Author’s Note: The following post contains absolutely NO redeeming social content of any kind. In fact, it is reportage of an entirely shallow and shameful incident. To that end, all of the names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.
(Except mine. And Bill’s.)
For what turned out to be my very last birthday that I ever spent with my then-husband, Bill asked me what I wanted for a present.
That was easy.
An Hermès bag.
So he took a stroll over to their boutique on Oak Street and then strolled back.
Bagless.
“I couldn’t believe it,” he reported back to me. “They showed me a purse and said ‘$5000, please.'” So I said, “There had better be $4000 in cash in there because, if not, I’m not paying that.” ***
*** This incident happened in 1995. You have to adjust the price for present value.
This made me laugh. For two reasons.
First, this was so out of character for him. Normally, Bill was a sport when it came to material things. He seldom balked at an item merely because it was expensive.
And second, because it is the ONLY funny thing I can ever remember him saying in the twenty years of our marriage. He was a lot of things- tall, handsome, a business whiz- but funny he wasn’t.
Hong Kong Sidebar: That same birthday we took a long-scheduled trip to Hong Kong. I had decided to go to say “thank you” in person to a very big “whale” who had more-than-generously donated to the St. George’s School fund. (SG was my kids’ boarding school. and I was the parent representative that year)
Once there, it was like a state visit. Every minute was chock full of fabulous agenda items. We were wined and dined and fêted like honored dignitaries.
One of the events was a cocktail party gala given by and for…there is no other way to put this…very rich Hong Kong people.
To amuse them, the hosts had flown over from Paris an ENTIRE Hermès workroom.
The artisans and craftsmen set up a workshop right in the party and showed us all how to make an alligator bag- from the dying of the skin to the hand-riveting of the gold hardware to the finished product.
It was a cradle-to-grave enterprise. They did everything there except shoot that gator.
Bill was impressed.
“Now I know why that they wanted so much money for that thing,” he told me.
But he still never bought me that bag. He ending up buying me one from Louis Vuitton- black leather without the LV logos all over it- that cost $1200. I still use it.
But …fast forward a few years later, and I bought one myself.
And another.
And another.
And scarves, ties, clothing, jewelry, shawls, luggage, watches, scent. Well, you get the million dollar picture.
J’adore Hermès.
Je suis folle.
And today, the bags and I are still going strong. I trot them out all the time. They’re so timeless that they never go out of fashion and they don’t scream “I’m a designer purse.”
They’re beautifully designed and artfully subtle. You don’t know they’re by Hermès unless you know Hermès. It’s like a little club.
Judgement Day Sidebar: I can just hear the tongues clicking all over the place as I type this. And I know what you’re thinking. “Shame on her! What a waste of money! How dare she? How could she be so materialistic?”
Hey, didn’t I warn you that this post wasn’t going to be about Mother Teresa? And let ye-who-have-never-wasted-good-money-on-something-dumb-but-ye-just-had-to-have-it cast the first stone.
Jump Cut to the other evening.
The Time: Eight p.m.
The Place: A chic Chicago holiday party
The Guest List: People who can well afford Hermès anything
The Bag: A chocolate brown leather sac with a regal, burnished gold “H” as its closure
The Incident:
So this old friend of mine,”Jonathan,” strolls up and sits down to talk about current events, politics, the Obama healthcare plan, the meaning of Life and is there a God?
(Nah. He came over to shoot the bull.)
And he noticed my bag at once.
“Very nice, Ellen,” he complimented me. “And I’m sure the ‘H’ stands for ‘Home Depot,’ right?”
We both laughed.
“You just gave yourself away, my friend,” I told him. “I bet there’s not another man in this room who knows what the ‘H’ stands for.”
“No way. You’re wrong. Every guy in this room knows what it means.”
“Want to make a bet?” I said casually.
The gauntlet was tossed.
“Sure I do,” he responded gallantly.
“Okay. You pick out ANY guy in this room. Take a good look. Take your time. And I bet you he will NEVER know where I bought this purse.”
It was game on.
My friend Jonathan surveyed the room and finally his gaze alit upon a likely candidate.
“Alright, I chose Larry. He’ll know where you bought it. I know he will.”
“Are you sure?” I said gleefully. I knew I had this one won already.
“Yep, I’m sure. His wife spends money. He’ll know.”
“Okay, but you’re going to lose. You’ll see.”
And so we made our way over to Larry and Jonathan said, “Ellen and I have a bet. Can you tell me where she bought her purse?”
I dutifully showed it to him front and back like a “Price is Right” model. He looked and looked and then said, “Nope. I have no idea where she got it.”
Ha!
And Jonathan, if you’re reading this (and I know that you are) you never asked me what I want for my winnings.
That’s a real no-brainer.
Just meet me at 25 East Oak Street.
One hint.
It ain’t Home Depot.
Bill flew his own plane/ I sat way back in coach. He drove fancy cars just for fun/ I drove a Miata on the weekends. But when it came to Hermes – we were like two peas in a pod. Being very familiar with the holiday story you told about the purse I view it as a testimonial to the rational, logical thinking of mankind on what things are important to know. As for what Jonathan should buy you for winning the bet – I was at Costco yesterday. They are having a sale on cashmere sweaters. And the one in Glenview is right next to Home Depot where they sell bags with a big H on them.
(Loved reading the blog).
LOL! And I love YOU. Thanks for the laugh-and what’s a “Costco?”
Here is some disturbing news for you. I just googled Costco/Hermes. They sell Hermes items at Costco.
OMG. It is the end of civilization as we know it. Repent. The rapture is at hand.
Kenny liked to go to Big Hermes….ok, his cousin. Big Herm’s hotdog stand.
Very nice, ML! Good one. Welcome back from the Big Apple, btw- where they have a fabulous flagship store filled with the “H” word. (Or at least that’s what I’ve been told….)
Gee Ellen, if you pick up that bag at Costco instead of going to Oak Street, you could save enough to go over to Home Depot and pick up a cordless drill.
Funny you should say that, Steve. (Both kinds of funny.) I was just thinking that if I buy a hammer, a pliers and a screwdriver, I wouldn’t need to get married again. No cracks about the cordless drill, please. This is pg-rated blog.
Went to Art Basel this week. Hermes bags were a dime a dozen. Or there were a lot of very good “reproductions.”
Now there’s a really interesting subject. What people are willing to pay for art. They’ll fork over obscene amounts of money for the bragging rights or an ego-boost or …you tell me, Doc.
And thanks for the shopping tip. I’ll hop right down there and load up!
When I said the Hermes bags were a dime a dozen, I meant all the women were carrying them or other equally costly bags. Watching the international crowd was as fascinating as looking at the art. It is a real happening.
Thanks for clearing this up. I did misunderstand you- or was it just a classic case of wish fulfillment? I guess I won’t be coming down there after all!
Wow, those bags are really that much loot? Did I understand you correctly that they are made in a sweat shop in Hong Kong? Being a guy I guess I just don’t understand bags or the values of. But hey, life is too short not to indulge and get what makes you happy 🙂
Yes, they really cost that much dough, sad to say. No, they are not made in Hong Kong. They’re made in a very fancy workshop in Paris. (And I doubt they’re allowed to sweat.) Thanks for the comment – and thanks for hammering today.