I grew up on the not-quite-drive-bys-but-neighboring-a-few-gangs ugly end of poor. My parents were of the working class, what ever the hell that means, and they weren't exactly shining examples of money management. Meaning, maybe the electricity bill was left forgotten on the dining table, but after work on Friday, with a cashed paycheck in my mothers hand, we would head off for Dilliards and she would purchase a Coach bag for me. As a selfish teenager, the trade off was fine.
I have always wanted to have something new and preferably costly. I certainly don't want to generate a shallow minded daughter, I have used all I've got to suppress my frivolous ways, making certain not to feed her mind from my Gucci printed spoon. As most first born daughters go, if I want her to want it, she certainly doesn't. The more I ask her if she'd like to accompany me to purchase clothes for her, she shrugs with her nose in a book and says 'Just get a few dresses, something easy.'
Don't be confused, her preference for dresses isn't for chichi purposes, it's ease. There is no coordination needed, the outfit is already made. I'd delighted, as I'll take what I can get.
As we were changing planes in Zurich, lucky for me, it was Switzerland's Fashion Week and the airport was a feast for my eyes. Oh, the shops were just divine! We glanced through the Swatch collection store and Missy B fell in love with a watch.
The Traci inside my mind was jumping up and down from the tippy toes of my Arturo Chiang flats, squealed volumes in my head and as I realized how badly I'd been waiting this moment. To give her the first taste of shopping joy by gifting her with this ador-HOLY GOD- 154 Franc watch?!
Why couldn't her first shopping request been something stamping Justice across her ar$e like every other tween? How could she have gone from no desire to quality items?
Was it because she had just scored her first pair of Prada sandals?
