You are what you flaunt

I used to think my son had better sense than most but in recent months he is showing signs of turning into a vulgarian. Ever since international luxury brands found a toehold in India, they have been knocking at the doors of those like us who have proved immune to their blandishments — or so I thought. But, now, I see my son sporting a flashy Gucci buckle on his belt that he wears to work at the High Court. The Apple wristwatch, a gift from his bride, he never takes off, though there is little that is appealing about its face or form; as for its function, I am no expert on such matters, but it seems odd to see my son address his wrist instead of making conversation like all of us. His shirts bear logos at the pocket and cuff that I do not recognise, but they seem no better, or worse, than the rest of my humbler wardrobe. 

When the downpour this week caught everyone by surprise, it also ruined my daughter’s Coach shoes that she had worn to work. The damp has caused mold and fungus. Nor have her various Bottega Veneta, Longchamp or Michael Kors bags improved from their frequent commuting on the metro. But I have been banned from making remarks about her propensity to acquire more bags, such observations being deemed too old-worldly for a daughter who claims to earn her own keep. 

My son’s bride is a poster girl for brands but what she loves most of all is dressing up for parties. She’d quit working, if she could, to spend the day modelling her own outfits, many of which require large boxes in which to store them. Now that the festive season is here, she’s taken to airing them more frequently. In the car, should we be travelling together, she commands most space to avoid crushing her outfit, while the rest of us are squashed into a corner. 

The children have tried to “improve” me too. I’m routinely gifted T-shirts that I hardly wear, not least because their buttons come off, the stitching unravels, or the washing lady discolours them with bleach just as irreverently as any other homegrown brand. My daughter gave me a Tod’s belt that I was forced to wear when the previous one gave way. Only, if I wear the belt with black trousers, my son says it is brown; if I wear it with brown pants, my daughter says it is black. I think it is Tod’s way of making its customers buy more belts in shades varying between black and brown, but I’m sticking to the one I have even though my colleagues in office wonder why I fail to match the colour of my belt with the colour of my shoes. 

From clothes to house furnishings is but a small step. If you are what you eat, then eating off Versace dinner plates is tres-mode. A lady we know customises linen but her bedsheets cost more than my chauffeur’s salary. My daughter-in-law would like nothing more than to emulate her aunt who has Louis Vuitton clothes bins in her bathroom. We got her a willow one instead but I don’t think she likes it very much. Why else would she leave it outside her bedroom door every night?