Virtually impossible in Dubai, where every street leads to a mall of fabulosity. It’s the holy grail of retail therapy. The centre of the shopping universe. I want everything.....
For the first time in my life I lust after Paris Hilton’s life with her unlimited credit cards. It’s not fair!!! I also wanna!!
The designer stuff is the worst. Having only been exposed to limited ranges of Haute Couture at Nelson Mandela Square, this is a whole new world. God, it’s beautiful. You can smell the difference, never mind see it. It’s causing serious tension in my little unaccustomed head:
Bad me: Oh My God, that’s the most beautiful bag I have ever seen in my life.
Good me: Oh my God, look at the price. Don’t be ridiculous. Put. It. Down.
Bad me: But it will go with everything... last for years, and never go out of fashion.
Good me: It costs 4500 Dirhams. Leave Bloomingdales at once!
Bad me: But, it’s not just a bag. It’s a Jimmy Choo. Everyone will think I’m so sophisticated...
Good me: Out! Out! Leave! Which direction is the exit?
Bad me: ... not to mention a fashionista at the cutting edge of international trends.
Good me: OUT OUT OUT!!!
It’s exhausting.
I would like to assure everyone, however, that despite all the temptation, I have rarely succumbed (says she peering over the rims of her Versace shades). At least I’m not as bad as my friend Kate. We went shopping for gifts on Saturday because we’re both going home to SA for a visit next week. We [bargain] shopped for hours and she went home with six handbags, a good few designer scarves, and a brand new Subaru. Yes, the car. The 4x4 one. She wasn’t even planning it.
'Cos, that’s how we roll here in the Middle East.
No comments:
Post a Comment