“I have a look but I won’t buy it”.
This is what I naively thought last year, while waiting for my connexion to Cairo, when I went to Chanel.
This Chanel passion of mine is Leïla’s fault.
She’s the one who made me try on a 4,000 bucks bag in the only Chanel boutique in Doha when I was still living there.
I will be short, but what is great in the Golf countries is that going to Chanel or Cartier is a bit like going to Macdonald’s which motto is “come in as you are”.
So I was wearing torn leggings and a pair of dusty sneakers. Then : miracle. Karl’s classic bag turned me into Lady Di.
The magic of Chanel is that it doesn’t matter if you’re in rags and tatters, in the middle of premenstrual syndrome or even trying to sleep it off the night before, a single accessory from their collection and yalla! You end up with the elegance of Amal Clooney.
So obviously the small Chanel heels got the best of my special airport battle-dress.
The battered and old fashioned Levi’s jeans that I keep for that big occasion that is the sleepless night on the Air France bench has transformed into jeans with elegant straight shape and even the ultra comfy Petit Bateau sweater (=bought almost 10 years ago and so worn out that it’s completely shapeless and colorless) matched the beige/black pumps.