Is this what my life has come to?
Have I become so obsessed with the hunt for H that my visits now only revolve around cities, no matter how large or obscure, where there are Hermès boutiques? I sure hope not! I’d prefer to think that my travels happen to cross paths with the random H store every once in a while, and that if the orange universe really wants me to adopt another one, she will show up.
So on another overcast afternoon I find myself in the upscale seaside town of Knokke Het Zoute, Belgium along the North Sea. The seascape is not different from other beaches I’ve been to in this part of the world…
and the boardwalk is just as overbuilt here as it is in other cities dotted along the coastline;
The only exception is a small block of very exclusive stores (I love the architectural style of these shops as much as what’s contained inside the stores)…
mixed in with tons of art galleries–this Chinese bronze work entitled Execution of Christ got my attention…
leading me finally to you know where:
This particular H boutique is probably about the same size as the one in Antwerp. But as soon as I walked in, with little to zero hope of spotting a Kelly or Birkin on the shelf, past the front part of the shop, there she stood, a gorgeous togo orange Kelly with gold hardware inside the glass case. Next to the bag was a small “reserved” sign. A very lovely sales associate put on his gloves and offered to show me the bag. I held my breath while he presented it to me, as I would not want another person drooling over or pawing my bag either if that had been mine. We chatted about how lucky his client was to finally have the bag after 1.5 years of waiting. One thing led to another and he asked for my information and wish list–perhaps when his manager goes to Paris for podium orders in January, mine would be in the mix. He then packed up the latest catalog for me and walked me to the door. I thanked him for his time and he encouraged me once more to patiently wait for the email or call from him in due time.
I would have done a cartwheel through the door if I were five years old. So instead I faked the smooth walk down the sidewalk while my heart did the flips inside my chest. I know I shouldn’t hold my breath, but maybe, just maybe, this will lead to the next adoption. A girl can dream.