Some brands have imprinted themselves so prominently on our culture that many of us unwitting citizens feel they can do no wrong. I imagine some powerful exec seated in his high-rise corner office approving a batch of hideous designs while drinking absinthe and polishing his monocle – snickering diabolically that we’re all “fools!” But, I’m sure that doesn’t really happen. Who wears a monocle nowadays?
Last week, I saw a young lady carrying a patchwork handbag by a famous maker of purses. I will not describe the bag in too great detail lest she be one of the literally dozens of regular RGD readers. But I will say that it was a melange of colors, pockets, patches, and rhinestones all by a brand that rhymes with “poach”. I didn’t get close enough to assess whether or not it was of real stock. Come to think of it, it may not have been. I know “poach” has a patchwork collection, but I don’t recall that many rhinestones. But, clever way to make use of those fabric overages, Poach!
The greater point is, we are so under the brand influence that sometimes it’s hard to tell the items that have wow factor from the ones that just scream THIS BRAND IS THE MOSTEST! Perform a simple litmus test by asking yourself, “How different is carrying this bag from a neon sign for the brand?” If the answer is along the lines of, “very different – I can’t put my wallet in a neon sign, silly!” then you are quite addicted and you should begin the weaning process.
I hate to be a stick in the mud. If you want to express your best rhinestone moment, I truly say go for it. Goodness knows, I love some sparkle and a sturdy patent buckle.
In fact, I once spotted a woman working unforgettable bellbottom stretch pants by a designer that I can’t quite recall: the print was so blinding and the legs so incredibly flowing from the knee down. And only from the knee down. Otherwise, camel toe city. The designer rhymed with “burglary” or “mulch, eh and cabana.” Anyway, its been over a year since I’ve seen those pants and my mind is singed by their overt disregard for my memory as well as proper undergarments. But I kind of admired her for loving them so. One could just tell. So, maybe that whacked out absinthe-drinking, monocle-polishing exec is a genius after all.