'My Personal Style Signifier' And Other Badges Of Status On The Road


     It is one of my freely-enjoyed pleasures to buy the Financial Times, the pink-paged broadsheet, on Saturday.  It is particularly enjoyable on Saturday because it is then that the pages are supplemented by a 'Home' section and an 'Arts' section, and once a month, 'How To Spend It', a glossy goad to extravagant consumption its creators surely produce to be enjoyed vicariously by readers as much as to please advertisers .

     'How To Spend It' is a less fulsome version of 'Departures', American Express' paean to money.  However, it is not as 'hip' as Monocle, Tyler Brule's altar to his globe-trotting 'up to the moment' lifestyle.  'How To Spend It' features wealthy, discreetly-styled people of prominence in finance, the art business, luxury goods, architecture or high culture.  Reading the latest issue, I am struck by how far I have to go before I will ever approach even an aspiration to this life, let alone the reality.  Difficult enough to do sitting in one place, on the road I will surely fall behind in this quest, as the day-to-day reality of having to wash out at least one pair of nylon panties (if not my sports bra) every night, begins to dominate my existence.

     Let me outline how 'How To Spend It" frames its challenge, so you know what I am up against.  In specific, my two favorite sections, "the aesthete", the opening column; and, PERFECT WEEKEND, the closing, are models of the publication's targeting of a certain kind of vulnerable consumer.  This week, "the aesthete" features a successful auctioneer-ress of French aspect --short curly brunette hair, slender, wearing tweed dress, modestly under-jeweled-- who shares her personal tastes with us.

     In the first entry, My personal style signifier, she describes a necklace by a post-war designer she wears "almost daily".  In her description she is at pains to tell us she has "loved her work for ages", which means:

     1. she delayed gratification before purchasing the necklace;
     2. she has a devotion to the designer;
     and,
     3. this was a considered purchase.

     Her declaration is couched the way it is for a purpose: so we don't feel envious towards this paragon of chic, but strive, rather, to be like her.

     The next entry, The thing I'm eyeing next, undercuts our first impression that the object of this week's the aesthete is a mere disciple of the beautiful, however.  The auctioneer-ress virtually confesses that as soon as she has the cash, she is going to buy a work by "X", a contemporary sculptor.

     The column goes on to tell us about the unforgettable place to which the column's subject has travelled, the thing she purchased on that trip that she likes best, followed by a recitation of the names of her hairdresser ("he will always squeeze me in if I am having a hair crisis"); the last meal she had that impressed her, the books at her bedside, her latest music download, the one indulgence she could never surrender; and, her favored websites.

      PERFECT WEEKEND takes a different approach to the problem of "the good life", profiling not the material possessions that underpin the persona of the featured person, but his or her life when not pursuing the enterprise that has generated the wherewithal to be able to swan in the pages of The Financial Times.  Indeed, these people must be the most successful people in the world: they drive to their country homes on roads open to all, but how the drive might go is never hinted at.  Too, the country idyll is never interrupted by business.  All around, wherever this week's favored subject goes, there is invariably a fantastic provisioner of fish, meat, vegetables, pastries, wine, flowers, scented candles and home furnishings.    Whatever the cares of the week have been, in the country, it's one 'laid-back' hour after another.  The only concession to the hard reality of work, even for those in what must be the highest income brackets world-wide, is that even weekends must end.  A sentence at the end of the column finally admits to the obligatory end of the break from the work week and looming Monday, which must be prepared for.

     The structure of PERFECT WEEKEND, too, is meant to be lead us to strive to imitate Mr.-or-Ms. I-Have Achieved-It-All, rather than to jealously grind our teeth.  the aesthete provides placement for luxury goods makers, while PERFECT WEEKEND does the same for real estate brokers and up-market purveyors of perishable consumables in select areas.

     All of which makes we wonder how, when I am on the road, I will keep up.

     As a personal style signifier I can offer only the stringed nylon pouches that will hang around my neck, one carrying my passport and Global Entry pass; the other my credit cards and cash.  The best souvenir I've brought home will probably be my tired carcass, because I cannot carry more than I need to survive, and carrying twenty-five pounds around for three months will be a challenge.  The person I rely on for grooming and style is Slavic, the young Turkmeini Jew who runs a barbershop with his relatives on a seedy street on Amsterdam Avenue in Upper Manhattan.  Yesterday I told him, in view of my upcoming absence from the nabe, to take off three inches of my hair, for which I paid him $14, including tip.   He will always squeeze me in if I am having a hair crisis.

     On the other hand, I am about to have MY PERFECT WEEKEND for three months, so 'How To Spend It',  'Eat your heart out.'