Now that I’ve checked out a few LV windows I can safely say that I am all for this Kusama collection (thanks Marc). I like the bags, I like the windows. I fancy the Kusama (lifesize?) figurines in the big stores like in NY and London, and the flowers in the small ones like in Bologna. I definitely love the tentacles. The tentacles are reassuring.
Although I generally enjoy LV communication and the concept of LV windows, it’s actually the first time I feel at ease around a LV bag. I really needed some crazy dots, I’m afraid they won’t be enough to reconcile me with the classic bags themselves, but it’s a start.
So what problem do I have with LV bags? What problem can anyone possibly have with LV bags? Well, it’s that during the Eighties my family used to go on holiday to a place in Tuscany which was at the exact boundary between a working class seaside town and a very posh one. There was a single stretch of empty, low key beach dividing them, then on one side luxury bathing establishments started, large striped tents, a lot of space, hedges, thick towels, while on the other side there was a noisy crowd of people and a view of the local industrial harbour. My family seemed to think it was the best of both worlds, you could just choose who you wanted to be and what you wanted to do on a daily basis. In retrospect, I think I learned a lot about blending in from the experience, more than any Lonely Planet guide could possible teach me.
Anyway, I didn’t like the beach, no matter if crowded and visually polluted or peaceful and posh. I preferred to spend time at the local camping site where my friends were with their families, or at the local youth hostel, which sported a fabulous jukebox catering to any musical tastes from Dylan to Siouxsie, and a large number of punks and goths on holiday from every part of Europe. There was a rooftop, where a couple of girls were always taking care of punk and goth hair, it was the perfect spot to spend the afternoon.
What I hated of the beach especially, was the sunset visit of peddlers selling replica LV bags. They were more or less ignored in the working class and low key stretches, but as soon as they arrived in the posh area, they spread a large cloth on the sand to lay out the bags without ruining then, and a horde of tanned, (artificially) blonde women in smart bikinis would cram around the bags, sometimes squeaking. The peddlers remained calm and somewhat aloof. Prices were discussed, bags were sold. After an hour or so it was all over, the posh beach was peaceful again.
I already despised those posh women all right, their biscuit tan, their stupid blonde streaks, their million dollars bikinis and and what I was pretty convinced was a cocaine sparkle in their eyes. But the sight of them going crazy for replica LV bags in the sunset was too much. Now every time I see a woman with a LV bag I look at her and think oh I know exactly who you are.
Consider that where I live 70% of women over 30 carry some kind of LV bag so it’s in between boring and surreal. I wish at least a couple of them would buy a Kusama LV bag, I would be so reassured. One at the canteen had a purse with Takashi Murakami cherries a few years ago, it was refreshing. Then another 20% of women carry a depressing Borbonese bag which was fashionable five years ago (now we will never get rid of it). I wish more than 10% women were able to carry something else. Anything else. I don’t care what. Anything.
A bloody nothing for a change.