkin that matched the color of the clouds. I still can’t get this visual out of my head. She stood across from me on the water bus and I missed my stop because I was too busy staring at her bag. Fast forward to this Sunday in Paris, and…
Be still my heart.
This blog is about happy endings, usually, but not today. I called the boutique the next day but the bag was not for sale. They were kind enough to give me all the information about the bag, but just not the bag. So the hunt goes on.
Sometimes I believe I want to not find it just yet, so that I have something to motivate me to work even harder. And maybe I’m more about the chase than the actual kill, which is often anticlimactic in my book. So you see, the hunt is what puts lightness in my steps and inspires me to get through a week of bad news. How about you?