Confessions of a recovering brand whore
The Brick Runway
My name is Amanda and I am addicted to brands. Perhaps the more popularly used term is "brand whore." But it's true: I fall hard for the allure of a name.
Marc Jacobs, YSL, Prada, Louis Vuitton - I love them all. I don't think I'll ever grow out of the excitement of opening up my very own sleek and clean shoebox with the name strategically stamped on the top. And I know I'm not the only one.
When I was younger, the thrill had to be achieved in small ways: My mother bought Chance by Chanel and I snagged the small paper bag she had carried it home in. That wasn't just any paper bag, it was a shiny black bag graced with those double interlocking C's.
Of course, it's not just the presentation and fancy wrappings. There is an undeniable quality with the higher brand names.
While I might like J. Crew or American Apparel, they could never compare with how light and soft a silk 3.1 Phillip Lim shirt feels against the skin.
The cult of the name is exciting, but dangerous, because so much of it is the paper bag that holds your purchase and the tingling feeling that comes from name recognition.
That's why, after I perfume-shopped last week (no purchase, I'm still contemplating different scents), I took the two Viktor & Rolf paper testers on which I'd sprayed Mega and Flowerbomb.
The large, white, thick-papered squares with a raised, wax seal-detail center and Viktor & Rolf printed in strong black letters underneath were immediately tacked to my bulletin board.
The truly dangerous thing about being addicted to brands is that every time a purchase tempts me, I must step back and think, "Am I buying this because I like it, or am I buying it because it's Comme des Garçons?"
You have to be careful not to be blinded by a name. It gets worse, especially for someone college-aged but certainly also for our older counterparts, when brands enter sales or thrift stores.
You not only have a designer name, but you are paying considerably less for it.
Marc Jacobs, YSL, Prada, Louis Vuitton - I love them all. I don't think I'll ever grow out of the excitement of opening up my very own sleek and clean shoebox with the name strategically stamped on the top. And I know I'm not the only one.
When I was younger, the thrill had to be achieved in small ways: My mother bought Chance by Chanel and I snagged the small paper bag she had carried it home in. That wasn't just any paper bag, it was a shiny black bag graced with those double interlocking C's.
Of course, it's not just the presentation and fancy wrappings. There is an undeniable quality with the higher brand names.
While I might like J. Crew or American Apparel, they could never compare with how light and soft a silk 3.1 Phillip Lim shirt feels against the skin.
The cult of the name is exciting, but dangerous, because so much of it is the paper bag that holds your purchase and the tingling feeling that comes from name recognition.
That's why, after I perfume-shopped last week (no purchase, I'm still contemplating different scents), I took the two Viktor & Rolf paper testers on which I'd sprayed Mega and Flowerbomb.
The large, white, thick-papered squares with a raised, wax seal-detail center and Viktor & Rolf printed in strong black letters underneath were immediately tacked to my bulletin board.
The truly dangerous thing about being addicted to brands is that every time a purchase tempts me, I must step back and think, "Am I buying this because I like it, or am I buying it because it's Comme des Garçons?"
You have to be careful not to be blinded by a name. It gets worse, especially for someone college-aged but certainly also for our older counterparts, when brands enter sales or thrift stores.
You not only have a designer name, but you are paying considerably less for it.
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