My entire weekend consisted mainly of football. College and NFL. Before I blog about my football experiences (some were too painful to write about just yet), I shall tell you a quick story about my Friday night.
Another preamble to a quick story: I love to shop. It's as if I woke up at 30 and became especially obsessed with shoes and handbags. I have lived in many cities, shopped in many different stores, and while some have been more uppity than others, I've never felt as though I wasn't good enough to shop at any store I've visited. I've bought things on Newbury Street (the "Rodeo Drive" of Boston), been in several boutiques on Oak Street (Chicago), and LIVED in Atlanta, for chrissake. If anyone's going to be uppity, it'll be some sales clerk in Buckhead. Believe me.
Well, fast forward to Friday night. My friend Mockarena (www.themockdock.com - story also chronicled there, but from a different perspective, of course) and I were having a girl's dinner and cocktails night out. It started out lovely. I followed her to her house after work, met her 2.5-year old son, Mini-Mock, and hung out for while reminiscing with her husband (who happened to go to my high school in the South, of all coincidences). We then took off for our intended destination - The Cheesecake Factory - at the big fashion mall here in town. Knowing that the wait would be horrendous on a Friday night, we thought it would be nice to walk through Saks Fifth Avenue and mock all the overpriced crap. So, we did.
Upon entering the handbag and shoe department, I spotted this supple, platinum gray leather Prada bag. Price tag? $1500. It was extremely lickable. I seriously wanted to either lick the leather or put it on the floor, take my clothes off and roll around on it for a while. That's how yummy this purse was, people.
Knowing that I'm way too intelligent to ever spend $1500 on a purse, I thought it'd be funny to get my picture taken with it - much like I would have my picture taken with the Pope, should I ever get to meet him. So, Mockarena took my phone and snapped a picture. Within a second of the clicking sound, the two clerks in the department shuffled quickly over to us as if we were hardened criminals. Older-lady clerk behind the counter (who I assume was in charge of overpriced scarves) motioned for younger lady clerk (who looked just like Michelle Obama) to stop us. I thought she may confiscate the camera. She told us that pictures were not to be taken...blah blah. I sort of tuned her out when she was scolding us, instead going into an immediate daydream about what Prada prison would look like. I was livid.
Mockarena was shocked. Just astonished at the whole spectacle, and kept asking, "Why? Why?" Remember when Nancy Kerrigan was smacked in the knees with crowbars by Tonya Harding's posse? Yeah, it was like that.
Only the bitch could NOT give us an answer other than, "It's Saks policy."
Of course, Mockarena was shocked and nice, whereas I was irritated by the whole thing. If it's a stealing-ideas-to-combat-counterfeiting thing, then they clearly need to explain that to customers instead of being uppity bitches. I think they just like being uppity bitches, though, and thoroughly enjoy being condescending to customers, mainly so they can feel better about the fact that they barely made it through high school and make $9/hour.
I have four fake Pradas in my closet right now. Not to mention a Dolce and Gabbana and I've always wanted a Balenciaga knockoff (although I have yet to see one at my Marathon Gas station, state fair, or flea market - where the other knockoffs were purchased). The day I spend $1500 on a purse is the day I've officially gone insane. Certifiably nuts. Especially when I can get one at my local gas station for 30 bucks.
Now, I understand the whole counterfeiting thing...I feel really bad for people who invent something cool and then get their ideas stolen. But this is a plain, gray leather sack. It's not like it's the cure for cancer or a revolutionary solar panel, people. This is a f*cking purse. It's 2008, and if you think that you should get some sort of patent for a plain, gray purse, then you're obviously making way too much money and taking way too many drugs.
Get over yourself, Ms. Saks purse manager. And, I can't wait for the day I shall walk through your store again, wearing all four of my fakes at once.
Now THAT would be a picture.
