Let me just start by saying, that I love and adore shoes, Christian Louboutin, Jimmy Choo, Miu miu, prada, and of course Dior, and secondly that I have mountains of respect for the Jimmy Choo brand, and I’m sure he’s also a very nice guy.
Never before 2008 where all these beauties so close, but yet so far, in the beginning of the year for the first time in Cape Town, Jimmy choo opened shop in the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront mall.
The first time I walked past the shop (sorry… shrine of brilliance) I had memories from sex in the city flashing through my head, I saw choo’s in real life, for me, it was like a national geographic special of shoes in their natural habitat. Yet I felt no need to torture myself, knowing that one pair is as much as 3 months of my salary, so I walked on by, still nursing within me the dream of choo, “one day you will be mine…”
For about two months I had my curiosity chewing at me like a ugly dog, “Just one pair, trying them doesn’t mean buying them, keep the dream alive, set a goal” And so, after having braved Louis Vuitton one rainy afternoon, I finally felt I could face the god of shoes.
Before I continue, I have to mention that I was dressed more smartly than I usually am when I go to the waterfront because I had come from an interview.
Okay, so there I am, I walk in and… I am greeted by a very beautiful shop assistant, “Good afternoon miss, could I assist you in any way?”, “hee hee, miss.” i think, “and yes I want to try those in a size 6 please.” oh my god I said it aloud! I almost wanted to close my eyes and wait for a loud noise of rejection, but it never came.
Ten minutes later, myself and a fellow shopper (whom I do not know from a bar of soap) are sipping cuppa-chinos and paging through a catalogue together, the nice stranger told me she was getting married in December and wanted a specific pair she saw on her last trip to London, fortunately they could order them for her. (All the while, all I can think is, wow so this is how rich people get sucked up to on a regular basis, awesome. I’ve never even received post from overseas, never mind ordered shoes.)
Eventually the afternoon draws to a close, and after about a hour of dedicated worship I sadly leave the fabled shrine of Choo.
The next day, armed with a new found familiarity, I decide to drag my mom to go and see the most beautiful pairs of shoes in the world, reluctantly, she lets herself be dragged.
I enthusiastically march into the shop, all my fears of rejection completely forgotten. The same shop assistant, looks away when I greet her like a new friend. “weird, maybe she didn’t hear me” I think, and greet her again, a little louder. Suddenly, she had a look on her face like the giant slab of blue cheese had escaped from the restaurant a few shops down.
Still, not deterred, I enquire after a specific shoe I tried on the previous day, again in a size six. So she puts on her best faux disappointed face and croons “ah no sweetie, we just sold the last pair!” (don’t call me sweetie, do I look like a sweetie?!) Then I ask if I could look at the catalogue and show my mom what they look like in there, so she goes “sorry, we don’t have a catalogue”
needless to say, after that the shrine looked like a Muslim place of worship, after the Spanish inquisition. I had a small tantrum, nothing Hiroshima like, more like the fat man.
My every girls fantasy, the fabled glittering shrine of Jimmy Choo, years of careful brand building by clever clever marketing people, all destroyed in the matter of half an hour, by some spawn of Satan, cow (who herself doesn’t even own a pair of jimmy’s – she told me the day before.)
The whole ordeal left me feeling a bit like Oprah after they were mean to her at Fendi, except I’m not Oprah, and I can’t see anyone from Jimmy Choo, let alone Jimmy himself offering me an olive branch on national TV, oh and priceless merchandise.
So I have a new god, Louboutin, and so far we have a great realationship, I’ve tried them on twice!