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Last weekend I was at my parents house for my dads return from a long businesstrip. At dinner my mum informed me about the fact that her friend M. had moved in her new house and - when I was about to take a bite - that she was cleaning out her closet. I freezed. My fork hung still in the air in front of my open mouth for a minute as I stared at her with awe. She kept on eating. After I realized my chin had nearly dropped onto the table, I quickly took a bite, but almost choked. Both my dad, my mum and my brother were now staring at me, as I was bright red and coughing and hiccuping like a wounded wolf. Not caused by lack of cooking skills that I unfortunately inherited from this part of the family, simply because the news that my mum had just thrown on our dinner table as if it was nothing, was enough to make my heart miss a couple beats and to let my blood pressure raise within seconds to heights it had never been before.
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"Why don't you call her," my mum asked, still a little surprised by my performance at the dinner table, "and ask her if you can come over to see what's she's doing with all of her things?" Before I tell you all about the phone call, let me first enlighten you with why my dinner had been so rudely disturbed by my bodies severe attack. Friend M. is a very nice friend of my mums. Although I've only met her a couple of times, I know she dresses in the most amazing long - but tailored - open cutted beet red suede coats, carrying creamy Chanels, and wearing luscious Prada boots. Not tacky, vulgar or trivial at all, no no, friend M. always looks as if she just stepped out of her gorgeous car, with her gorgeous purse after a long shopping weekend away with her - ofcourse - gorgeous husband. Can you expect anything else than immaculate taste from someone who's spent years in London and Paris? Anyhow, perhaps now you understand why I was so anxious seeing what she would do with all the things that were either too last season or just not her taste anymore. So I made 'the call'. She was ever so kind, and invited me over for coffee the next morning. Like a child who's too excited to sleep the night before his birthday, I felt tempted to jump on my bed and bounce around. After the first jump however, I became a bit too self conscious and quickly looked around my door post to see if anyone had heard or seen me.
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After a night of wild dreams about - what else - a supermarket filled with Perfect Pradas, Gorgeous Gucci, Classic Chanels and Mindblowing Missonis, I woke up all sweaty and heavily breathing. I don't say this too often, because it you would mean you'd really impressed me; but what a night! After a quick coffee (not the best idea as I suppose I could've gone for days without caffeine on the thought of where I was heading in 30 minutes...), I went to friend M.'s place. She opened the door looking more stunning than ever; this woman, after having two children who are now nearly my age, stood in the dooropening in a tight pair of jeans, unbelievably high (another thing I don't say very often) wedged sandals, the perfect white silk blouse and a gorgeous long turquoise and blue knitted cardigan. Finishing touch: humble Chanel hangers in both ears, a necklace that I have too (but mine's fake), and cute gold Vuitton bracelets, very elegant, very simple. My head tilted a bit to the right, I smiled with content and quickly came to senses when she started speaking to me.
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"I have tons of Chanels and you are always welcome to borrow any of them"
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After another coffee (yup. Welcome ADHD, nice to meet you. (huh?)), in the lounge (LV cityguide on the table!) we went up the stairs, to her heavenly kingdom. A kingdom where money doesn't set the rules, but fashion freedom that had arrived from Rue Cambon, Avenue des Champs-Élysées, Brompton Road, Rodeo Drive, Via Montenapoleone, Calle de Serrano and 5th Avenue. "As you probably understand", she started, "I have a daughter of about the same age as you, and she's developing a serious handbag addiction. So if you don't mind I'll keep the bags, but I have tons of Chanels, and you are always welcome to borrow any of them." Funny, as I write down what she literally said, I notice this may sound spoiled to you, but the way she said it, it was just a very generous offer from one fashion addict to the other. Or perhaps my brain was a bit blurred and foggy because of the treasures that lay in front of me. "Pick anything you like," she said, pointing at a corner in her walk-in-room (That's right, a walk-in-room. Not a walk-in-closet.) that had neat little piles of clothes, a couple jackets on hangers, some bags, some shoes and some accessories all carefully picked and put together. I felt a bit uneasy and very, very greedy, but my curiosity won. I tried on Pucci blazers, Gucci sandals, and dresses with black laced tops and satin bottoms. I looked at myself in the mirror walking with Louis Vuitton bags, with Prada purses and in Missoni jumpers. I stared at Dior belts around my waist, Chanel earrings in my ears and perfect pearls around my neck. “I am so glad that I can make someone who's interested in fashion happy,” she cried enthusiastically. “I know! Me too!” I cried back. “And I'm serious, if you ever like to borrow one of my Chanels,” she continued “just call me, don't worry, I like my things to be worn. I also have a marvelous Marc Jacobs dress, and very cool Chanel earrings with huge golden fives in it.”
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Pretty Pucci has captured my heart years ago |
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After I came home with two bags filled with fab finds, I sunk into the couch and sighed. Wheter God exists or not, I do know that I very much like Fashion Fairy Godmothers. And I know that if I work real hard, I can be a Fashion Fairy Godmother to one of my friends daughters someday as well. Can't wait... BbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbLABLABLABLA
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