Fun & Famous
ONCE UPON A TIME…
A bizarrely expensive skirt that no one wanted to wear…
A year or so ago, I went to Paris with Renske at the invitation of Chanel. We stayed at Le Meurice (a hotel so beautiful that you are spoiled for life once you've slept there), saw Karl himself hopping by our table and found ourselves in an advanced state of a five-star existence.
We even started to think that we had Kim Kardashian-like budgets at our disposal and went shopping in Rue Saint-Honoré with a credit card that was giving us butterflies in our wallets. We felt like real Parisiennes. I was pregnant, so broody, so even more eager to shop than usual, so I dragged Rens along to one of the most beautiful children's clothing stores in Paris. In the window, I had seen a skirt hanging from Sonia Rykiel. A black, flared petticoat with little bows embroidered on it. So adorable, this was perfect for my oldest girl.
We felt like real Parisiennes.
In the store, I cautiously and sneakily peeked at the skirt looking for the price tag. That’s not chic at all, of course, but well, we remain Dutch and somewhere in a corner of my spoiled body, I knew I couldn't afford this luxury myself. Anyway. What did my eye see? 55 euros. A bargain then. For nothing. To give away. To grab. So that skirt was clamped under my arm as I continued my shopping spree. I found a T-shirt from Christian Dior with girls drawn on it in cheerful dresses and jackets. That cost 120 euros, but hey, that was from Dior. The skirt and shirt went to the checkout.
“Trois cent quatre-vingt-huit euro’s s’il vous plaît,” said the cashier. Now I find that ‘quatre-vingt’ always incredibly complicated in French, because I mean, just come up with something French for ‘eighty’, but apparently that’s harder than saying ‘four times twenty’ every time and making me do the math and leading me astray, because honestly, I have no idea what they are saying, but something in me said that this mumbling meant more than the 120 + 55 that I had calculated myself.
So in my best French, I pointed out that the skirt only cost 55 euros and that the lady had really, no worries, it can happen to the best, made a little calculation mistake. Long story short: I had looked at the price tag of the tights underneath, not the skirt. Fifty-five euros for tights. That’s just crazy, right? But I did what you would have done too. I didn’t blink, I didn’t blush, I didn’t bat my eyes, took a breath, and slid my card through that slot. Meanwhile, looking for excuses.
I had two daughters and a third was on the way. That 260 euros that the skirt cost (two hundred sixty euros, two hundred sixty euros) I could easily divide by three, and that brought me to 86 euros per girl. Still quite pricey, but well, I could justify this.
“I think it’s beautiful, but I won’t wear it‘
Excited, I came home with the skirt in question. “Sweetheart, I have a real Rykiel for you from Paris…” My daughter looked at the skirt and turned around. Not her taste. I should have known. No worries, I’ll wait for number two. When the middle girl finally reached the skirt-worthy age, I took her to the secret closet where the skirt was stored. “Look what I have for something special…” I waited in suspense for her answer. “I think it’s beautiful (she says ‘plachtig’), mom…” Hèhè, finally I had a bite. “But I won’t wear it.”.
Meanwhile, the skirt serves as a lampshade. And to be fair, it’s quite reasonably priced for a lampshade of which there is only one. What am I saying: ridiculously cheap.“
A year or so ago, I went to Paris with Renske at the invitation of Chanel. We stayed at Le Meurice (a hotel so beautiful that you are spoiled for life….
