brand (un)conscious

Last week, Harper's Bazaar posted an article on 'How to Pronounce Moschino, Miu Miu and More Designer Names.'  And admit it or not, I bet a lot of us spent a few minutes whispering air-vay lay-jah to ourselves, congratulating ourselves on the one piece of information that we will not mispronounce when we visit the newly-opened SM Megamall Fashion Hall with our more knowledgeable fashionable friends.

I grew up being happily ignorant of brands and what they meant.  I was already working in my third job, married and with children before I met people who wore labels with such gleeful abandon.  And although I was not easily impressed, I didn't mind learning either.

I had friends who taught me to wear Aldo and Nine West, Pedro and Charles and Keith.  I bought a lot of clothes from Celine before it got extra publicity from the TV series Ina, Kapatid, Anak and then I bought some more :-)  I like Forever 21 with its overwhelming selection of clothes.  I bought gifts at Marks & Spencer and Beauty Bar.  I bought Guess and Levi's from Amazon.com and contemplated Kate Spade.

That's a meager and unimpressive list, and some of my friends would raise eyebrows at how little I know.  I've seen Ferragamo and Jimmy Choo on the feet of officemates, and didn't know it.  I cannot distinguish Murano or Charriol jewelry, although  I have a couple of pieces.  I didn't know enough to get ecstatic over the opening of the H&M Store.  Aside from the fact that it comes from the same country that produced IKEA furniture, I didn't see what was so special about it.  I walk past it every night on my way to the transport terminal, and I am not tempted to look.

I can easily wear ukay-ukay finds as well as Zara, and nobody can tell the difference.  I've never met a person who would praise what I was wearing, then demand to know the price tag.  Designer labels to me are just proper nouns with capital-letter status that are, for the most part, beyond my means.  I have no dark desire deep inside to decapitate people who wear them.  But I also acknowledge that recognizing the labels, and sometimes owning an item or two, horribly expensive they might be, adds a certain distinction-- if not value-- to a person.

How many people would recognize a Montblanc pen, or know that a Limited Edition Agatha Christie Fountain Pen sells for $4,500?  Not many, perhaps, but in a meeting where you're merely the minute-taker, someone is bound to do a double-take when you start taking notes.  Right, Claire?

When I'm wearing something expensive, something special, I feel good about myself.  I like it when I meet old friends who look at my feet and smile with easy familiarity, because they recognize the shoes from where we bought them together.  We live in a society that places value on material things-- on brands-- and there are occasions when ignorance places you at a disadvantage, such as a gathering where someone asks you if you've ever heard of Christian Louboutin.  I'm sure it would give you savage pleasure to be able to say, oh yes, I'm wearing them.

More importantly, people may not always know that what you're carrying is an imitation Louis Vuitton, but you will always know.  I once bought one, and I carried it once to a party, to see if someone would take note.  Nobody did, and like the bag, I felt like a fake.  The thing is, I could have bought a real one.  I could have saved for it.  But it didn't make sense to own a 2,000-dollar handbag.  That's the amount of tuition for my two kids for one school year.  To me, there's a big difference between being able to afford one and deserving to own one.

A friend once told me that I should not sanitize my writing, but I have to remember that what I write may one day haunt me.  One day, when I become an Hermes-toting, globe-trotting socialite, I'll remember this blog and how I mouthed the syllables of the labels properly.  And I'll laugh, and I'll put it down to naivete, or inexperience.  Or honesty.  That's always forgivable than having too many social pretensions.