The not so Bon for me Marche
Today when the sky was ranging from shades of grey to a very bright white, I was somewhat reticent to leave the house. I pondered the idea of going to a museum or a wander through a park, neither of which seemed particularly appealing.
Instead I hopped on the 92 to SFX and wandered down Rue Babylone on my own little secret indulgence trip.
There is something about the Bon Marche that makes it seem like you are living in a dream world. The designers, whose names I have read as I flick through the heavy magazines that I have been spending my pennies on since a young age, are suddenly there right in front of your eyes. You can touch the clothes, even flirt with the idea that one day you may even be able to buy them.
Anyway, today I spent far too long browsing the bag department. I don’t know what is wrong with me at the moment but I seem to be a little obsessed with the forearm’s best friend; the tote. I spend my days evil eyeing my boss and other women like her who have a rather large collection of these beauties ranging from YSL, Mulberry, Chloe and Marc Jacobs.
As I was standing almost drooling at the world of leather around me, a sales assitant approached me. She must have mistaken my H&M for Hermes or my Zara for Zadig because she seemed to be under the illusion that I was a potential customer. She gave me a tour of some of the new collection before finally suggesting what she thought would best “compliment me on an everyday basis.”
The answer was this bag…http://www.net-a-porter.com/product/95180#
