CONFESSIONS OF A NON-SHOPAHOLIC
It’s amusing to see people’s behaviour, attitude when dealing with branded goods
IWAS once pronounced mad. And straight to my face, too. I didn’t mind that and let the episode pass without allowing the cruel remark to damage my mental state.
However, the incident remained vivid and clear in the deep recesses of my mind.
A few months after my arrival in London almost four decades ago, a certain lady paid me a visit.
I was a young bride just about to set up home and our apartment was bare.
My visitor did a quick scan of my abode and decided that she should be the one to catapult my standing in the community here by selling me some branded products, deemed as necessary to be accepted.
She had noted, with a quick glance, that the sad state of my kitchen cabinet would do well with some beautiful Royal Dalton collections, the kind that had graced many a Malaysian dinner party, whose porcelain flowers of the same brand had hindered many a conversation in Malaysian households as guests tried to speak over these flowers that took pride of place on the table.
I said no, straight to her face, which of course, invited that uncalled for pronouncement on my state of mind.
“You must be mad not to have these chinaware as almost all Malaysians here bought them from me,” she said.
That was the last I saw the back of her.
It is true, almost all Malaysian houses that we visited would display their china proudly when serving their rendang and ketupat.
Even the humble sambal belacan was being honoured with such treatment.
Guests were known to have tilted their cups risking a spill of hot coffee or tea, just to see what make of china they were sipping from.
One proudly admitted to me that her cats ate out of Royal Dalton bowls.
My tea set was subjected to such scrutiny once. I was set to impress my guests who came for tea with my famed sardine rolls, but she, who was dressed like all of Bicester Village hastily put together, gingerly emptied the sardine rolls to look at the make of the plate.
To say that I was slighted by this blatant act of assessing my social status was an understatement. I felt insulted that my sardine rolls were ignored.
Then there’s the obsession with Queen Anne tableware — I have had the misfortune to accompany many Malaysian visitors to warehouses where Malaysians were quite well known. Again, it never moved me to buy even one ladle or spoon.
Now what dragged these sad episodes in my life to be aired in this manner?
Oh, it could be the recently-viral news item about how a Louis Vuitton (LV) bag was so unceremoniously dissected just because of the perceived attitude of a racial nature of a salesperson.
I just found it hard to digest the whole thing; was it a racial issue, a case of status or ego?
I find this emotional attachment to branded things quite baffling. The saying “cutting the nose to spite the face” came to mind.
During this same week as the sad LV episode, I read about a scruffy old Thai man who wandered into several Harley Davidson showrooms and was ignored.
But he wasn’t too perturbed by that, nor was his ego dented.
He persevered and went into one showroom where his intelligent questions about the mean machines won over the manager.
He then handed over what must have been his life savings to own one of the machines, probably the one he used to dream about as a poorly-paid mechanic.
To him, I guess, this had nothing to do with status — with every repair he made, he saved so that one day, he could own and feel the joy of being at one with the Harley.
People do become obsessive and possessive over their branded goods; from displaying them on tables or at a check-in queue before taking a flight, to shielding their bags from rain and bullets.
Today, walking along Oxford Street, my eyes automatically scanned for handbags people were carrying. Indeed, a lot of LVs, mostly hanging from the arms of Chinese, Japanese and Eastern European shoppers.
They adorned many Malaysian arms, too. The chequered pattern and randomly strewn alphabets have become synonymous to the status of a selective group you find queuing outside the store’s heavily-guarded door.
With nothing much to show about my status in a very statusconscious community, I am often amused at the behaviour and attitude of some people when dealing with branded goods.
Wasn’t it some time ago that stories and video clips emerged about certain Malaysian celebrities who ranted outside stores that refused to entertain them because it was closing time?
I couldn’t find a funny side to this behaviour. To me, this is sheer ego at play, coupled with ignorance.
In the United Kingdom, no matter how much money you have, when it is closing time, it means the key is already in the lock, the finger is already on the button.
Have some class, make a private appointment and you will find yourself being served with some branded tea while you choose your favourite accessories.
I have often wondered how I survived this far not pandering to brand names. My husband wisely said, until you know how to pronounce the brand, do not buy.
I have heard many visitors asking me where to get “Oinx” table — referring to Onyx top tables. And an advice to those who go after French branded products, it helps to google how these brand names are pronounced; it makes a difference between ordering a Chanel number 5 and a Channel no 5.
I used to think that Ferragamo was a pasta dish and it is just as well that until today I never owned one.
I was searching for a pair of shoes at a shop in Oxford Street, when all of a sudden, I heard someone feigning despair that he couldn’t find what he wanted.
“It’s a shame that I have lost Jimmy Choo’s card. We should have gone in there to get shoes,” he lamented loudly for all to hear.
Well, it seemed that even if one can’t be seen to wear or buy one, shouting out loud the brand name helps as well.
Isn’t it just a sad reflection of how we have become?
People who come for so-called work trips would rush through their meetings only to publicly declare: “We need to go to Bicester Village”.
Study tours are re-routed to make a mandatory stop here, where it’s branded goods galore.
I have yet to muster some of the names of these goods, nor understand what difference it would do to me. So, for now, the £25 backpack that I ordered through Amazon would be good enough. I don’t even know what it’s called.