Rummaging through the reader comments of my last post, it became apparent that most of ya'll were more concerned with the contents that lay inside the coveted Celine shopping bag than my actual health itself.
Ok, that's not true at all (on the contrary, I'm truly humbled by your kind words regarding my health), but I needed a good lead in for this post, ok? So bear (bear because I'm currently hallucinating mythical animals) with me whilst I make ya'll sound like bloodthirsty, vapid monsters, obsessed with materialistic items of the high-end variety. It reminded me of a time when I, myself, was completely engrossed by all things Celine.
When I first descended from the heavens into the earthly world of fashion blogging, I was completely oblivious to who or what Celine was (other than the fact that it was the name of my favorite female character in the Before Sunset/Before Sunrise films). I had decided fairly early on that I wanted to be 'bigger and better' than the creme of the crop fashion bloggers. To accomplish such a feat, I had two options: 1) unleash my wrath upon the said blogging community to exterminate the competition (vis a vis the use of Flatulence) or 2) to showcase an arsenal of designer items on my own blog, that would make theirs seem like fungus on a petri-dish. Because flatulent gases don't travel further than a one mile radius before disappearing into Oblivion, option number 2 rendered victorious.
What I found through my 'research' of the top fashion bloggers was that certain items had a cultish appeal amongst these bloggers. The 3.1 Phillip Lam Satchel, Kenzo graphic sweaters, ugly as fuck Isabel Marant sneaker wedges (which proves that going viral isn't purely an online phenomenon and that groups of women can, on occasion, collectively lose their minds), Proenza Schouler tote, and the Celine Luggage bag, displayed so eloquently in exhibit A above, to name a few.
It became apparent that everyone who was anyone in the fashion industry, owned a Celine bag. Suddenly, I became possessed with the idea of owning a Celine bag. I thought that this squared piece of leathered glory would automatically place me on the fashion pedestal and become my meal ticket "into the club" that would simultaneously bump me a notch or two up the social ladder. It would render me the envy of fashion bloggers and masses alike, earn me respect from my detractors and maybe, just maybe, evoke Matt Bomer to take notice of me? I was fixated.
For the record, Matt Bomer is gay.
I don't quite know what it was about the Celine bag that made the likes of Aimee Song and The Blonde Salad dish thousands of dollars on a single bag (not to mention, they all seem to have several of each), but what I did know was, that I envied the fuck out of them for owning these bags, and whenever I saw someone on the streets carrying the coveted bag, it had the 'right' effect on me. I, too, would be more preoccupied about what lay behind the veil of a Celine shopping bag, than whether its owner just underwent a horrific surgery. Teehee.
$3000+ later, I would treat the coveted Celine bag like a first-born child, as clearly depicted in the photographs above where the said purse is being rummaged through the dirt on the ground. Yes, this is exactly how I would treat my first-born, that devil spawn!
In hindsight, I ask myself, had I seen this Celine bag, without it's preceding reputation and hype, at a department store like Macy's, would I be tempted to buy this bag, based solely on it's design and aesthetic appeal? The answer is, I don't know if I would. Did I really just spend $3000+, for which I had to sell my spleen (yes I have low standards) on an item that renders doubt inside of me? Was my need to achieve a certain social status so grand that I would go on to purchase a second Celine bag? Am I a self-aware silly consumerist goose? Am I not aware that there are kids dying in the world due to hunger and poverty? Am I a monster? Am I crazy? Have I lost my marbles? Will Matt Bomer ever learn of my existence? Will Kimye's baby North West be a fan of the band One Direction? Am I delirious? Am I hairy? The morphine has sufficiently kicked in.
So I ask you, citizens of the Internet, what is it about a designer item that makes it so popular to the point of cultish appeal, and why are we so quick to conform to these trends?
P.S. These were some of the first photographs I took for my blog last year, thus, I did not know better than to encapsulate the infamous 'hailing a cab' blogger pose in the middle of a fucking forest.