Livin' La Vida Logo
Livin' La Vida Logo
JAKARTA (JP): Once upon a particularly insignificant get-
together, involving people who believed their own overrated
significance, a group of tasteful ladies at a posh hotel
restaurant were lamenting 21st century Indonesian existence. I
was seated nearby and decided to do something that I knew was an
exercise in bad manners, but delicious nonetheless, I
eavesdropped!
Of course, with their precision-tailored Giorgio's and
Gianni's, and impeccably crafted Blahniks, there was almost
something surreal about hearing these damsels talk about how hard
life had turned out to be. But it was still interesting,
nonetheless -- to hear their elementary analysis made to sound
slightly profound and passably deep. Or was it the marked traces
of their Chanel perfumes or their girlish references to a lovely
Italian bistro in New York that served bit-size pizzas topped
with Belugas that qualified them to be amateur Soedjati
Djiwandonos in their analysis of the Indonesian situation?
Whatever.
Their conversation started with the rupiah devaluation (or
something as everyday as that). Then the stream of their
consciousness translated that monetary tragedy to the price of a
Prada industrial nylon bag now selling at almost 700 US dollars.
One of the ladies sighed -- saying that, thank God, she collected
all her Pradas, Fendis, Vuittons and Coach bags at a time when
they were still selling at prices not quite equivalent to
treating an entire kampung (village) in Cirebon for lunch. The
other lady was disturbed by this change of paradigm, stating that
all these bags are investments -- for they are so well-made that
they will last a lifetime unlike anything cheaper that falls
apart in less than a year.
The same lady shuddered, making sure that there was enough
life caught in her Bvlgari 5-carat diamond earrings and sending a
blinding flash of light on the eyes of the others in that
spontaneous congregation. This time she lamented the
proliferation of fabulous fakes, especially those made in Korea
and sold in Bangkok and our very own Mangga Dua at about one
percent of the price of originals.
"I cannot possibly imagine myself wearing those," the proper
madam muttered with utmost conviction. "I think wearing fake
designer merchandise is so dishonest and insincere." She talked
about all the fake DKNYs, Calvins and Chanels as if Ms. Karan,
Mr. Klein and Coco were included on the list of friends she sent
the most delicious Nasi Tumpeng each lebaran. Her chunk of wisdom
was eventually summarized by some deep cosmic-boggling line like,
"It is not the quantity of clothes and accessories that count ...
it is the quality. It is not the price of the item that
matters ... it is the significance of its creation." Oh, okay.
Eventually, she may include her Ferragamos in her will.
That was when the other socialite nymph bravely put her cards
down on the table. She boldly admitted that, yes, she bought
fakes and, yes, she mixed them with the real McCoys that she
owned. And no one would notice.
Everyone assumes, she said, that she is just such a somebody
that it would be impossible for her to wear Thai or Korean
ripoffs. This series of statements was eventually punctuated with
a hearty laugh -- while her other friends either smiled politely
or started reassessing the present financial stature of her
family.
"I mean, face it ... " she yelped, "It's who you are. I can
wear costume jewelry and people will think they're the real thing
because ... well, I am me." That made a lot of sense. Mrs. Bogus
Consumer worked out regularly, plunged into midlife with a simple
refusal to be imprisoned by the numerals of her age and, most
importantly, looked better than anyone in the room dripping with
their Harry Winstons or shoved into their Escadas.
"I am teaching my kids the right values," contributed another
one in this mentally stimulating conversation.
If my son is dying to have those Guess jeans or going crazy to
buy those Nike shoes, then let him save for it." She launched
into an endearing account that only a mother could be capable of
making sound cute: she narrated how her 15-year-old son literally
had to scrimp on his allowance just to be able to afford an
Emporio Armani jacket from Takashimaya in Singapore. "Now that's
what I call teaching them the value of money," she underlined
with parental wisdom.
Then the talk went here and there. Mrs. Perfect Mother
mentioned a litany of factory outlet stores where you can buy all
the name brands at a fraction of the price; she practically gave
a to-the-last-detail description of all the outlet dump sites at
Radio Dalam.
She said that her son even introduced her to the joys of
barfly.com or eBay, thereby qualifying her to be one of the first
Indonesian high-tech bargain hunters. "You just cannot imagine
how many steals you can get from the Internet!"
A very excited sister-in-arms also mentioned how she
practically goes epileptic each time she reads the word "Sale"
plastered outside a designer label store whether here or abroad.
The girls all agreed. They burst into that kind of collective
giggle you only get in convent schools during high school fairs.
That was when one of the husbands broke into the ladies circle
to ask his wife if she gave their son permission to use the
Jaguar. He looked smart in his Hugo Boss suit, predictable with
his Rolex watch and confident in his Bally shoes.
-- Vic Albornoz Lactaoen