A skirmish broke out at Jojo’s house recently when the topic of dogs came up. As Momma asked brother Billy to go online and find her a new Boston terrier, with the added directive of “Get me a good one like Shug,” I jumped off the sofa and screamed, “No! You’ve had 50 Boston terriers, and they are too hyper.” I said this as Shug—chewing one of my Nicorettes—sped across the landscape of coffee tables and bit my ancient Frenchie, Peach Blossom. I screamed, “Look at your dog—she is airborne,” to which Jojo replied, with great disdain, “You and your French bulldogs. You are obsessed with expensive ‘designer’ dogs.” As I sputtered an expletive, she added, “Marcia, you are brand crazy.” “I am a brand,” I retorted, and stormed off to the kitchen. Dogs included, here’s the latest wave of status symbols storming Atlanta.
INSIDE STORY OK, I’m busted. Clad in my Sulka men’s silk pajamas and wearing pony-skin Belgian loafers, with an icebox crammed with two dozen bottles of Pellegrino and key limes, maybe I am brand obsessed. I looked around my coffee table (at Jojo’s compound, we each get our own) and saw an alligator day planner, an iPhone3G, a Macbook, a new Sherrill Ltd. $27,000 python bag and a Lac de Chine pen. Then I glanced over at daughter Anabelle’s coffee table, replete with Hermès cuffs, a Bulgari watch, several pairs of Reppeto ballet shoes, an Anabelle bag with her badges from June’s Royal Ascot Box affixed alongside her recent Net Jet receipt, and realized that I’d spawned a monster. Despite my financial devastation (read: divorce), I certainly am not giving up my goodies. We may be suffering from reduced circumstance—we are, after all, buying all of our clothing at Gilt Groupe’s online auctions—but we’re still proud and brand-loyal (even with a negative $818 balance). | FOOD |
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