Spend Spend Spend
I've been working so hard that I can already see the scars on my fingers. My brain is partially fried and my reflexes are that of an 80 year old man.
I cannot walk in a straight line in the morning, and I fall asleep almost instantly. I don't have any trouble sleeping; just a pillow under my head and I'm up in snoozes.
I mean, what's the point. I'm earning hundreds and hundreds of dollars and I don't have the capacity to spend it. It’s locked up away in the bank, churning up dollars in interest, but I'm suffering physically and mentally from the stress associated with work. And I hardly reward myself at all.
Though my income has gone up, my instinct to save has not worn off. I am still buying cheap food and being weary of buying drinks at clubs because it’s almost inbuilt in me. I just can't bear to spend the money. But then lo-behold one fine day I woke up to the sound of money. I just couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to spend it. Spend it all.
What better place is there in the world to spend absurd amounts of cash other than a boutique buying horrendously expensive clothes to fit you?
I instantly jumped into sister-mode and went rummaging for a shirt. After hours of toil and days of unrest, I finally spotted a shirt hanging off one of the racks in Myer that caught my eye.
I don’t really shop at Myer. I think the place is a rip-off because it overcharges people on everything and anything. We’re talking about $200 bed sheets and $99 toasters here, people.
But this was the exception because I knew it the instant I saw it, that I had to have it. Pressing my nose against it, I could smell the freshness of the fabric. The seams that ran across the cloth were flawless and the pattern, a bluish-green array of stripes descending from the top to the bottom was flaunting yet conservative. The style: tight fitting and crease-free.
The hips fitted perfectly; I could feel it tight around my waist and loose around my chest. Long sleeves tuck away my underdeveloped hands and the collar crisp and ironed such that no creases were visible.
I knew that very moment that this was it. This was mine.
Instinct kicked in again and I went into withdrawal mode. I kept pacing around the area in which the shirt was sold trying to look for cheaper alternatives. You will understand when you are in Australia that nothing decent is cheap. Even a simple T-shirt can cost anywhere between $50 and $200. Shirts that fit me (i.e. have XS or S sizes) are almost always more than $70, and a majority of them have hideous looking designs that someone like me would cringe at the thought of wearing such atrocious looking monstrosities.
But I am a picky person, and a stingy one at that. I ended up in Collins St, walking into all the boutiques that still had winter sales trying to find a better buy but again, no size for me, no patterns I like.
More than 20 shops later, I find myself standing on Bourke St once more. Skimming through the large array of clothes in David Jones, I found nothing that caught my eye. Everything was either too radical or too simple, or too expensive for the brand that it carries. Herringbone. Who the hell has heard of that brand??? And to pay $200 for a shirt that nobody knows of is a disgrace.
When you think Gucci and LV, you think screaming. Outward proclamation that your item belongs to the elite. You don't pay $3000 for a handbag that doesn't have LV plastered all over it, even if it is in hideous looking colours.
Melbourne Central and Saba makes me sigh. Awful looking summer line with ridiculously expensive price tags. And Marcs; everybody can afford their shirt. Everybody can wear it. Commonplace. Simple.
Waste of money.
I walk past Myer three more times more before deciding to put it on EFTPOS. That gut wrenching feeling you get when you spend a million dollars; that's how I felt as I walked out with a tiny bag.
Two weeks of work in that bag.
When I got home, I couldn’t stop touching the shirt. I must have been insane. Mad. Possessed. This is what you get when you work too hard. You become crazy.
And it was at that moment I noticed on the tag that the shirt was made in Malaysia. Hmmmm.
And funnily though, today I wore the shirt to a cocktail party and I instantly realised it was worth more expensive than the COMBINED price of the coat, pants and shoes I had on.
I'm very happy with my Hugo. And everybody seems happy too.
I cannot walk in a straight line in the morning, and I fall asleep almost instantly. I don't have any trouble sleeping; just a pillow under my head and I'm up in snoozes.
I mean, what's the point. I'm earning hundreds and hundreds of dollars and I don't have the capacity to spend it. It’s locked up away in the bank, churning up dollars in interest, but I'm suffering physically and mentally from the stress associated with work. And I hardly reward myself at all.
Though my income has gone up, my instinct to save has not worn off. I am still buying cheap food and being weary of buying drinks at clubs because it’s almost inbuilt in me. I just can't bear to spend the money. But then lo-behold one fine day I woke up to the sound of money. I just couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to spend it. Spend it all.
What better place is there in the world to spend absurd amounts of cash other than a boutique buying horrendously expensive clothes to fit you?
I instantly jumped into sister-mode and went rummaging for a shirt. After hours of toil and days of unrest, I finally spotted a shirt hanging off one of the racks in Myer that caught my eye.
I don’t really shop at Myer. I think the place is a rip-off because it overcharges people on everything and anything. We’re talking about $200 bed sheets and $99 toasters here, people.
But this was the exception because I knew it the instant I saw it, that I had to have it. Pressing my nose against it, I could smell the freshness of the fabric. The seams that ran across the cloth were flawless and the pattern, a bluish-green array of stripes descending from the top to the bottom was flaunting yet conservative. The style: tight fitting and crease-free.
The hips fitted perfectly; I could feel it tight around my waist and loose around my chest. Long sleeves tuck away my underdeveloped hands and the collar crisp and ironed such that no creases were visible.
I knew that very moment that this was it. This was mine.
Instinct kicked in again and I went into withdrawal mode. I kept pacing around the area in which the shirt was sold trying to look for cheaper alternatives. You will understand when you are in Australia that nothing decent is cheap. Even a simple T-shirt can cost anywhere between $50 and $200. Shirts that fit me (i.e. have XS or S sizes) are almost always more than $70, and a majority of them have hideous looking designs that someone like me would cringe at the thought of wearing such atrocious looking monstrosities.
But I am a picky person, and a stingy one at that. I ended up in Collins St, walking into all the boutiques that still had winter sales trying to find a better buy but again, no size for me, no patterns I like.
More than 20 shops later, I find myself standing on Bourke St once more. Skimming through the large array of clothes in David Jones, I found nothing that caught my eye. Everything was either too radical or too simple, or too expensive for the brand that it carries. Herringbone. Who the hell has heard of that brand??? And to pay $200 for a shirt that nobody knows of is a disgrace.
When you think Gucci and LV, you think screaming. Outward proclamation that your item belongs to the elite. You don't pay $3000 for a handbag that doesn't have LV plastered all over it, even if it is in hideous looking colours.
Melbourne Central and Saba makes me sigh. Awful looking summer line with ridiculously expensive price tags. And Marcs; everybody can afford their shirt. Everybody can wear it. Commonplace. Simple.
Waste of money.
I walk past Myer three more times more before deciding to put it on EFTPOS. That gut wrenching feeling you get when you spend a million dollars; that's how I felt as I walked out with a tiny bag.
Two weeks of work in that bag.
When I got home, I couldn’t stop touching the shirt. I must have been insane. Mad. Possessed. This is what you get when you work too hard. You become crazy.
And it was at that moment I noticed on the tag that the shirt was made in Malaysia. Hmmmm.
And funnily though, today I wore the shirt to a cocktail party and I instantly realised it was worth more expensive than the COMBINED price of the coat, pants and shoes I had on.
I'm very happy with my Hugo. And everybody seems happy too.
Fell from the sky at 1:17 AM
8 Comments:
upload the pic here... wanna see how does it look like... >=P
yes yes.. please post the pic of the shirt..
uhmn.. anyway i quite agreed that some of the brands in australia is too pricey that it is better to spend on those brands that well known enough!
Did you try Chido? They have very nice CDG shirts. And Cactus Jam at QV is good if you are looking for shirts or jeans. They stock a bit of everything.
Cactus Jam is a rip off... their clothes are extremely expensive and the cut never fits me! I think it was engineered for fat people haha...
Posting a pic of the shirt? Hmmm. Let me think about it :)
so The Shirt is Herringbone? that's an incredibly high-end Australian shirt. one or two steps below bespoke. and you probably wouldn't recognise the names of any of the good bespoke tailors either. so glad you bought it despite your snobbery :)
The shirt is Boss, and I'm not snobbish... I'm nice (-_-)"
I LOVE HUGO BOSS!!!
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