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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