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| Photo: Mine |
I'm just one of those people who are excessively anxious about a lot. School (no kidding), the future, school work, work experiences, socialising, not updating my blogs enough, having to change tube at Green Park (everyone living in London know I'm quite serious about this) and the things just pile up.
One of the things that I get especially anxious about is: designer stores. You see, there's a reason as to why after three years of living in London I still haven't been to Selfridge's (GASP!) and avoid Harrod's like the plague - I know my place.
There's nothing more cringeworthy than people who aspirationally wear designer clothes and particularly; bags. With other words people who shows off their designer wear (might even be real for all I care) when obviously they can't afford the lifestyle.
So when we get assignments which require you to physically visit a designer store, and believe me it happens often enough, I dread it for my life (ok this I'd say would be journalistic sensationalism but you get the idea).
Going into a designer store when you obviously aren't there to shop is probably the most self-conscious thing you can do. Imagine this: a fancy well-lit, minimalist store with huge glass windows on Sloane street with its millions of security guards and well-dressed staff. You don't even have to step into the store with both of your legs before: BANG they see you're not there to buy something. They see it on your bag. They see it on your shoes. They see it on your coat. They see it on your watch. They
see.
So if you know a secret sign that says, "Hey please don't mind me, I'm just here to check the country of origin labels. Just pretend I'm invisible and don't talk to me. Cheers!', please let me know.
