Gone Gucci Gone

For those of us who are label lovers, fashion is a religion. We worship the one-name gods – Marc, Michael, Oscar, Carolina, Chanel (drifts off in wonder…). Developing our fashion aesthetic has taken years of soul searching, personality analysis, and okay, let’s be honest, figure obsessing. Through those years, we have accumulated more than fabric; we have collected wearable pieces of art. So, you can imagine my shared horror and outrage when my best friend called to tell me the news: when picking up her dry cleaning, she realized that of all the items in her bag the one conveniently ‘missing’ happened to be a treasured Gucci blouse. And not just any Gucci blouse. This one was THE blouse – the one that hugged all the right spots, accentuated all the right parts, and to add insult to injury, was proudly rescued at a last-call sale at Neiman Marcus. It couldn’t have been the stupid Ann Taylor button-down to bite the bullet, or the used-to-be-black-but-now-a-faded-charcoal-looking-color pair of pants that is too tight anyway? No, of course not; it had to be the holy grail of the bunch. Conspiracy theories arose and the thought of theft crossed her mind. After an exchange of words and a day, the blouse was miraculously found and returned unharmed. Yes, one might beg, borrow, or buy to satisfy a designer addiction, but to steal? C’mon…the thought alone is just sacrilegious.

LMN