Fashion

THE MAGIC OF THE BIRKIN

Just like you need friends with boats in life, as a woman in fashion, it's a really smart idea to have friends with Hermès bags. Peggy lent me hers when I applied at Marie Claire in Paris and just by having the bag, I of course couldn't do anything wrong.

On Monday, I suddenly thought it would be really fun to have ‘something from’ Hermès dangling from my arm during my trip to Paris. Well, dangling. Carrying an Hermès bag is equivalent to two hours of torture in the gym with a kilo of weights. Anyway. Peggy was in Thailand, so I could forget about her Kelly, but Maria Kooistra was a serious option. I once got to borrow her blue baby (as we called her Birkin) for a few months, and I hadn't seen it in way too long.

“Not that I needed it because what does a person actually need when you walk to school and back?‘

‘I’ll be in your street this afternoon, I’ll drop it off right away.’ See, that’s doing business. That’s how I envision life! When I dropped my daughters off at school on Tuesday morning just before leaving for Paris, I couldn't help but take the blue child with me. Not that I needed it because what does a person actually need when you walk to school and back? Your keys? Your phone? Certainly not this mega shopper.

But I still wanted to flash it a bit PLUS of course have some fun showing it off left and right. Did I really write that? Yes, I really wrote that. I’m just a human too. Moreover, I also wanted to do some anthropological research on The Bag. Because I know all too well what this bag does for you when you walk through the Via Condotti in Rome (you’re almost showered with rose petals and champagne, but not quite) and on the Upper East Side in New York, the most snooty millionaire's wife steps aside for you, but on the schoolyard in Haarlem… I was really curious about that.

“No greedy looks, no flushed cheeks from jealousy. None of that.”

However! The crowd did not part when I walked onto the schoolyard. Maybe too busy being on time for class. Or too busy talking to other mothers. But didn’t they really see it? Or did they all just find it normal? I got an error.

Maybe I should carry it a bit higher. So not low in my hand, but in the crook of my arm. More in sight. And as I struggled between the tables to my daughter's desk, I held it prominently in front of me. I almost got cramps in my arm, what a hell this was again. I set my hopes on the trendy mother of J, who was sitting next to her son's table on her fourteen-centimeter heels. But nothing, nothing. No greedy looks, no flushed cheeks from jealousy. None of that.

Had the blue child lost its power? Or had everyone just gone crazy? And blind at the same time? That must be it. But in Paris, the Birkin did its job again. There were nods, I heard applause, someone stood up, and there was champagne.

And that, that is the power of Hermès. Those who don’t know it, don’t see it. No one who thinks you’re overdressed (or should I say ‘overbagged’) will find you so, because they have no idea you’re walking around with a bag worth four zeros. But the connoisseur bows.

And that might just be the real secret.