Don't wear dirty Nikes to Gucci

expensive bags and feelings

Hi, I’m Koseli. This is a weekly newsletter about my life in Seoul, motherhood, creativity, books, and products I love. I send it out every Sunday with the hope it feels more like a note from a friend than a newsletter.

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This week my husband got the vaccine. No side effects except the cold we’ve all had the last two weeks. He took the day off work. I took over. The kids were home for the Chuseok break. By 5:45 PM, I ran out the door a grumpy tired pumpkin.

I listened to Office Ladies and walked to the mall. By the time I got there, I was a little sweaty. My hair was down and ratty. I wandered in through the five-star hotel entrance (like, literally. A Marriott hotel is attached to this Shinsegae Mall), shuffled past 3,000,000 won winter parkas, and entered the sparkling first floor. After a mandatory temperature check, QR code check-in, and hand sanitizer spritz: Balenciaga, Cartier, Chanel, Louis Vuitton. I always wander in this way because I love walking past the designer stores. But today I felt antsy. I went in Gucci.

I waited at the entrance while a man in a black suit checked my temperature then nodded to another nearby. He silently approached me, nodded, and asked what I was looking for. I said what I always say because it’s what I’m always doing when I shop: browsing. I’m browsing. I’m browsing Gucci. But we both knew I was lying by the way I giggled and crossed my arms, holding my checkered Baggu tote close. I could feel my muffin top peeking over my high-rise jeans as I casually so seriously off-handedly browsed Gucci staying so easy and relaxed. This was totally normal. I totally drop in to check out the latest $3,000.00 handbag I’ll fill with soggy pee shorts and Ritz cracker crumbs and extra N95s.

I reached out to touch a Jackie, the size and shape I’d most recognize as, well, Gucci. The salesman, always right at my elbow, (Gah! Why do they do that?!) told me to try it on. Try it on? I was so confused. It was a purse. It was a Gucci purse. You don’t need to try on a purse. Or do you?

I felt weird already and thought it would be weirder to say no (Oh, he’d think, she’s one of those customers. Just looking.) I laid my stained tote on a glass case filled with golden bees in blue velvet boxes and lifted the Jackie over my shoulder. And then I turned side to side, me looking in the mirror, the salesman looking at me, and let out a huge laugh. Like, it scared him. And then out of sheer embarrassment I said, I walked here. I didn’t know I was coming in here. Ha! And he said, “Oh my god, Oh my god." and laughed several times. I guess women in Korea dress up to go to the mall.

I was mortified but then remembered myself, tried not to care, and realized the purse was really beautiful. It was ivory, with black edges. A gold clasp sealed the top shut. The shape of it was elegant, timeless. Inside was unexciting. It was a bag for a woman, but I couldn’t imagine a specific woman. Really, any woman. As long as she had 3,000,000 won to spend on a purse instead of rent, childcare, debt, groceries, etc etc etc.

I stood up straighter. Honestly, if I had worn different shoes, mascara, and combed my hair, I could wear this bag. With this outfit. Yes, even these scuffed blush pink Nikes, mom jeans, and Kimchi shirt. Wtf not? Isn’t that what people do? Just because it’s a nice bag doesn’t mean you dress for the bag. You just wear whatever you want with a nice bag. It’s your accessory, not the other way around.

I walked out of Gucci empty-handed and a little sweaty. Designer stores are not the foraging type of shopping I typically enjoy—I like the hunt, the serendipity of finding a poofy blouse or jeans on sale. They’re exclusive, pretentious, expensive, vain. Or are they? I couldn’t stop thinking about my Gucci drop-in the rest of the week. I vented on Marco Polo to friends and to my husband while we played Wingspan: Why does someone need a Gucci bag? but in the back of my head, Why can’t I have a Gucci bag or What would it mean if I had a Gucci bag or Who would I be if I had a Gucci bag? What does my materialism mean, if it even means something at all?

What does a Gucci bag mean?

On Friday night I scrolled second-hand designer sites, trying to figure out what was so special. Three hours later, I hadn’t figured out the meaning of high-end designer handbags in our socially and economically constructed materialistic frenzy-of-a-world but I had decided vintage Gucci is very cool. Navy suede, blue silk lining, bold red and green stripes on circular crossover bags. Huh, maybe if it’s old I like it? Then it’s not trying too hard, or as expensive, or cuts the pretense because it’s thrifted/vintage/used. I don’t know. I know I don’t mind others’ own Gucci. They’re lovely bags on other people.

My Gucci research, in-person and online, has only made me ask more questions. Vain, definitely. But, like, kind of fascinating introspection as I navigated embarrassment, shame, defiance, stubbornness, a softening, and then design pleasure all over a bunch of containers you carry around just so you have your phone, a granola bar, and an extra mask.

If you have any Gucci stories, please please I beg of you to leave a comment. It can be anything. How much you love yours, the one you’ve always wanted, why you hate Gucci or other high end designers, your embarrassing story wandering into a high end store for the first time wearing a hideous outfit, etc. I want to hear it and why Gucci and other stores like this make us feel stuff. WHY? I’ll share my favorite comments in next week’s note.

Thanks for reading. Have a great week and see you next Sunday. xo

Koseli

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