Bryanboy Mall Rat Extraordinaire
As part of my "research" for an upcoming article/piece, I spent the entire day hopping from one mall to another on the lookout for "good finds" (aka cheap thrills), chic post-shopping eateries and such. I went to a grand total of 4 "malls" today: Podium, Shangri-la Plaza, Greenbelt 4 and Glorietta plus 1 department store, good old Shoemart.
Podium was dead; I texted all of my friends and told them it felt like I was in a mausoleum. A mausoleum filled with stiff-looking, shirt-and-tied ninetofivers who looked down on me because I look like a punk kid gone camo.
Oh yes. You should’ve seen the looks on the faces of these 30-something, office clerk workers when I entered Starbucks.
Just because I look like a ghetto trash army rag doll (cum rag is more appropriate because my black t-shirt’s got gold paint splatters) it doesn’t mean you can go high all hoity toitty on me.
My entire body is covered with invisible "You’re-Staring-At-Me-And-Giving-Me-Crappy-Looks" sensors. I get internal titillations every time someone’s eyeball roll to my direction.
Heck, even my Birkin bag, which I used today, is covered with such detectors.
That’s right. I ditched my Chanel 2.55 in the car and brought the holy grail of handbags with me when I went to Podium.
Punk kid my ass when my Birkin bag is DEFINITELY more than their third world annual income.
Editorial Note: One of the joys of owning a *genuine* Birkin bag is the bragging rights that come along with it.
Fucking Yuppies. God I despise them. Prtentious yuppies in white, blue, gray or pink button down shirts with trousers and loafers that scream OFFICE WORKER!
Darlings, just because you’re in a bloody office uniform it doesn’t give you the right to feel you’re loaded, so cut the snobbery, bitch!
Don’t get me wrong though. I really have nothing against office workers. Or clerks. Or minimum wagers. Afterall, their taxes fuel most politicians’ fat wallets therefore giving us more golddigger opportunities.
But it’s cunts like me who keep the GLOBAL economies afloat. Paris, New York, Milan, plus all the sweatshops all over the world that print the "Made in Italy" label.
Think about it.
Office workers = Local Economy
CLMs (Cunts Like Me) = Global Economy
Anyway. Enough teenage angst.
Let’s continue with the pomp and the high-voltage tales of tension pretension that you guys love.
Don’t blame me darlings, I’m smoking Cartier Lights. I’m obliged to be pretentious as my lungs get filled with Cartier tar! HK Duty Free I <3 You!
Now if only Graff or Verdura made cigarettes…
Shangri-la housed the only place (Homme et Femme) in this third world cesspit that I call home where one could find Balenciaga, Dior Homme, Costume National and Marni amongst others.
Editorial Note: will you please create another shop (or move) to friggin Makati this way I don’t have to do the 2-hour driving trek from the suburbs to your shop?
I like that shop. I really do.
Me likey likey so much that my original intention was only to look at their latest batch of Dior Homme but the sizes they have are size 3 or OBESE sizes (ruins the sole purpose of Dior Homme when they carry Dior Homme for fat people. GET THE ONES FOR RAIL ANOREXIC THIN BOYS PLEASE).
I ended up adding yet another Balenciaga bag (olive) to my collection, its matching coin purse keychain and a Balenciaga assymetrical sweater/top.
For truthful journalism’s sake, I have to tell you that the color is a little tad darker in real life.
I also went to Escada – that’s right bitches – the first time (ever as in ever) I’ve set foot in the store where I thought only Eurotrash grandmothers shop (despite the perennial quirky feminine youthful female orgy ad campaigns) but boy oh boy I found it fun and normal.
So "fun and normal" to the point where I added myself on the waiting list for the Escada/Siemens Denim and Diamonds cellphone (about US$900). Isn’t it j’adorable? It’s better than my random Nokia fuck-up child that can’t even take photos using the back camera because of a "memory" problem.
Greenbelt 4 was nothing new – same old same old. It was rather disappointing actually. It feels as if its halls are your house and the shops are your rooms. There was just nothing there that caught my eye. I even went to BVLGARI and tried a couple of watches – I found a really nice yellow gold piece but I didn’t like the strap.
Then I went to Vuitton (oh salvation) but the only good thing there is a dark plum-coloured velvet scarf with fringes.
Forget Glorietta. Most of the shops were closed because it was late.
One shop that DID caught my eye and made my Chanel black caviar 2.55 felt cheap was this:
Fake Burberry… Fake Chanel… Fake Everything!
Why on god’s name is this sort of thing allowed at a fucking mall considering we have GENUINE Burberry shops?
Whatever happened to copyright laws, intellectual property, anti-counterfeit laws etc?
Bah. Whoever owns that shop must have some god damn NERVE (and BALLS) to sell counterfeit goods.
Who the hell owns Glo-fucking-rietta?
Does anyone in the Philippines know?
If you do, will you please print this post and send it to the powers of be?
Stop playing in the dark with your glo-sticks and give a stern warning to whoever owns/operates that shop.
My Chanel 2.55 needed a fucking Xanax when we passed by the shop earlier. Had my genuine handbag had the mouth to talk and the voice to sue, it would’ve won millions of dollars in damages – hassle, emotional distress and visual battery.
I’ll update you in a bit.
I’m thirsty and in need of something to drink.
You know where to contact me. firstname.lastname@example.org or +63-915-785-1492.