Alien Encounter

So, Wednesday morning I was sitting at an outdoor cafe on a leafy downtown street in Montreal. Next to me on the cast iron chair, was an old friend and across from us was her blond friend, sporting dark-sunglasses (we were sitting in the shade) . We chatted idly over coffee about our kids and I noticed the gorgeous silver pendant around her friend’s neck and offered compliments.

“It’s Tiffany.”

No thank you, no I love it too, it’s my favorite; just a designer name. Apparently, she felt dropping that name adequately communicated everything there was to say about the subject: the appeal, the social cachet, the glamorous person she became by simply wearing this necklace, all encapsulated in the jeweler’s name. Holy Effective Advertising, Batman!

I will admit to being completely dumbstruck, which is a feat for me. I changed the subject. What to say to such an insecure display? This woman, I should also mention, was liberally covered with other expensive designer things, from her sunglasses, to her jewelry, her bag, her tank top and her pants.

I have been away from the big city a long time and have, in the intervening 14 years, been shielded from some of its prevailing attitudes and overtly materialistic views. Now, as I throw stones, I am not without my attachments to beautiful thing, but I guess I am making the distinction between what I believe is a lovely thing and considering an object more desirable because there is a designer name involved. I like occasional retail therapy and a screaming deal just like the next gal, but I  judge something on its merits (comfort, practicality and beauty), not on what I imagine someone will think of me because there’s a NAME embossed, engraved or emboidered.

As I sat there, listening to them talk about clothes,  the old adage, “Money doesn’t buy happiness,” danced through my mind.  This alien encounter was a vital reminder of the perils of that kind of attitude, some of which I have been guilty; I have a Prada knock-off purse from 8 years ago which quickly became ridiculous as I realized why I had bought it.  That purse made me no more or less what I am and it serves as a great symbol of my own backward thinking.