Fug, Fab, and the City

So I've just spent the three days in New York City -- a place I haven't been since fifth grade! And I lived in Pennsylvania at the time, too. I mean, how lame is it to live in New York State but never once go to NYC while getting way too familiar with Utica? What I found intriguing, however, is how much parts of Manhattan nevertheless seemed to look like Utica: sketchy, grungy, dirty. But then my aunt said that these were actually safe, expensive neighborhoods. . . I guess I was expecting New York to look like Toronto, where I went a couple of years ago and saw the CN Tower, Chinatown, and the "World's Biggest Bookstore." Toronto is basically a suburban city, if that makes any sense. But New York struck me as more exciting and as having more character. It's like Toronto is the brand-new McMansion on the immaculate lawn, while New York is the charmingly shabby estate with all the awesome old architectural details; unexpected nooks, crannies, and secret passageways; wild, overgrown garden blossoming unhindered; and accumulated memories from generations of living.

* * *

Of course I went to Saks Fifth Avenue, where I was in for more surprises. Namely: I hated most of the expensive designer handbags they had there. Like this particular Miu Miu:


Maybe I'm showing both a fashion naivety and an alarming acculturation to the standards of upstate New York, but I still do not like that bag. I've seen several old ladies in this area (upstate NY) carry purses made from patches of leather in various shades of beige. And that's what this bag reminded me of. I know it's probably beautifully crafted and made to last, but from my perspective, it has an "old lady" look to it.

And then there's this Versace:


Yeah. Meeeeh. Too rock star for me. And too trendy -- unless you're actually, really rich, I fail to see the point of spending up to $2,000 on a bag that's going to be completely out of style in two years.

I did, however, absolutely ADORE the Salvatore Ferragamos!





Guess I better start selling some novels. . .